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“Fine,” she huffed. “What are you bringing me?”
Orrin chuckled. The kid was incorrigible. “What would you like, princess?”
“I want a pony.”
“You already have three.”
Her giggle was adorable, and it loosened the knot in his chest.
“Surprise me.”
He could do that. It helped that she was easy to please.
“I think that’s him.” Tyr pointed toward the end of the long drive just as a pair of headlights turned off the main road.
In the absence of a suitable replacement, he had become the de facto leader of the Nightstar Guard, though he had made it clear on multiple occasions that he didn’t want the job. With any luck, he was about to get his wish.
“Ili, I have to go. I’ll talk to you when I get home next week.”
“Have fun! I love you.”
“Love you, too.” He disconnected the call and returned his phone to the pocket of his cloak just as a midnight blue McLaren coasted to a stop in front of them.
“Damn.” Sindri whistled. “That’s one hell of a ride.”
As the youngest member of the group, the kid was easily impressed. This time, however, even Orrin did a double take.
The driver’s door opened upward instead of out, and a male dressed in a tailored, pinstriped suit with a powder blue tie exited the vehicle. Standing several inches taller than Orrin’s own six feet, with broad shoulders and thighs the size of tree trunks, he definitely had the build of a Guardian.
A neatly trimmed beard and mustache frame a set of thin lips, but the rest of the male’s features were obscured beneath the brim of a black fedora. The figure paused in front of the sports car, his head slightly bowed, and his massive frame visibly stiffened.
Without warning, a low, ominous growl filled the night, the sound seemingly coming from every direction. His arm shot out to the side, his palm facing forward, and a sword appeared in his hand, the gilded hilt glittering in the lanterns that lined the steps.
Orrin’s Guard answered in kind, each of them pulling a set of blades from their belts as they stepped forward to form a wall in front of him.
“Sindri,” Tyr said in a quiet, calm voice. “Take Prince Nightstar inside.”
The Guardian broke away from the group, but the moment he gripped Orrin’s arm, another threatening growl erupted from the stranger. Sindri vanished, only to reappear directly in front of the newcomer, his booted feet dangling off the ground as the male held him by the neck.
Then all hell broke loose.
After tossing Sindri several feet away as if he weighed nothing, the guy removed his fedora, spun it in his palm once, then tossed it high into the air. His mouth quirked on one side, and his eyes glowed red and yellow like flames as he strode forward.
Tyr snarled and rushed forward to meet him. Though the biggest and most experienced of the group, he was dispatched with a single blow to his face from the hilt of the sword. His head snapped back, blood sprayed into the air, and he crumpled to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Rune and Aksel approached from opposite sides, but they were no match for this fearsome stranger.
Crouching low, he swept one leg out, dropping Rune to the ground, while he sliced his blade across the back of Aksel’s knees. Rising gracefully to his full height, he rammed his elbow into Aksel’s face. Before the Guardian even hit the ground, the guy rocked forward and kicked back with his other foot. It connected solidly with Rune’s chest, sending the shifter flying into one of the stone dragons that stood sentinel on either side of the stairs.
Rooted in place by some invisible force, unable to move or even speak, all Orrin could do was watch in shock and horror as the dark figure approached.
Stopping a few feet away, he dropped his sword, which disappeared in a cloud of smoke after clattering to the ground. With his gaze still locked with Orrin’s, he held his right hand out, catching the fedora and casually placing it back atop his head.
The flames that burned in his eyes dimmed, leaving irises of burnt orange ringed in black. With high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a sharp nose, he was quite handsome.
At least, that was what Orrin might have thought if he wasn’t practically pissing himself in terror.
“You must be Orrin Nightstar. I’m Erus.”
