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Travis was sitting at the island in the kitchen, typing out a message on his phone with one hand, the other grasping a beer. The can was so cold, it was dripping condensation onto the counter. The sight of it made Darien’s mouth water.
“Got anymore of those?”
“I just bought a case,” Travis replied flatly, not looking up from his phone. “Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Darien breathed. He swung open the fridge door and bent over, wincing as the muscles in his back tensed up. All these demons he’d been dealing with lately made him genuinely miss hunting down criminals. They were far easier to bag—and far more entertaining, especially when they groveled on the floor in fear.
The cans rolled and clanked together in the case as he retrieved one, his rings and watch tearing the cardboard. He swung the fridge door shut harder than he’d meant to, causing the appliance to quake.
A low snarl slipped from the shadows behind the cereal boxes.
“Sorry, Morty,” Darien chuckled. No sooner had he started laughing that it turned into a sharp hiss, a new wave of pain blooming through his back. With a shake of his head, he muttered, “I need to retire.”
He cracked open the beer and rifled through the contents of the cabinet next to the fridge until he found a bottle of painkillers. He took two with a swig of his drink and then joined Travis at the island. His cousin was still preoccupied with his phone, probably texting some girl he’d met at a bar, like usual. Travis was a zero-commitment kind of guy who never brought the same girl home twice.
Darien was still trying to gather his thoughts after what’d happened at the Devil’s Advocate. He would have to tell the others as soon as he found the words, but judging from how the voting had swung last night, he knew none of them would object to this turn of events. Except, of course, the whole issue involving Gaven and his men having found out where they lived.
Another day. Another fucking day for that problem. At this rate, he would have to buy a planner and start penciling in all this shit that was going on. Saturday, nine p.m.: Feed Gaven Payne-in-My-Fucking-Ass and cohorts to the monster in Blackgate Manor.
Yeah, a planner might be a good idea. The Blackgate monster, too—that might be a good idea as well, considering how well that spur-of-the-moment decision had gone last time.
Darien made to sit on one of the barstools, but pain that felt like a bolt of electricity ran up the back of his leg and into his spine, making him freeze before it could get any worse.
Travis finally looked up from his phone. “You hurt?”
Darien forced his features into neutrality and made due with leaning on the counter. “Too much Darkslaying lately.”
Travis pulled the barstool out beside him. “Take a seat.”
“I’ll stand. In case you didn’t notice, that stool almost killed me just now.” He studied Travis, who’d returned to his phone again, features somber. He was chewing his lip, and his shoulders were so tense they were nearly bunched up to his ears. “You alright?”
Travis gave a half-shrug, eyes still on that screen.
“Trav.” No answer. “Did a girl finally manage to get through that thick skin of yours?”
“No.” The word was a mumble.
“Then what is it?”
Travis finally dropped his phone to the counter. He put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair and then down his face, pulling on his lower eyelids.
And then he crossed his arms on the counter and stared straight ahead. “I need to tell you something.”
Dread curled in Darien’s stomach. He straightened, his attention drifting to the staircase, his mind whirling with every terrible possibility in the book, every single one of those possibilities involving… “Loren—”
“She’s fine,” Travis said quickly. He chewed on his lip, still staring straight ahead, looking but clearly not seeing. “But…”
“But what?” That sick feeling in his stomach was back. He squeezed the can of beer so hard, it dented under the pressure with a metallic crack. “Trav, so fucking help me—”
“Valary was here.” Travis finally looked at him, his mouth set in a firm line. “She was here this morning, and she…she threatened Loren. I got her out, but she…” Travis kept talking, but his words were far away now because Darien stopped hearing them.
Darien didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He thought he’d dealt with Valary that night at the Devil’s Advocate, but clearly he hadn’t done a good enough job of that.
And that fucking Warg had threatened his girl. In the one place in all of Angelthene that was supposed to be safe for her.
Darien bared his teeth. “Valary was here?” he snapped, interrupting the string of words still coming out of Travis’s mouth. He pulverized the beer in his grip, contents splashing the floor. Sharp aluminum cut into his hand, blood sliding through his fingers, but he didn’t feel pain. He was seeing red. “In my house?”
It was amazing what anger and adrenaline could do to the body. The pain he felt from slaying the Hound evaporated, and he knew it had nothing to do with the drugs.
