“She’d have to command my dagger first, wouldn’t she?” Týr spat, leaping through the air and avoiding the deadly strike. He landed on the other side, boots sinking into the mush. He grunted, too pissed to care. “And that’s never gonna happen.”
No way would he give up the one person who gave him back a little of his sanity.
“Hell—” Michael lifted a hand, halting the fight, his chest heaving. “I didn’t come here to be a damn martyr for you. I thought the others were bloody pigheaded when they first found their mates. You clearly ace this shit. And she isn’t even yours.”
“I don’t fucking need to hear that again,” Týr wheezed.
Michael slammed his sword into the snow. “I’m assuming she knows all this—about destined mates and the obsidian daggers connecting to them?”
Breathing hard, he gave a stilted nod.
Hands on his hips, the archangel glared into the forest. “If she’s agreed to be with you, then there’s not much that can be done. But know this, Norse, if she wants to leave, you cannot stop her. Free will is her right.”
Yeah, he was well aware of that shitty free-will clause. Unlike a destined mate coupling, which bound the two for eternity. Still, relief flowed that the Arc had called a cease-fire.
It struck Týr then that Kira hadn’t fully accepted him yet. Sure, she was drawn to him. The impossible attraction and the burning desire between them saw to that. It was why he’d been cautious and had not taken their intimacy from earlier any further. He wanted her to want him as much as he did her.
But the truth was that while he desperately needed her, she could walk away if she allowed her fears to win. She was already so skittish around the issue of them being a couple, so he let it be for now. Andthatcertainly wasn’t the kind of ammunition he wanted the Arc to have. So, he kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t get you.” Michael impatiently shoved back a loose swathe of hair. “You’re back to having trouble with your abilities—hell! Right now you’re a damn wildcard, and yet you insist on being with her? Have you warned her about what could happen if you lose control?”
He didn’t want to terrify Kira when their relationship was so new and tenuous. But Michael, it seemed, was determined to bring out all his shit in one go.
“Pray nothing happens—”
“To her, to anyone. Yeah, got the memo eons ago, Arc, when I pledged my oath. I don’t need a repeat. I know the damn risk, but she calms me.”
The archangel stilled and then sighed, finally nodding in acknowledgement. His expression back to business as he refastened his loosened hair into a half ponytail “Whatever attacked you both last night? Any signs of it here?”
Týr shook his head. “No.”
“Okay. Be on standby for tonight. We’re preparing for chaos on the streets. The demon contact you were supposed to capture and interrogate escaped. I’ll send Lore to keep an eye on Kira if we need you.”
Fates. Týr snapped his teeth in annoyance. He didn’t want that hardheaded angel around Kira. Lore would undoubtedly spew his shit at just how fucked-up the Guardians truly were—not that he would be wrong, but Týr didn’t need that kind of mess to deal with, too. “No need—”
“Dammit, Norse!”
“I’ll bring her to the castle. I’m going back on patrol.”
Michael cut him a terse look before dematerializing in a spinning scatter of silver-blue sparks.
In frustration, Týr flung his sword. The thing hit a tree trunk some distance away with a hard thunk, a tinny sound echoing in the air. He clenched his fists, and the searing heat that had started a few days ago rippled through his body again. He could destroy everything. If Kira came outside now—shit!
Inhaling several deep breaths, Týr reached for the calm center within the power raging inside him. He slowed his erratic heartbeats, recalling the great martial arts masters in the East, where he’d spent a decade. He applied the same principles to reach into his inner core and calm down, to govern his berserker tendencies.
Tendencies? Hell, he’d been born with a dangerous ability, but he’d learned to handle his pyrokinesis through the centuries. And now this shit would occur again.
As he went through the slow, precise motions of each fighting sequence, using them to not only achieve control but also rebuild his mental shields, he sensed Kira moving about in the cabin. His concentration stuttered, his innate instincts warring with his need to go to her. But it was too damn risky.
Teeth clamping down, he blocked her from his thoughts and focused.
Go to the core of yourself. Center your mind and body. Compel it to obey your thoughts. Strengthen your shields…
His mind slipped back to his first time in this world.
Bruised and bloodied, he lay on the scorched grounds in Tartarus, dust swirling around him, the cheering in the arena deafening as he waited for the death strike. But the same dust churned into a tornado, picking him up like debris, the thwarted yells of his executioner echoing in the sandstorm. And Tyr suddenly found himself on this realm, somewhere near the cool Tatra Mountains in Eastern Europe. He’d had no idea then that it was the human world.
Several males dressed in tattered clothing were there, too. He didn’t acknowledge them. Silently, they trekked through the forest, Týr lagging way behind, waiting for the killing blow. It had to occur before midnight, yet nothing happened.
