Dark Desire (3 page)

The club was absolutely heaving with people; gods and humans were rubbing shoulders, drinks were being spilled, women were being hit on, and Mason had to keep his eyes moving and his instincts sharp. Being able to hear people’s thoughts had always seemed to be some kind of burden, but right now, he saw the fucking silver lining. With the recent events involving Bryn and the other Valkyries still hanging over his head—weighing on his conscience—Mason listened out for any information that might fill in the blanks Bryn had refused to.

When he started to hear the thoughts of—what he’d later found out had been—gods, he knew he was in for a whole world of pain. The only way to get away from the cacophony of sound was to concentrate on not hearing anything, like hitting the mute button on a remote control.

Slowly, the buzzing began to die down until all he was left with was the sound of the gods’ actual voices, mingled with the human voices, chattering in his ears. Letting out a relieved breath, he focused on Bryn sitting at the bar. Her eyes were on the glass in her hand, her mind obviously far away from what was happening around her in the Eye.

Mason refrained from listening in to see what was bothering her, finding the violation distasteful. Instead, he busied himself by scanning the crowd again. A brunette sidled into his line of sight, the whisper of a smile on her lips.

“Hi, handsome,” she said, her voice rolling out in a guttural purr that only a three-pack-a-day smoker could pull off. Mason’s eyes flicked down to her cleavage, which was proudly on display in a low-cut blue and white paneled jersey dress. After getting a good long look at the goods, his eyes returned to her heavily made-up face.

“Can I help you with something?”

She smirked like she’d just gotten exactly what she’d wanted. “Bathroom?”

Jerking his chin in the direction of the back corner of the building, he said, “Back there, past the black curtain.”

Looking pleased with herself, she touched his forearm lightly. “Thanks.” Turning, she swaggered away, her hips swaying and holding Mason’s attention for a little longer than normal.

“I thought you preferred blondes,” Bryn said behind him. Mason turned around to see his boss standing there, her arms folded loosely across her chest. The golden sword tattooed on the side of her neck reflected back glimpses of their surroundings.

Mason laughed. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to women.”

The Valkyrie snorted at him and shook her head, a small grin on her face. “You always know what to say to make me slightly feel better.”

Of course, Bryn hadn’t had a lot to smile about recently. The light that had been in her eyes a few moments ago was now gone.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked, touching her shoulder.

Her blue-ringed eyes rose to his face. “I’ll be fine.”

“You still haven’t told me what happened to you.”

She took a step away, looking down at the ground, her hands curled into tight fists. She refused to meet his eyes. “Some other time, Mason.”

He wasn’t going to push her if she wasn’t ready to talk, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be there when she was ready. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied, letting her hear his conviction.

She got busy surveying the customers in the bar to avoid his concerned stare. “We’re swamped tonight. Better keep your eyes and ears open.”

He nodded roughly. “Yeah, you got it.”

A month had gone by already. Mason hadn’t heard any more about what had happened, other than Bryn had been taken by a god who was convinced she was the key to killing Odin. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait to hear the whole story. Whatever it was, it had broken something inside her.

And that broke something in him. Mason would have killed for Bryn. He should have been looking out for her, but it had always been the other way around. She’d given him a job when he’d really needed one. Mason had known she was different right from the start. Apart from her stunning looks, and the golden tattoo on her neck, she gave off an almost palpable vibe of “otherness”.

Mason returned to watching men come in, carefully looking them over before allowing them access to the higher levels of the club. If they weren’t wearing the right thing, or hadn’t made a prior booking to be there, he refused them entry. The Eye could afford to be that exclusive.

He was just letting the last group past him when he felt a deep thrum in his blood; the deep thrum that was Korvain, calling him, searching him out. Mason couldn’t feel it all the time—only when Korvain was actively looking for him. He turned his head just as the Mare pushed into the club from behind the “Staff Only” door. Even though Mason was technically Korvain’s boss, he knew who was top dog and when to follow orders. Mason hadn’t survived the marines without learning that important lesson.

Fear instantly gripped Mason, a shiver traveling down his spine, setting his fight-or-flight instincts on high alert. As the guy prowled into the room, humans and gods scattered, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Mason knew what he was—a Shadow Walker, and also the last full-blooded Mare in existence. The bastard was powerful. Mason had tasted that in his blood when he’d taken a blood oath and bound himself to the male. Hell, he could taste it even now as if it hung in the air.

“Mason,” Korvain rumbled, his dark brows drawing down over shadow-filled eyes as he glowered at those who stared. Mason looked up and noticed the three-foot exclusion zone Korvain had inadvertently created.

“What’s up?” Mason asked, meeting the guy’s eyes. Mason liked the Mare, mainly because he had Bryn’s back. They were definitely on the same team when it came to protecting that Valkyrie.

Korvain moved his body closer to Mason, herding him toward the wall, blocking him from view and shielding their conversation. “I just need to reiterate the fact that you need to keep what you know locked down. Nobody can find out what you know. Feel me?”

Mason swallowed. Korvain would kill him if he ever breathed a word about the other world of gods and goddesses. “I told you before I wouldn’t. Besides, I thought our blood oath took care of that?”

Korvain smiled unpleasantly, baring his fangs. Up close, they looked at least two inches long, gleaming despite the low light. “That blood oath isn’t a gag order.”

“I wouldn’t talk about Bryn and the others. They’re too important to me.”

Korvain kept up the threatening smile, but the hardness drained from his eyes. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He looked at his watch and moved his big body away. “I have to go, but keep your ears open tonight. If you hear the name Darrion, I want a report as soon as I get back.”

Mason let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You got it, but where are you going?”

“I have to go get one of the other Valkyries from work. Bryn doesn’t want any of her girls traveling without muscle.”

“Until Darrion is caught?” Mason asked, piecing the puzzle together all on his own. He had no fucking idea who Darrion was, but he was on Korvain’s shit list, which couldn’t have been a good place to be.

“Yeah,” Korvain said. “Keep your ears and eyes sharp.”

Mason looked out over the crowd. Every single set of eyes was on them. As Korvain strode from the room, those eyes followed him. When the door slammed shut behind him, the whole room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Yeah, Mason knew exactly how they felt.

Chicago …

Galen watched his partner finishing off their current hit in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows of the high rise apartment block nestled in the Chicago skyline.

The male cowering at the end of Rhys’s knife was making soft mewling sounds in the back of his throat. With a wicked grin, and his blue eyes flashing brilliant gold for a split second, Rhys plunged his knife into the human’s throat, the pitiful bleatings turning into his final gurgling breaths.

Galen refocused his eyes onto the dark waters of Lake Michigan beyond the glass. Lights from the surrounding buildings bounced off the nearly flat surface, creating a kaleidoscope of blues, yellows and reds. It was almost serene, until he caught glimpses of the fresh blood splashed on the front of his shirt in his reflection.

He shrugged.

Occupational hazard.

Galen turned back around to face Rhys, who was just getting to his feet, his hands and forearms slick with blood. Galen’s eyes drifted down to the corpse, a sadistic smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

Craine was going to be happy with them.

“We’re done here,” he said. Rhys nodded once and faded from the room. Galen wandered over to the front door, stepping over the body casually, and unlocked it. He didn’t have to worry about the human authorities tracking them, recognizing them, although their crimes were already notorious.

As Walkers, they would never be discovered and never be caught.

As Craine’s wet men, they were untouchable.

When Galen faded back to the apartment, he found Rhys at the kitchen sink, washing away the blood caking his skin. Galen didn’t know why their boss had wanted their latest target liquidated, but what Craine wanted, Craine got.

And in all honesty, Galen didn’t give a fuck.

He’d been born and bred for this shit. Killing. Blood. Torture. He thrived on the hunt, on the kill. Pulling his T-shirt over his head, Galen dumped it on the ground as he entered his bedroom.

With blood still sticky on his stomach, he had a shower and wandered back into his room. Slipping his arms into a fresh shirt, he looked at his reflection in the mirror as he buttoned up the black silk. He double-checked he didn’t have any other blood left on him; nothing said serial murderer like blood spots on your neck, after all.

Flashing himself a confident smile in the mirror, Galen returned to the kitchen, where he found Rhys in a fresh set of clothes.

“You ready?” he asked. Rhys’s pale blue eyes glittered with excitement. Nothing got him hornier than killing. Galen almost felt sorry for the female that Rhys would decide he wanted that night. “Ice?”

Without a word, Rhys faded from the kitchen. Galen took a moment to take stock of the apartment they shared. They were currently unaffiliated with the Chicago guild master, and that was the way they wanted it to stay. Of course, being owned by another Mare did have its advantages—safety, mostly—but that reason didn’t really seem to have much credence anymore.

Before the Fall, if any Mare wasn’t connected to a guild, whether as a Walker or in any other position, they had more chance of being killed by Odin; the old adage of strength in numbers was definitely true. But
since
the Fall, since Odin had lost his power and his Valkyries, Shadow Walkers had been on their own, unless their term with their master happened to be a damn long one.

Closing his eyes, Galen faded from the apartment in Chicago, rematerializing in the alleyway beside the bar, Ice. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped from the shadows and joined Rhys, who was waiting patiently—as always—against the brick wall. Indicating the way with his head, Galen led them inside the bar, stepping through the door and into the near-arctic environment the owner and proprietor, Skadi, liked to maintain.

Towering over the high bar, the female Jotunn was serving mead made from the traditional recipes from the old country. Her ice-blonde hair was hanging in her silver-frosted eyes, her well-proportioned body moving with lithe grace. As the muscles in her upper arms and forearms moved, the ripple of the albino snakeskin tattoos that ran all over her body moved with them. She looked up when the door slammed behind Galen and Rhys, her bored expression unchanging.

Galen’s eyes shifted around the bar, taking note of who was in the room. Rhys did the same, but when his body language changed—became tenser—Galen followed his gaze. It was stuck on Tyr sitting at the back of the room. The god’s whole body was slumped forward over the table, the stump where his right hand used to be resting beside his drink.

This could be problematic. Rhys was generally all right—he still looked like a light elf—but Galen’s black hair gave away his dark elf heritage. The standing order to kill all dark elves hung perpetually over his head, and there were still some among the Aesir who had become bounty hunters just for the fun of it.

But the more he studied the god, the more he realized that Tyr—the former god of war—would not give them any trouble. Rumor had it that after the Fall, Tyr got lost in human vices like alcohol and drugs. Although they didn’t really have the same negative effect on gods as they did humans, Galen could see how worn Tyr had become.

Rhys grabbed them a table while Galen moved towards Skadi at the bar, acutely aware of how her eyes followed him.

“Two tankards of ale,” Galen told the ice giant, leaning his forearms on the bar. He was only there for a second before cursing and stepping back, as a thirty-foot albino serpent slithered around his legs. If there was one thing Galen couldn’t stand, it was large snakes, and when it came to Skadi, everything she owned was big.

It took a few minutes for the snake to inch past his feet, and by the time he stepped back up to the bar, two overflowing mugs had been set in front of him. Placing a couple of bills on the rough bar top, Galen took the drinks and made his way over to Rhys.

He shivered when he sat down, catching the last two feet of the snake’s pale, thin tail slithering around the other end of the bar.

“That fucking snake defies logic,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” Rhys asked, tipping back his tankard and draining half his beer.

“Skadi keeps the temperature hovering near freezing in this damn place, yet that
thing
crawls around here like it’s got a goddamn rocket up its ass.”

Rhys’s lips twitched—just about as close to a smile as the guy got—but he didn’t say anything more. Galen kept an eye on where the snake had disappeared around the bar while he took the first long drink from his ale. Rhys stood up a minute later, wandering over towards the bar.

His mug was empty already.

Fuck, the guy either needed to get flat-on-his-ass drunk or laid … and soon.

Galen relaxed back into the booth and took another sip from his glass, his eyes moving around the outer perimeter. There were probably twenty or so gods and goddesses, giants and elves in the bar tonight.

But he didn’t care about ninety-nine percent of them—all he was looking for was a female he and Rhys could use for a couple of hours—and then his eyes latched on to a goddess he hadn’t ever seen around before.

She was standing by the jukebox, carefully selecting some music to play.

Her corn-silk hair was curled, inching down to the small of her back, highlighting her small waist and large bust. From his current angle, Galen couldn’t see what color her eyes were, but if she were Aesirean like he thought she was, they were probably going to be blue.

Rhys returned to the table, another drink in his hand. Galen pointed out the goddess to Rhys with a covert nod of his head in the direction of the jukebox. His best friend’s eyes zeroed in on the female, dragging down her body and lingering on her ass. His tongue swiped along his bottom lip.

Ding, ding, ding.

We have a winner.

Galen stood up and wandered over to her, leaving the near-mute Rhys to sit back and watch the magic happen. As he got to within a few feet of her, his nostrils flared, taking in the delicate scent of rosewater. She looked up, startled, as he sidled up beside her.

“Hi,” he said, holding her pale blue gaze.

She smiled demurely and looked away for a moment, a blush sending a flush of color across her cheeks. “Hello,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the jukebox.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” Taking her free hand, he brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips over her delicate knuckles. She wasn’t the usual type he’d go for. He preferred a woman who looked like she could take what he and Rhys dished out.

She didn’t look like she could, but she was the only acceptable choice, the only unattached female in the place other than Skadi.

“Amanea,” she replied, brushing some of her long hair back and sweeping it behind her ear … her slightly elongated ear. She was a light elf—not one of the Aesir as he’d thought.

“Amanea,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Beautiful whisper.”

Amanea’s eyes widened before she dropped her gaze again.

“Come and have a drink with me and my friend,” Galen coaxed, pulling at her hand. The light elf looked over in Rhys’s direction and froze—a mouse ensnared in the hypnotic stare of a stalking cat.

Leaning in, Galen whispered into her ear. “He’s harmless, I promise … besides, I can protect you.” Pulling back, he watched Amanea’s body relax slightly. With one more gentle tug, he had her following him back to the table. “What are you drinking?” he asked, still grasping her hand as she lowered herself down into one of the chairs.

“Red wine?” she replied, her inflection making it more question than answer.

“You got it. Be right back.”

Flashing Rhys a
behave, asshole
look, he headed toward the bar, ordering a red wine for Amanea and another ale each for him and Rhys. He watched anxiously over his shoulder, checking to see whether Rhys had scared her off yet. He tended to do that.

After what felt like a millennium, Galen returned to the table, only to find Rhys sitting there … alone.

“What the fuck?” he growled, setting their drinks down roughly.

“Some fucking light elf came over and collected her.”

Galen inspected the bar, spotting her talking to another man. “Fuck,” he cursed sharply, sitting down and downing the wine before starting in on his drink.

“There’ll be others,” Rhys drawled dryly in reply. Galen tried to ignore how his friend’s eyes morphed color as he said the words, but he knew better. Rhys couldn’t last much longer.

Galen he kept his mouth shut, though, biting back the words. She was the
only
eligible female in the bar, and it was probably Rhys that had scared her away, or made her look like she needed rescuing. But Rhys scared a lot of people away. It was probably the way he stared at them like he wanted to slit their throats for no other reason than that they were breathing the same air as him, but it could also have been the fact that there was something hidden behind his eyes—something dangerous that made the hairs at the back of their necks prickle and their hearts race. If only they knew …

Years ago—before the Fall—Galen had rescued Rhys from a near fatal beating by some Aesirean fuckers who had decided that his mixed blood was a good enough reason to attack and nearly kill him through some cruel and unusual torture. Rhys had sworn his life to Galen that day, but Galen wasn’t into the whole servitude bullshit. Still, they had been inseparable since then.

Downing the rest of his drink, Galen let out a heavy sigh. It looked like neither of them was going to get their cock sucked unless they picked up a pro. Galen looked at his watch. There was still time to find a woman, but by the flashes of gold in Rhys’s eyes, they had to go find one fucking fast.

Indicating it was time to leave, they both stood up and moved towards the door. When a low snarl vibrated from Rhys’s throat, Galen’s eyes cut to his face, noting the way his best friend’s eyes were staying solid yellow for longer now.

They had to find a way for him to expend his volatile energy and soon.