“And you shouldn’t be breathing, but we can’t always have what we want—”
Unseen fetters manacled his hands and legs. And the past cantered back. He fought the invisible cuffs that held him immobile like a fucking vise. The scourge flashed to him. Dagger gleaming in his hand, he pressed the edge into Týr’s throat. “Not so brave now, Fallen?”
Memories of being restrained battering his mind, rage consumed Týr like gasoline to flames. He snarled. The scum laughed.No one fucking did that to him again!With a deafening roar, Týr broke free of the obscure shackle, and the blade embedded deep into his flesh. A coppery taste flooded his gorge, warm blood trailed down his neck. He grabbed the scourge’s hand, still locked onto the hilt, his abilities exploding free…
They called himberserker. He was far, far worse.
The demon lit up like a volcano about to blow. His skin split, and a terrified shriek broke free then cut off as he detonated. Pieces of him rained as ashes to the dingy ground. “I am no Fallenangel. I’m a fucking Guardian!”
A ruckus erupted. The other demons attacked, coming at Týr like a swarm of dung flies. Their mouths split wide in their narrow face like they’d been torn open. Fangs rammed into him. He felt nothing. His mind and his body taken over by flames. He bound the demons in a cyclone of fire. Screams rang out but didn’t move him…then, the sounds faded.
Ashy residue drifted down to the dank alley where he stood. Flares coasted over him, occasionally snapping out as if searching for more victims.
“We should leave.”
A faint voice penetrated his flame crackling mind. He cast an impassive glance at the male standing a short distance from him. Narrowed green eyes glowed like neon lights, in warning or what, Týr didn’t know. Or care.
He dematerialized in a blazing flash. As he took form again, soaring heat blasted him, fire licking over his skin where he balanced on the precarious edge of the volcano. Sweat dripped down his face and body like water as he grappled to get himself and his powers back under control…
* * *
Kira shut the door behind Wrath after he’d stopped by to check on her after what had occurred. Never again would she touch things in her father’s study.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, she slumped against the wooden panel.
Not even her badass father stopping by to see her could wipe away the nightmare from her mind at witnessing what Týr had endured during his incarceration. God, she rubbed her burning eyes, struggling not to give in to her sorrow. She’d only seen a bit of the horror and was falling apart, while he’d lived it for five centuries.
She had to be strong for him. Týr wasn’t in a good place…yet he’d gone out with her brother regardless. And it had been hours.Oh, God, please let him be all right.
She blinked back her tears, her attention snagged by the clothes and jewelry boxes on the coffee table that had been delivered earlier. Things she’d need for her presentation her father had said. It would be time soon to get ready—no! She had to find Týr first.
Kira pivoted and flung her door open. The guards stood at attention, causing her to falter. Dammit. Too worried to explain what she wanted, she cut past them and took off. Low growls resounded, and heavy boots thundered after her as she leaped down the stairs to Riley’s chambers. Good. They’d learned not to stop her.
She knocked on her brother’s door, impatiently shifting on her feet, hoping they were here… And nothing. Dammit!
“There’s no one in, m’lady,” a guard croaked.
“Thanks, Sherlock.” Like she hadn’t figured that out. She spun around and sprinted back to her rooms, stumbling to a halt at the sight of the dark figure silhouetted near the window. “Týr!” She slammed the door shut and darted across the low-lit living room as he turned. “Are you okay? You were gone for hours, I was so worried.”
He simply pulled her into his arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her fear eased, and she hugged him back. His big body shuddered, breaking through her relief. A strong odor of sulfur clung to him and burned her nose.
“What is it?” she asked softly, her fingers threading through his damp, shaggy hair.
Silence.
Kira eased away from his tight embrace and looked up, barely able to discern his features in the gloom. As she reached out to brighten the lights, he grasped her hand. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
“Then talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
He let her go and lowered to the armrest of the couch, his movements lax, unlike his normally assertive self. And Týr didn’t usually sit. He prowled, marched, or paced. Always too restless to remain still. She turned up the lights a notch. His eyes were dark…vacant. His skin appeared stretched taut over the bones of his too-pale face. And blood smeared his throat, darkening the neckline of his black t-shirt.
“Týr?” she rasped, dread escalating.
His gaze lowered to his boots. “A moment of my past intruded… Demons surrounded me…all I could see and hear wasthem.”
“From Tartarus?”
He shook his head then recanted with a nod. “I killed them. I killed every one of them today.”
