Chapter 12
Daylight had longsince seeped into the living room, and the shadows moved along with the wan sunlight. Kira remained in an exhausted sleep, still lying half on him.
Týr absently ran his palm over her back, absorbing the sensation of her body against his, her warmth enfolding him. After her emotional revelation about her newly discovered father and fretting about Tomas, it had been close to dawn when she finally fell asleep—with a little help from him. No, she wouldn’t be happy that he’d sent her to sleep.
He frowned. Some humans abandoned their offspring. It could be nothing. But for her, he’d make sure thisfatherwas real.
Absently, Týr stroked her hair, the sounds of wolves howling far off in the distance drifting to him. The pup stirred at the fireside and let out a low woof then its dark eyes flashed open. It stared unblinkingly at him.
“What?” He arched a brow. “Tired of the warmth and protection of indoors already?”
The whelp shut its eyes again.
Talking to the pup had Týr thinking of Fenrir, his wolf friend and Narfi’s sibling.
Even though they’d all grown up together and he had been best friends with both brothers, Fenrir hadn’t liked Narfi. In fact, Fen hadn’t liked anyone except Týr. He suspected Narfi had taunted his wolf-brother for not being able to change from his animal form to a humanoid one. But Fen was still a deity, and powerful in his way, too.
Despite Narfi’s animosity toward his kin, both he and Fenrir had been there during Týr’s sentencing at the Gates of the Gods. Hell, the wolf had even tried to save him from being hauled through the portal into Tartarus. He’d grabbed onto Týr’s wrist with his deadly jaws and, in the process, Týr had lost his right hand.
No, he couldn’t hate his friend for that. More, he loathed finding out a millennium later that Fen had grown too huge and dangerous and had been chained on the isolated island of Lyngve—
A sudden rap on the cabin door roused Týr from his thoughts. Sensing who waited outside—and the fact that the Arc hadn’t mind-linked with him—yeah, shit was about to hit the fan. His jaw hardening, Týr eased out from under Kira.
She sighed and settled on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow.
Another impatient rap.
The pup whined in fear, probably sensing the immense power surrounding the cabin. Dammit.
“It’s all right. It’s my ass he’s after,” Týr soothed the wolf while pulling on his boots. He strode to the door and opened it, nearly blinded by sunlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow—and faced the glowering archangel.
Michael stood near the porch railing, hands in his leathers’ pockets. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Týr shut the door, then loped down the steps and headed away from the cabin, his boots sinking into the soft mush. Michael hard on his heels. If they were going to have this out, he didn’t want Kira disturbed or caught in the conflict. He trudged to the trees bordering the property some distance away.
“She’s the Oracle’s granddaughter, and you just had to go and fuck this up by sleeping with her. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Leave it alone, Michael.”
“She’s under my care!”
“Perhaps, but she ismine.” He faced his leader, forearms crossed over his bare chest, his stare cool.
Michael went dead still, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Kira’s your destined?”
“What the hell difference does it make?”
“A huge fucking one! With your past rep, you honestly think the Oracle’s going to let her only family hook up with one of us and then return with a broken heart?”
“I’m not giving her up.”
“Norse, don’t force me do something we’ll both regret.”
At the threat of taking Kira away—worse, taking away her memories of him—Týr’s barely suppressed fury erupted. He summoned his sword and charged his leader. Michael leaped back, a snarl reverberating, his own weapon taking form in his hand. He came at Týr in a flash, eyes blazing eerily.
Týr blocked and twisted away. They lunged, parried, ducked and evaded, the sounds of their weapons’ vicious clanging echoing in the chilly noon air.
“You think it’s that easy to walk away from a destined mate once your paths cross?” Michael snarled, sword swinging, probably ready to behead him.
