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“You son of a—” was all John managed before he lunged forward.
He was bigger than Dan, broader in the shoulders, but Dan was faster. John tried to grab his waist, send him to the floor, but Dan sidestepped, stuck out a foot. John tripped over it, hit the concrete hard on his hands, but came up swinging.
There was fury in his eyes. But something else. Grief, it looked like.
“Enough,” I said and whipped my sword out between them before they could go in for another round. And heard clicks around the room from blades being drawn, weapons being unholstered. Probably wasn’t often that a vampire pulled a katana in this room.
John looked back at me, teeth bared. “Did you just draw a blade on me?”
“I did,” I said pleasantly. “And I’ll use it if you two don’t stop being morons. How long ago did you break up?”
His jaw worked, hand reaching toward the holster at his waist, but I shook my head.
“Don’t make me call the Apex. That would just embarrass both of us. How long?”
“A month.” But from the sadness in his eyes, only just masked, I bet it felt much shorter.
“And what would be appropriate compensation?” I asked John.
They all looked at me.
“What?”
“Compensation,” I said again. “For your... injuries.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “His head on a pike.”
“A very poor starting bid,” I said. “Try again. You want booze? Usually helps to nurse a breakup.”
“No, I don’t want fucking booze. I can buy booze for myself.” He ran a hand over his short hair, looked away. And I watched the fight die in his eyes.
The light in the bar wasn’t great, but when he moved his hand, I could see his nails, while neatly clipped and trimmed, were dark around the edges, bore scrapes along the knuckles. That might have been from fighting, but it also had another possible source.
“You a bike mechanic?”
His gaze snapped back, narrowed suspiciously. “I know my way around. Do mostly bodywork. Why?”
“Because Connor’s bike took a hit yesterday. It’s going to need repair. You up for helping the prince with that?”
It was a gamble. I had no idea if Connor would want someone else touching his bike, much less if John would be interested in working on it. Maybe he’d see that as an insult, not an offer. Butthe Keenes were royalty, and I bet the opportunity for one-on-one interaction with the prince didn’t come often. And work—especially hard, knuckle-scraping physical work—helped keep painful emotions at bay.
The bar had gone quiet now, probably with shifters wondering if I had the authority to make something like that happen, and whether John would accept, or if they’d get to enjoy a little more combat with their beers.
“I guess I wouldn’t turn down a chance to work on Thelma,” John said.
Disappointment spread behind me, but I had no doubt the Pack would get its chance again.
“Done,” I said. “I’ll make it happen.” I looked at Dan, whose smile was considering, then the rest of the bar.
“I’m sure one of you is going to piss off someone else soon enough, and you can get back to beating the shit out of each other.” I figured the company necessitated a little more salt in the language.
That got a few chuckles. “In the meantime, maybe don’t screw around with each other’s exes.”
***
Connor was waiting in the foyer when Dan and I came out of the bar. Connor took in Dan’s eye, and if he was surprised by the injury, didn’t show it.
“Jealous ex-boyfriend,” I said, glancing at Dan. “Dan is going to stay away from ex-girlfriends for a while, and John Castle, a mechanic, is going to be helping you repair Thelma.”
