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“Get out of here,” I repeat, growling so she knows I mean business.
She scrambles backward, still under cover of the table, cowering at the barest edge. Her fear for me burns, even as necessary as it might be.
“What about you?” she croaks, still worried about me even though I just slapped her.
Her voice shakes even through her fangs as she tries to keep herself in check.
“Rhys is here somewhere. He’ll back me up once he finally sacks up and gets out of his truck. I’ll be fine. Meet you at the cabin?”
Evan takes two deep breaths, one after the other, before she gives me a hesitant nod.
“Good. Get the hell out of here so I can kill these idiots. Say hi to the parental units for me.”
Evan smiles hesitantly before a swirl of black smoke envelopes her and she disappears, traveling to her family’s cabin in Grand Lake. Now all I need to do is take out the trash…
What I didn’t tell her was that Rhys likely won’t get out of his truck. He most likely won’t come in at all, and depending on where he parked, he might not see the stream of people flooding out of here like their hair is on fire or hear the shots from these idiots’ hand cannons.
That’s on me, I suppose. I’ve made it clear over the last century and a half that I don’t want to see him, and I don’t need his help. Typically, I don’t, and today is probably no different.
Maybe.
I’m pretty sure I can take care of these two jokers on my own, but what if they aren’t alone?
What if this is it? What if these are my last free breaths?
A guttural gasp breaks into my thoughts, and I shrug out of my jacket. A man not ten feet from me has a bullet in his gut. I try to keep my eyes closed as the vision of his death on an operating table fills my mind, little details about the man coming with it. I didn’t need a vision to tell me he was a goner, but I lay down cover fire as I sneak out of my hidey-hole to drag him to the modicum of safety the table provides.
Pressing my jacket to his wound, I whisper, “Everything is going to be all right, George. Don’t you worry. Keep pressure on that, okay? Help is coming.”
It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. All George wanted was to buy a little art for his college-aged daughter. He didn’t ask to be gunned down in the middle of an art show.
A burning-hot prickle to my skin has me sucking in deep breaths for calm. The absolute last thing this poor man needs to see in his final moments is me turning into a smoldering Valkyrie.
He needs vengeance.
And he’ll get it as soon as Rhys removes his head from his ass and gets in here.
Whenever that will be.
Chapter Three
RHYS
Guilt is something I live with on a daily basis, but it gets worse on days like today. Today I get to play stalker to a woman I’ve been in love with every single day for the last century and a half.
A woman I cannot have.
A woman who hates me with every single fiber of her being.
Go me.
As her soldier, I’ve been bound to Aurelia for nearly one hundred and sixty years. I thought as a young man I knew what love was. The inane notion I assumed was love as a boy is nothing compared to the iron chain tying her to me now.
I’ll never love another woman—the bond assures that. It also ensures that as long as she hates me, I’ll never be happy. Because that’s what a soldier is.
A guardian, a lover, a husband. Not that she’ll ever accept me now.
Hell, it’s been fifty years since we were even in the same room together. But that’s my fault. After I saved her ass from assassins, I got the bright idea to kiss her, and she almost took my fucking head off. Likely didn’t because she’d lose hers, too.
