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I took a brief moment to survey each of them—get some kind of feel for what I’d be dealing with if shit went south.
The only woman in the room was fucking nuts. That much I could tell from the wild look in her gray eyes. The pale blonde in her hair contrasted the head-to-toe black she wore. Despite her lean stature, I had a feeling the woman was a powerhouse. No one sat around carelessly twirling a fucking knife if they weren’t.
The man next to her was a fucking tank with buzzed hair and a deadly blue-eyed stare. Every inch of exposed skin from his neck down was covered in tattoos—everything practically tribal in design. Maybe he was relaxed, maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell from how coiled-tight his muscles were.
The last guy in the room lounged like he fucking owned the place. The grin on his face was unnerving. It didn’t reach his stormy eyes. Side-swept dark hair fell into his face, and he didn’t seem to give two fucks about it. The deep opening in his button shirt showed off water-themed tattoos that matched the ones on his arms. Black beaded wraps around his wrist matched the one around his neck.
Yeah. I was fucked. There was no way in hell I was getting out of here in one piece—and that was before Beau and Lane came into play.
“Not going to lie, Lane,” the man with the beads began, “I thought he’d be taller.”
I growled, the sound reverberating off the walls.
“Does his bite match his bark?” the woman asked, arching a delicate brow.
“Quiet,” Lane ordered as her comment warranted a few laughs. The immediate silence he commanded was impressive. “Hello, Killian.”
“Lane.” I nodded slightly. “Want to tell me why you had Beau drag me in here?”
“Oh, we didn’t do this the fun way,” Beau interrupted. “You wanted to do it the easy fuckin’ way.”
“Beau,” Lane warned. “I appreciate you taking time out of your night to come have a chat with me.”
“Not like I had much of a choice,” I said.
“No. You didn’t,” he agreed. “Around the room. Introduce yourselves and where you’re from.”
“Keagan,” the man with the beads smiled once more. I had a strong fucking desire to wipe that grin off his goddamn face. “Before I met Lane, I was Captain of the Dead Tide in sixteen-seventy-four. I was a damn good pirate and a better swordsman.”
Great, a fucking pirate.
“Maia,” the woman said. “Amazonian warrior.”
“Aren’t those mythological creatures?” I replied.
“Aren’t wolf shifters a fictional little thing for teen girls to swoon over and write crappy fanfiction about?” she snarled, her eyes narrowing. Her knife-twirling ceased with the blade tip facing me in a warning that I didn’t miss.
“Point taken,” I muttered. Literally. “Are you old too?”
Okay, I was probably aiming to get my ass kicked but the monster inside me was pissed off. As a result, I was pissed off.
“Child, I’ve watched the world turn in ways you couldn’t begin to fathom,” Maia said. “And for the record, I’m older than Lane. The only reason I'm here is because he restored my power. Immortality in your miserable world was always my curse.”
I stared at Lane, and he nodded slightly. Jesus fuck, where the hell did he find people like them?
“My name is Dante,” the man next to Maia told me. “I was a Viking. I was the one they sent in alone to finish things. That’s all you need to know.”
Fucking lovely.
“And you?” I asked, turning to Kal. “What the fuck are you?”
“Just an Irishman out for blood,” he replied quietly with his thick accent. I would’ve bet anything he was recruited during Aodhán’s terror.
“I’m Beau, I’m a cowboy, and I look fuckin’ sexy in my Stetson,” Beau chimed in. While Lane sighed, I shook my head. Somehow, I didn’t expect less of Beau.
“And now you know my team,” Lane said. Before I could say another word, he stood and strode across the room until he was standing in front of me. I tried to take a step back but my feet wouldn’t fucking move.
“Lane,” I growled. Black magic swirled in his eyes as he grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled me closer. Jesus fuck, my body wasn’t mine to do jack shit with. I was stuck as he put a hand on my chest and began chanting something in some fucking language I had no hope of understanding. My compass tattoo blazed, each line glowing red. The pain ran fucking deep.
