***
Zander shifted out from under the loose weight of Austin’s arm and drew the duvet around her shoulders to keep her warm in his absence. He lifted Stetson from his dog bed on the floor and set the chocolate lab next to his beloved to guard her in her sleep. Stepping back from their bed, he waved his hand over the Divinity candle on the bureau alter. Three wicks on the wide, ivory pillar burst to life and the amber light danced across her skin.
He brushed his fingers through the length of chestnut hair strewn across his pillow. Touching her brought him a peace he never knew existed, a balm which eased every moment of death and disgust he’d survived. She was his heaven.
After forcing oxygen into lead lungs, he weakened the flames, waiting until he was certain the golden glow posed no threat. With a gaze to the heavens he sent up the prayer that had become his nightly mantra over the past months.
Watch and protect her, milady. I beg of you.
His cowgirl was the heart beating behind his ribs, the blood in his veins, and the marrow in his bones. She’d been targeted because of him. Twice. If she died—
He couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought. He had to keep faith. Otherwise he would lose his motherfucking mind. When the subtle scent of tallow filled his sinuses and Austin’s breathing sank back into a slow, deep rhythm, Zander knew it was time to get gone.
After checking his watch, he exhaled heavy and turned from their bed. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t watch over her 24/7. He couldn’t. He was a garrison commander, and had responsibilities to his men and to the innocents living within his streets. Annnd she would probably try to kill him.
Chuckling to himself, he grabbed his black jeans from the floor where Austin tossed them earlier and padded quietly to the door. He stomped his mighty thighs into his jeans and covered his naked ass before heading out to the hall. Since the arrival of his wings two months ago, he rarely fussed with shirts around the loft. He needed a few of the custom tunics the Seraph wore. He’d have to get Kyrian to score him some—
“You okay, bossman?” Seth whispered, emerging from the door across the hall.
Not even close. He nodded and the two of them headed toward the dining room. “What do we know about Kyrian?”
“Nothing worth bragging about.”
Shit. Zander scrubbed his jaw and exhaled. “I don’t want Austin to get even a hint that Kyrian is AWOL. If she does—”
“She’ll be in full-tilt Texan panic. I’ll make sure everyone keeps it in the vault.”
As the two of them made their way through the loft, Seth filled him in on what was on the table tonight. Lot of shit stirring in the Otherworld. When they arrived at the long harvest table in the dining room, Zander grabbed a bottle of JD from the bar and Seth took his seat next to his twin. Liquid sedative in hand, Zander closed the doors and looked over his warriors.
Shit, the room felt empty.
Hark poured a dram of Scotch into his coffee, the Nubian’s expression as dark as his skin. Brennus flicked his lighter and lit a cigar. The Celt exhaled a puff of pale-blue smoke and swung his General’s braid out of his face.
Z did the math and cursed. He hated seeing empty chairs.
The head of the table was now his, but it still it felt wrong sitting in Tanek’s seat. And to his left, well that one should have the Greek sitting in it as his second-in-command. Tanek—dead. Kyrian—missing. And— “Where’s Danel?”
Lot of asses shifting in seats.
Zander expanded his senses through the loft, and then the building. D’s presence rang strong down in the guest quarters opposite the gym. This shit stopped now. “Give me a minute.”
He took the trip through the foyer and strode to the locked door to the stairwell. After keying in the code to gain access to the corridor beyond, he jogged down one flight. It would be so much easier if Danel stayed in the main loft. Though, with the way the Persian hated humans, he didn’t want the guy anywhere near Austin in his current mindset.
He closed the distance to D’s quarters with slow, deliberate strides. What to say to the guy? The unfairness of the situation was legion; once a proud, lethal warrior, Danel secluded himself, useless. Once utterly self-sufficient; now, the Persian found himself utterly crippled.
Zander didn’t bother to knock.
Shit. The guy’s quarters looked like an H-bomb had detonated inside. Nah, more like an F-U-bomb, he supposed. Danel lounged in yesterday’s clothes, bleary-eyed, on a bed that could very well have been ground zero for the blast. A fresh bottle of Herradura occupied his remaining hand, while another dozen empties lay scattered under the sheets, tipped on the side table, and tossed on the heaps of dirty clothes covering what had once been a hardwood floor.
Zander scrubbed his hand over the throb exploding behind his eyes and exhaled hard. “What’s with the liquor store routine? Your parents away for the weekend?”
Danel pursed his lips and sucked back another swallow. “Grunge is in. Saw it on HGtv.”
Closing them in together, Zander leaned back against the door. Okay. Right. This sucked all round. “The squad is at the table. I noticed you’re not.”
“Must have missed the text.”
“I figured, so here I am, delivering your invite in person.”
Muttering, Danel struggled to right himself on his pillows and got reacquainted with the mouth of his tequila bottle. “I have to pass. I can’t feel my legs at the moment . . . or my dagger hand either, for that matter. Right. That’s because it’s fucking gone.” He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head clunk back against the wooden headboard.
Zander shuffled through the carpet of debris and pulled the desk chair over. He needed to have this convo looking into the Persian’s whiskey-colored eyes. “Look D, I get that this is a game changer for you. No one’s expecting business as usual but there’s no pink slip in our line of work. I’ve let you deal with your situation your own way for too long. It’s time you pulled up your big-boy pants and got your shit together. You are still part of this squad.”
“My situation? Part of the squad?” It was a while before Danel met his gaze, and when he did, his eyes shined glassy. “No one can look me in the eye, Z. I’m a walking reminder that we’re mortal now, and they could end up benched, or worse.”
“Yeah, worse—like Tanek—and now maybe Kyrian.”
Danel swiped his sleeve across his eyes and looked up. “Kyrian? What’s with the Greek?”
“He’s missing. Maybe dead. Almost definitely taken. All we know is that he’s in the fucking wind. You need to get your ass to the motherfucking table and help us find him.”
“What help am I, with a meat stump where my dagger hand used to be?”
Zander lurched over the bed before he knew what his feet were doing. Next thing he knew, he was nose to nose, getting dizzy off Danel’s ode to oblivion. “Stop wallowing and listen up. The mortality thing is a mind-fuck for all of us. Get over it. If Kyrian’s alive, we need to find him and bring him home.”
“Home? You mean here?” The air around them arced as Danel scoffed. “Yeah, Z, I feel how much you want to roll out that welcome mat.”
Zander fought back his beast’s protest, but D was right. He’d handled this wrong from the get-go. He’d let his unleashed aggression dictate his actions. It was a mistake. And one he might never be able to undo. “Kyrian is one of our own.”
Danel shook his head, set the bottle on the nightstand, and swung his legs clumsily over the edge of the bed. God, the guy was faced. “Now he’s one of our own? Now that he’s missing? Fuck, Z, you’re one cold-hearted bastard, you know that?”
Zander let that sting of truth smack him hard in the face. “Go ahead, Danel, get it off your chest. Take your shot.”
The warrior got to his feet and after checking his balance twice, met him chest-to-chest. “You let your best friend and second-in-command twist in the wind, tracking Austin’s shooter solo, trying to regain his place at your side while you cozied up with your wife, enjoying your new life. You’ve been a stubborn, violent, jealous ass, but now that the Greek might be dead, now you do a 180?”
Danel pressed his finger square into Zander’s sternum. “Austin may not know the whole of what happened between you two, but if Kyrian is dead, you better believe she’ll know it’s your fault. She’ll resent you forever. Maybe even hate you. And you know what? You’ll deserve it.”
Zander’s jaw clenched until bone cracked. “No doubt.”