by Lauren Dawes
Before Eir could respond, Taer retreated back to the bedroom, put on some jeans, a high-collared jacket and her boots, then headed for the door of the apartment, sliding her Beretta into the waistband of her pants as she moved. Once she was outside, she leaned back against the door and squeezed the bridge of her nose, letting out a sigh. There was no way she was going to be getting any more sleep tonight, so she might as well do something useful.
Taer breathed in the chilly night air and began walking. Her thoughts immediately turned to Darrion. Talking to Nieven had been a dead end, just like she knew it would be, and although putting a bullet between his eyes had made her feel better—like she was twisting the knife into Darrion’s carefully constructed guild—she was still without any solid leads.
Darrion was a narcissistic, tyrannical megalomaniac.
But he wouldn’t have been able to walk away from his guild so easily, which meant that he had to be close to Boston, at least.
Taer wrapped her arms around herself but kept her senses open. She was heading towards a bar where a lot of beings from the Nine Worlds spent their time. She needed information, and after getting nothing of worth from that cocksucker Nieven, she couldn’t think of any other place to go.
The War Hammer was run by a dwarf named Alistyre. From the outside, it was very much like Odin’s Eye—it simply didn’t look like much—but unlike Odin’s Eye, it wasn’t frequented by humans. The dwarves had a kind of magic that hid it from them in plain sight.
After stepping through the haze of magic, Taer pushed through the door. Despite the early hour, the place was packed. Every single set of eyes turned to her, looking at her dubiously. Raising her chin and pulling her shoulders back, Taer walked confidently towards the bar.
A Mare she’d never seen before stepped in front of her, bringing her to an abrupt stop. “Hey, honey,” he drawled, his accent giving him away. He wasn’t from around here. Darrion had been gone a little over a month and already the vultures were swooping in.
“Get out of my way.” Taer’s lips curled away from her teeth as she spoke, baring her fangs to him.
The guy just grinned lazily at her, revealing his own—rather less than impressive—fangs.
“Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be like that. I’ll be real good to you.” His hands got a little too familiar then, grabbing her ass and pulling her into the cradle of his hips. It took Taer a few beats to realize that the bastard thought she was a whore.
Taer’s mouth turned to a playful pout. “You caught me out,” she purred, reaching behind her, her fingers grazing the butt of her Beretta. The familiar ripple of the black grip against her fingertips made her smile even more brightly. “But you haven’t caught my friend out.”
“Friend?” he asked, looking behind her expectantly for another woman. Taer pulled her weapon out and pressed the barrel to the center of his chest.
She shrugged innocently. “My friend.”
All hell broke loose around her. There were yells and orders that she drop the gun, shouts that there was a strict policy in the War Hammer that no one carry a weapon. Ignoring them all, Taer pressed the muzzle in tighter, moving the asshole backwards as she moved towards the bar.
Only when she was standing in front of the dwarf bartender did Taer remove the gun from the man’s chest and place it on the bar top. The bartender grabbed for the weapon immediately, staring at Taer like she had actually pulled the trigger. She could only assume he was Alistyre.
The elf slid out from between Taer and the bar, slinking away with a figurative tail between his legs. Taer watched him go in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Only once everyone had gone back to their drinks did she look back at Alistyre.
The dwarf was just as Taer expected him to be—short, slightly round and generally cantankerous from what she’d seen so far. He leveled a glare at her, his flint-colored eyes hard. His rusty beard hung shaggily from his face, tangled and dirty, and the faint odor of earth and stone clung to his clothes.
Ignoring his irate look, Taer got straight down to business. “I need information.”
The dwarf laughed, the sound like two boulders rubbing together. “What makes you think I’d give you information now that you’ve come in and terrorized my customers?” He was trying to intimidate her, but he had nothing on Korvain when it came to intimidation.
“I’m looking for a Mare,” she pressed on. “And I need to know whether you’ve seen him, or heard anything about him.”
The dwarf laughed again—louder this time—the sound booming around the bar. Taer noticed a few eyes rise at the noise. She’d figured this would be the fastest way to get her information, but if Alistyre didn’t start talking soon, she’d have to go to Plan B. Taer looked around, getting more and more agitated.
“Who are you looking for?”
Taer turned towards the voice, her eyes scanning the face of the light elf who had approached her. His eyes were a gray so pale they were almost white and his hair was much the same. Just with one look, she knew he was from very pure blood. But what would a light elf know about Darrion?
She ignored him, turning her attention back to Alistyre.
“Who are you looking for?” the elf repeated.
Taer looked at him from the corner of her eye. What did she have to lose? She’d gotten nowhere so far. “The master of the Boston guild,” she answered, lowering her voice.
His expression changed, his eyes darkening slightly. Abruptly, he took her by the elbow and dragged her towards the back of the dim bar. Taer fought the urge to break free of his grasp, letting him lead her to a booth surrounded on three sides by high partitions.
The light elf folded his tall, lithe frame down into the other side of the booth. “Sit,” he said, his tone hard and unyielding. He had high cheekbones, a long straight nose and a jaw that seemed a stranger to a razor. He was the epitome of male beauty, but the air of danger about him told Taer he was more than just a pretty boy. “Who are you, Little Girl?” he demanded.
She stared defiantly and remained silent. She had no idea whether she could trust this guy. She wasn’t about to spill all her secrets to him, even if he was one of the handsomest males she had ever laid eyes on.
His top lip twitched. “Little Girl it is then.”
Dick.
Taer gritted her teeth, staring at him from under her dark lashes.
Sinking back in his chair, the elf rested his forearms on the table and let out a deep breath. Taer caught his scent, the aroma of spicy cinnamon getting tangled in her nostrils.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
Taer shook her head. “No idea.”
“My name is Aubrey.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Taer retorted bitingly.
He chuckled at her outburst. She glowered back at him, balling her hands into fists.
“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that this Boston guild master is someone I’m familiar with. Why would I give you anything?”
“Why?” she replied sharply. Aubrey arched one pale brow at her. “He owes me money,” she lied. Taer waited for him to call bullshit, but he said nothing. “I always collect on my debts.”
His lips lifted in a pleasantly bland smile. “He must owe you a great deal.”
You got that fucking right.
Taer looked at the scarred tabletop so he wouldn’t see the rage and pain simmering within her. He wouldn’t answer her question, so she wouldn’t answer his. They were at an impasse. She met his eyes once more, hoping all he could see now was her determination.
His finger began tapping the table, rhythmically drumming out a steady pattern. “Where can I find you if I hear anything about this … Mare?” Although it didn’t show on his face, there was definitely amusement in his voice.
Taer didn’t know how to respond. She could lie, but what would be the point of that? She was well protected at the Eye. Nobody could fade in or out of the building. “Odin’s Eye,” she replied.
His
eyebrow arched again. “With the Valkyries?” She nodded. “How interesting,” he said, studying her carefully.
Not enjoying being scrutinized so closely, Taer glanced at the gold face of his expensive watch, seeing that it was close to dawn. She stood up, Aubrey’s eyes following her movements. “Where are you going?” he asked congenially.
“I’m leaving.”
She didn’t wait to hear what else the light elf had to say. She wasn’t even sure she should have told him as much as she had, but desperation can drive people to do rash and stupid things.
Taer faded back to the club just as the sun was rising. Slipping inside the back door after punching in the code to the new security system, she rode the elevator back up to the apartment. It was still quiet as she closed the apartment door behind her, but as she stepped into her room, she could hear Korvain stirring.
Changing into her pajamas, Taer crawled into bed, being careful not to wake Eir. A few moments later, Korvain rapped on the door softly and stuck his head in. She could feel his gaze on her, checking to see that she was all right. The seconds passed, but just as he was about to leave, Taer spoke.
“I’m awake.”
He paused. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
“Like a baby,” she lied. Taer threw the covers back and slid off the mattress. “When can we start training?”
Korvain frowned at her, but before he could protest, she cut him off.
“Look, I slept all through the night and I ate dinner last night. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
Korvain glowered at her but agreed, saying, “Get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Chapter 8
Mason had been lying in bed, staring at the brushstrokes on the ceiling for at least the last four hours. He’d woken from the same dream that always assaulted him, but Sophie had been there for him—just like she always was when he needed her—bringing him down, forcing his racing heart to settle.
The weight of his dog’s head against his belly was welcome, the heat of her body beside his own grounding him, reminding him that he wasn’t in that building anymore. Lifting his hand, Mason laid it on top of her large head, right between her ears, and stroked her soft fur.
She groaned lightly in her sleep, and Mason envied how quickly she could fall asleep. He would probably be lying there for another four hours, thinking about what had happened.
The screams reverberated through his skull each time he tried to close his eyes, reminding him that he had made it out, but others hadn’t. With a sigh, Mason sat up, disturbing Sophie as he did. She blinked up at him with soulful, caramel-colored eyes and slid from the bed.
He’d been given Sophie after arriving back from Iraq. The marine shrink had said that his panic attacks wouldn’t be so bad if he had someone there to talk to. Mason just had no fucking idea it would be a female German shepherd who would become his life-preserver in the sea of guilt he’d been treading in for just over ten years.
Mason had only been a kid when he’d signed up for the marines. Now, at the ripe old age of thirty-one, he felt—and looked—much older than he should have. The war had taken its toll on him—had taken more from him than it should have—and also left him with a fucked-up ability to read the minds of the gods—not that he’d known that at the time.
After two long years of suffering, he was ready to give it all up … that was until he just happened to be walking past the Eye one day eight years ago. Bryn and Mav had been watching him from the doorway. As he’d passed, Bryn had told him to get his ass inside and park it at the bar.
He’d known then that she was different. He could hear her thoughts—her thoughts about him. She could tell that he was close to eating a bullet; in fact, that was exactly what he’d been about to do. He’d had a Beretta M9 tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Loaded. Ready to turn the back of his skull into mush.
“What’s your name?” she’d asked, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. Mav stood at her side, her model-perfect face wearing a stony expression. All Mason was picking up from her was hostility.
“Mason,” he’d replied, looking around the interior of the bar. He remembered being impressed with the layout and set-up.
Bryn’s eyes slid to the side, looking at Mav. An unspoken conversation passed between the Valkyries before Bryn turned back to him. “Planning on doing something fucking stupid in the next ten minutes, Mason?”
One of his brows rose, but he said nothing. He didn’t owe them a damn thing. In fact, he remembered being pretty pissed that Bryn had interrupted his plans. He’d been staring hard at the bar, looking everywhere but at Bryn and Mav, when Bryn had cleared her throat.
“We need a head of security here at the Eye. I want that to be you.”
“Me? Why? You don’t even know me.” Pity and fear had churned in Bryn’s head as she stared at him, imploring him to just say “yes” to her offer.
“You need a job, right?”
Mason’s spine had stiffened. How had she known? He’d been fired from his job the day before for turning up late. But he couldn’t help it. His nightmares had kept him awake, and he could only really sleep when the sun was up. So that was what he did.
“Then you have one here. If you want it.”
He’d looked between the two goddesses for a moment, finally saying, “I want it.”
There’d been a smile in Bryn’s voice when she’d said, “Good. You start in ten minutes.”
Mason had worked that evening, and kept returning to work ever since.
Bryn had saved him.
With a sigh, he got out of bed, Sophie padding silently beside him on the carpet. After washing his face, Mason changed into a pair of sweats, pulled his marines tee over his head and slid his arms into a jacket before tying up his shoes. A bit of fresh air was just what he needed.
“Come on, Soph,” he called gently, grabbing her leash from the hook beside the door and clipping it to her collar. Stepping out of his apartment building, Mason turned towards Boston Common—a place he and Sophie usually went every morning to shake off the nightmares. Sophie was a lot more attentive than normal, sticking close to his side rather than pulling forward eagerly. He let his hand burrow deeply into the fur at the ruff of her neck, feeling the warmth of her body settle him.
The sun had barely begun to rise when he made it to the fifty-acre gardens, a slight fog hanging about a foot off the ground. There was hardly another soul in sight, and Mason didn’t bother to check either. He liked the silence in his head.
Making his way towards the Frog Pond, he let the icy breeze blow away the terrors still clinging on stubbornly like leeches bleeding his mind. Stopping, he crouched down to tie up his shoelace when Sophie suddenly started pulling frantically at the lead. Mason tried to peer through the fog to see what had her so riled up, but could barely see more than twenty feet in front of him.
“Sophie. Sit,” he commanded sternly, returning his attention to his laces. The next thing he knew, he was on his ass, holding onto a leash minus the dog. Jumping up, Mason tried to see where she’d run off to. It was so unlike her to disobey a command from him.
Panic lanced through him, but this time it had nothing to do with his nightmares. If Sophie ran onto the road, no car would be able to see her with the fog cover until it was too late.
With a curse, he started jogging, opening himself up to people’s thoughts. Boston seemed to be a big fucking beacon for the creatures of the Nine Worlds, so he was always having to block out the white noise. Per capita, there were more gods and goddesses living there than any other major city in America.
He’d just come up to the Sailors and Soldiers Monument when he heard the thoughts.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, Kristy…Oh! What was that?
Spinning to his left, he started forward again, blindly following the words.
I wonder where you came from … your owner must be around here somewhere.
Damn, he wished this fo
g would lift.
And then, as if his wish had been granted, the sun burst out, burning the fog away faster than he’d ever seen before. It was so bright that Mason had to shield his eyes for a moment, and when he could see again, he found Sophie sitting at the feet of a gorgeous blonde woman.
*
Eir had had her face buried in her hands, trying to contain her tears, when the wet swipe of a tongue made her jerk her head up in surprise. A dog was standing in front of her, its warm brown eyes looking concerned for her.
“Hello,” she whispered, straightening. The dog was quite large with black around its muzzle, on its ears and over its eyes. Its ears were pointed up, alert and ready. The rest of its body was a caramel color of varying shades, except for its black back.
Reaching an unsure hand out, Eir added, “What’s your name, handsome?”
The dog sniffed her outstretched hand, its long, pink tongue darting out to lick her. Surprised, Eir gasped, then laughed out loud. The dog’s tail began to wag then, and it bestowed another long swipe of its wet tongue onto Eir’s face this time.
“Fuck, Sophie! No!”
Eir’s eyes shot to the side just as the fog disappeared. A man stood there, and Eir’s stomach did a little flip-flopping motion at the sight of him.
“I’m so sorry,” the man said, looping what looked like a broken leash through the metal hoop on the dog’s collar. “She doesn’t normally just run off like that,” he added, glaring down at the dog.
“She?” Eir squeaked.
The man looked at her again, and Eir’s stomach flip-flopped doubly hard.
His gaze was fixated on her for a moment before he shook his head as if to clear it. “Yeah. She.” He looked at the dog again, whose tongue was lolling out of the side of her mouth. Eir giggled at the sight of the dog’s angry owner and the seemingly unperturbed canine.
A smile broke out on the man’s face at the sound of her laughter, abruptly stopping her.
“No, don’t stop,” he said. “You have a beautiful laugh.”
Eir sighed. “I don’t have anything to laugh at right now, I’m afraid,” she admitted, dropping her eyes from the intensity of his hazel gaze.