back.”
Flashing Rhys a behave, asshole look, he headed toward the bar, ordering a red wine for Amanea and another ale each for him and Rhys. He watched anxiously over his shoulder, checking to see whether Rhys had scared her off yet. He tended to do that.
After what felt like a millennium, Galen returned to the table, only to find Rhys sitting there … alone.
“What the fuck?” he growled, setting their drinks down roughly.
“Some fucking light elf came over and collected her.”
Galen inspected the bar, spotting her talking to another man. “Fuck,” he cursed sharply, sitting down and downing the wine before starting in on his drink.
“There’ll be others,” Rhys drawled dryly in reply. Galen tried to ignore how his friend’s eyes morphed color as he said the words, but he knew better. Rhys couldn’t last much longer.
Galen he kept his mouth shut, though, biting back the words. She was the only eligible female in the bar, and it was probably Rhys that had scared her away, or made her look like she needed rescuing. But Rhys scared a lot of people away. It was probably the way he stared at them like he wanted to slit their throats for no other reason than that they were breathing the same air as him, but it could also have been the fact that there was something hidden behind his eyes—something dangerous that made the hairs at the back of their necks prickle and their hearts race. If only they knew …
Years ago—before the Fall—Galen had rescued Rhys from a near fatal beating by some Aesirean fuckers who had decided that his mixed blood was a good enough reason to attack and nearly kill him through some cruel and unusual torture. Rhys had sworn his life to Galen that day, but Galen wasn’t into the whole servitude bullshit. Still, they had been inseparable since then.
Downing the rest of his drink, Galen let out a heavy sigh. It looked like neither of them was going to get their cock sucked unless they picked up a pro. Galen looked at his watch. There was still time to find a woman, but by the flashes of gold in Rhys’s eyes, they had to go find one fucking fast.
Indicating it was time to leave, they both stood up and moved towards the door. When a low snarl vibrated from Rhys’s throat, Galen’s eyes cut to his face, noting the way his best friend’s eyes were staying solid yellow for longer now.
They had to find a way for him to expend his volatile energy and soon.
Chapter 6
As Loki listened to the Aesirean prattle on about the All-Father, he was smugly pleased that at least some things hadn’t changed. The gods still liked to gossip, and Odin was still their favorite topic of conversation.
Leaning casually against the hot dog cart the guy was working from, Loki asked, “So you heard he’s in Chicago?” He had changed his appearance slightly just in case anyone recognized him.
The god loaded a dog with relish and handed it to the human waiting in line. “Yeah. That’s what I heard.”
“Why would he go there?” Loki took his first bite of the hot dog in his hand, finding the flavors and sensations unexpectedly pleasant. He chewed thoughtfully, waiting for the Aesir to answer.
Running the sleeve of his shirt underneath his nose, the god shrugged and looked out at the unseasonably sunny Boston day. “He was only staying here because Frigg was here. But now that she’s dead, why would he hang around?”
“His Valkyries?” Loki quizzed.
The god barked out a laugh. “Odin hasn’t been in Bryn’s good graces for a very long time. I doubt he’d hang around for them.”
Loki thought about that for a moment, but dismissed the idea. Odin would never leave Bryn unprotected—not when she was the key to his very survival. But that little titbit wasn’t public knowledge. If the All-Father were in Chicago, it wouldn’t be for an extended stay. He would come back to Boston … unless he had a very good reason not to.
“So what’s in Chicago?” Loki asked casually, wiping his
Learning to Kill: Stories