Maybe he was a prejudiced dick, but everything about them caused a black haze to fog his thoughts, his mind tracking with one demand.Kill. Kill them all.
It had been so long since he’d been miraculously freed from Tartarus, and none of those bastard jailers from that shithole had come after him. But then he was no longer the helpless, powerless, one-handed imbecile who’d entertained them in the arena.
Before the thought brought on the rage, the berserker side of himself that he couldn’t afford to let free, he clamped down on his shaky psychic shields and pushed off the wall, heading toward another backstreet.
Týr rubbed his jaw, his fingers connecting with the unhealed wound there. He could have used Lila’s miracle ointment and accelerated the recovery, but he wanted the bastard to find him if this was indeed a marking.
His thoughts backtracked to the night he’d gotten hurt. He’d just taken down three demoniis when a stray animal skulking near the dumpsters suddenly screeched and scurried off as if in fear. So, he’d checked out the disturbance, when out of nowhere, a damn blow lanced his jaw.
Týr had no idea who the hell had caused it. All he heard was the damn chilling voice in his head.It’s not over.
What the fuck did that even mean? Clearly, someone was hunting him.
He never left any of his enemies alive, especially not those hell-scourges. If he could, he’d clear this realm of the damn species. But rules had to be obeyed. He couldn’t touch them as long as they abided by the Guardians’ law; hurt no human.
“A-yo, Blondie,” a raspy voice called out from the shadows of a dingy building, pulling him out of his dark anger. “About time you showed.”
Týr slowed down, eyes slitting. With a flash of his right hand, he had the whelp pinned against the wall, his legs dangling a few feet off the ground. “Call me that again and I’m gonna turn you into mush for our cat. And that feline eats anything, you get me?”
Boyish laughter echoed in the dark, revealing a white smile in a young, dusky-brown face. “Whatcha bring me, homie?”
Smart-ass little punk. Týr lowered the boy to his feet. Too thin and too full of spunk, that was Tomas. He no longer reeked of dirt and had on fresh clothes, a somewhat frayed but thick jacket, and well-worn jeans. Brand-new sneakers had replaced the ones sporting duct-taped soles.
“You finally took my advice and went to The Shelter?” Týr nodded at the new threads as he handed the boy two bars of chocolate.
“Hate the stinkin’ hole. My angel gimme these.” He tugged at his jacket with a happy sigh before tearing off the wrapper from one of the candy bars.
Right. His angel. That was all Tomas could talk about recently. Týr had first come across the lad a few weeks ago, fighting with an older kid for stealing a decrepit pair of shoes. He would have walked right past had the teen not whipped out a knife.
“And she didn’t tell you to go to The Shelter either?”
A narrow shoulder lifted in a half-shrug as the boy wolfed down half of the sweet. “She took me there, said she’d haul me back by ma ear if she ‘eard I’ma sleepin’ on the streets again. How’ll I see her if I’ma locked up, huh?” Tomas demanded while chomping on the chocolate. “I’ma marryin’ her, ya know, when I’ma all growed up.”
“Right…” Týr hid a smile. “That will take you about twenty years.”
“She’ll wait for me.” Tomas nodded as if it were a done deal.
Shaking his head, Týr took in the pitch-black alley where several homeless had settled in for the night. The mystical sword inked on his biceps suddenly stirred to life in warning. A malevolent iciness slithered down his spine at the familiar stench of sulfur coasting upwind. Dammit. These humans caged by poverty were like offerings for the soulless suckers in this dead-end backstreet.
“Tomas—” Týr grasped the boy’s thin shoulders. “Get outta here.Now. Go back to The Shelter.” A hand on his back, he nudged the kid toward the main street, already scanning with his psychic senses for the location of the demoniis.
“Dude, I know there’s ugly trouble.” Tomas’s dark eyes shifted down to where the demoniis were. Týr wasn’t surprised at the kid’s remark since he’d picked up on the boy’s slight psychic vibe when he first bumped into him. “But I’ma go find ma angel first and give her ma other candy.”
A smile illuminating his young face, Tomas pushed the unopened chocolate into his jacket pocket and took off up the street, his footfalls echoing in the night.
With preternatural speed, Týr tracked the scouring sensation. He passed the homeless, cut through a narrow thoroughfare, and sprinted into several raucous demons taking form in another dead-end alley.
“Let’s get outta here!” a familiar feminine voice yelled. The woman leaped up from the ground and took off.
Týr stopped dead, blood thundering in his head in terror.Kira?
What the hell was she doing in this damn alley when even the homeless knew it was a fucking dangerous place?
Anger took hold. Cold and furious, it slid to his gut.
She’d lied to him. She’d fuckin’ lied to him!
* * *
