by Jane Cousins
The fireman’s lift over the Vulcan’s broad shoulder hadn’t helped his still throbbing head. The appearance of dark brown wings sprouting from Lanyard’s back had been a surprise, but one he didn’t get a chance to dwell on as the Vulcan immediately leapt into the sky, fast.
Shit, all Fen could do was close his eyes, as they sped upwards at a dizzying rate. Then they were heading down, a tingling buzz ran through his body and suddenly they were flying upwards once more.
He chanced a glance at the ground, recognising the blackened mess of the Haven Bay Town Square. The Vulcan hadn’t been lying about those pocket dimensions, they were the only way to fly. No wonder they’d never caught sight of the bugger.
Fen had quickly shouted out some directions and two minutes later for his trouble he found himself being dumped onto the pitted, cracked floorboards of his living room. The Vulcan’s wings disappearing just as mysteriously as they had appeared.
Ouch. The Vulcan had dropped Fen with no more care than he might drop a sack of rocks. At least he was conscious this time to roll with it, unlike back in the cavern when he was fairly sure the bastard had dropped him on his face. Explaining the concussion, swollen eye and bruising.
Fen managed to sit up, his number one priority was to concentrate and direct his air magic to where it was needed. The manacles around his wrists were once more molten hot to the touch, thanks to his new Vulcan best buddy.
Lanyard primped. He finger-combed and tousled his hair. Checked that his breeches were grit free, and then proceeded to flex his impressive biceps and pec muscles. Bloody hell. Any moment Fen expected a group of stylists to break in and rush to Lanyard’s side to fuss over the man.
The Vulcan was handsome, there was no denying it, but his vanity… it was a surprise the man could fly, given how huge his ego was. So far the smug douchebag had proven to be shallow, humourless, and lacking in any and all forms of empathy.
Honestly, Fen would never tease Declan again. His cousin would win out over the Vulcan in the handsome stakes by a hair’s breath. Women everywhere cooing and sighing in a lovelorn manner in his wake. But Declan had a sly, self deprecating sense of humour. And his cousin certainly never checked his reflection in every piece of shiny reflective surface in a room.
And he sure as hell didn’t think he was the Goddess’s gift to the Earth, just because he was stunningly good looking. In fact, Fen didn’t think looks factored into how Declan gauged his self-worth. If they were gone tomorrow, Declan would probably just grin, shrug, make a joke and move on. If this flying Fabio lost his looks, he’d probably collapse into a sobbing heap of self pity. Hmmm, or given the size of those biceps, pummel the World into oblivion.
Considering just how seriously obnoxious the Vulcan clan appeared to be, why had no one ever tried to wipe them off the face of the Earth before?
If Lanyard was a typical example, they were posers and dickheads, not fighters. Sure their size was intimidating. But based on his research, the height and all those muscles were nothing but genetics.
The Godling didn’t appear to be sporting any visible weapons, which Fen reconfirmed with a quick, reluctant look at the Vulcan’s tight breeches. Nope, definitely not hiding anything there.
Given Lanyard’s appearance out of the lava pool, Fen could only assume that he could control fire and its by-products. But could he create it? Had Lanyard made himself vulnerable by coming here today? Would it be as simple as Brodie striding in, calling Raven and holding the edge of her sword to the Vulcan’s thick neck?
Hmmm, no, there was something about the way Lanyard moved around the room, sure he strode around like he owned the place but… Fen suddenly knew. Shit.
The Vulcan picked up and checked his reflection in every surface but those made of metal. Fen stared down at the fast cooling metal manacles, his air magic slipping between his raw flesh and the metal. Then Fen considered the rocks that Lanyard had used to start his fires, volcanic rocks, high in metal content. Fuck, the man could melt metal. Brodie’s sword would be useless against the douchebag.
Damn, and he needed to warn her somehow. He’d seen how devastated she’d been by the loss of Reaper when she’d saved his life back in the Town Square. He wouldn’t be responsible for her losing Raven also. Couldn’t bear to see her hurt. Plan… he just needed to come up with a plan.
* * *
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Just think of it as camouflage.” Elijah’s low, gravelly tone sounded in Brodie’s ear as she drove towards Fen’s house in a borrowed, dark green SUV.
“Camouflage is rubbing dirt on your face and sticking tree branches in your hair.” Brodie glanced down once more in disgust. “It’s not wearing a flimsy blue dress decorated with silly pink flowers.”
“I told you, they’re rosebuds.”
Brodie bit down hard on the need to snort derisively. The rosebuds had been Elijah’s idea. In fact, he’d had something to say about every aspect of her appearance. From her hair. It needs to be down, falling softly around your shoulders. To her footwear. You can’t wear those boots, they scream ass kicking, think dainty, think sexy. I don’t suppose we have time to paint your toenails?
“I still say I look stupid.” Brodie muttered under her breath. She needed something, anything to focus on rather than Fen.
“Okay then, think of your outfit as a disguise. You heard the message the same as I did. Fen must have a reason for his instructions.”
Brodie frowned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. She had listened to Fen’s message at least ten times. He sounded okay. A little strained maybe, but he was alive. But the message. The message had been a little unusual, and even more confusing.
“Brodie, time for games is over. Fix yourself up in your prettiest dress and get your sweet, sweet butt to my place, your admirer is getting impatient.”
Elijah had decoded the message to mean that the Vulcan wasn’t hunting Brodie with the intention of hurting her, the demi-god was instead, a persistent suitor.
Ten minutes later she was wearing a thigh skimming flowery dress with a low neckline and cap sleeves. The sleeves had been another of Elijah’s suggestions, something about the mix of demure and sexy would send the right signals.
That had gotten her attention. Signals? What were the right signals?
Freyja, Fen’s driveway was coming up. She’d been so busy trying not to think about Fen, and fidgeting in the inappropriate battle outfit, she had kind of tuned out all the instructions Elijah had been muttering over the comms device discreetly tucked away in her ear.
“Are you sure I can’t just kick down the door and kill him?”
Elijah bit back a groan, sharing a pained look with Taite, his second, currently driving them as they trailed several miles behind Brodie. “No.” Had the Valkyrie not been listening to his detailed list of instructions?
“But I can rough him up? Hurt him a little?”
“Only enough to disarm him and get Fen out of there. No more physical damage than necessary. I mean it, Brodie. Just go in there, be sweet like Fen said in the message, assess, and then defuse the situation. Your main goal is to remove Fen. Once you’ve done that, my Enforcers will take care of the Vulcan.”
Brodie turned the wheel, the silver birch trees lining the driveway casting long shadows as their bright greenery fluttered in the afternoon breeze. “What if he tries to kill me first?”
“Don’t care. That dress alone should be all the ammunition you need to contain this asshole.”
Brodie clamped her teeth together tightly to stop from making another comment about the flimsy summery dress. She wasn’t fond of trickery, as a Valkyrie you ran at your enemies, weapons drawn, frontal attack. This felt wrong.
No, the problem was, she knew where Fen was, she knew who was holding him, and Elijah was instructing her to approach in a softly, softly manner when all she wanted to do was rend, tear, and smite the Vulcan down.
Grrr, she parked the car, forcing herself not to slam the door shut
. She then proceeded in a painfully slow, moderate, lady-like manner towards the house. Elijah’s specific instructions had been for her to imagine she was walking across an icy lake which was starting to crack beneath her feet. Surprisingly, the imagery helped.
It helped also that Fen’s porch was so rickety she needed to watch carefully where she put her weight down. Pausing at the door, she knocked lightly, waited two beats and entered.
In less than a second, Brodie had established that the enemy was standing off to her left, and Fen was on the floor to her right, his wrists in manacles, the chain trailing loose on the floorboards next to him. The left side of his face was bruised and puffy, his eye practically swollen shut. Anger coursed through her, hot, boiling rage.
Fen was hurt. This long haired, bare chested asshole had hurt Fen. Physically hurt him. Well, she wondered how the Vulcan would deal with pain? She was a split second from calling Raven and hurling herself across the room.
“Brodie. Welcome. Fun fact, Vulcans can conduct heat through metal, at levels scorching enough to melt it, like swords for instance.”
“Shut your mouth, weakling.” The Vulcan lifted his chiselled chin, eyeing Brodie with a propriety gleam in his dark amber eyes, orange sparks flashing across his pupils.
“I’m just letting her know what a great catch you are big guy, that’s all.” Fen smiled, his eyes fixed on Brodie. Drinking in the sight of her. He had to bite back a laugh, she looked kind of uncomfortable in the girlie short dress she was wearing, though he had to admit the rosebuds were a nice touch.
Brodie nodded imperceptibly, letting Fen know she had received his message, there would be no point in her calling Raven. Walking deeper into the room, she continued to study the Vulcan. Who was preening like a peacock, his chest puffed out, hands on his hips, his legs slightly apart… hmm, she could run at him and kick him in the… no, damn it, not in these flimsy sandals.
Grrr, looked like she was going to have to follow Elijah’s instructions, talk to the man, find out what he wanted, what his weaknesses were and look for an opportunity to get Fen out. With that in mind, she scoped the Vulcan out carefully; the long, tousled, tawny locks falling down his back. The broad, tanned, muscular bare chest. The tapered narrow waist and weirdly glistening six pack abs. Was that body glitter? Ugh. Down to his sturdy, toned thighs and his dark brown, knee high, leather boots.
Hmmm, she could see no visible or hidden weapons.
Staring at him, she found herself frowning. They must have met at Lena’s wedding, yet she had no recollection of this particular Vulcan. Might as well get the small talk rolling. “Which one are you then?”
Lanyard’s eyes widened for a split second before he laughed heartily. “What an amusing woman you are.”
Brodie shook her head, rolling her eyes. “No, seriously.”
“I am Lanyard, Soldan’s cousin. First born son of Erith, Grandson of Maoghar and Great-Grandson-”
“Okay, enough with the family tree.”
“So you remember now?” He sent her a leering look as if to intimate that he didn’t for one second believe she hadn’t known his name.
“Not really. Tall, long hair, knee high brown boots, too tight breeches and bare chested, to be frank, you lot kind of just blur together in one big clump.”
Lanyard’s dark golden eyebrow arched haughtily. “But you must remember me. I’m the one who propositioned you on the dance floor.”
“Still doesn’t narrow the memory down for me.” Brodie had been propositioned ad nauseum at Lena’s wedding.
“What exactly was your proposition?” Fen enquired, curious as hell.
Lanyard looked like he wanted to hit him for interrupting, but with Brodie effectively blocking the way, there was little the demi-god could do but scowl. With a toss of his head, sending his tawny hair rippling for effect, Lanyard fixed Brodie with a steely, smug look. “Well wench, you have led me on a merry chase. I have declared my interest, defeated my pathetically inferior rivals.” Amber eyes flickered Fen’s way for a moment. “It is past time for your answer.”
“Okay, we’ll revisit later the fact that you just called me wench, and let’s cut to this answer you are looking for. You want me to marry you?”
Lanyard tilted back his head and roared with genuine laughter. “Marry? Me? By the Sacred Flame, you continue to jest with me.”
Brodie hissed out an impatient breath. This cocky asshole was stabbing at her last nerve. She was tempted to call Raven and start stabbing back. The only thing preventing her was the idea that this smug asshole might melt Raven out of existence the moment it touched him.
“He’s a minor God.” Fen reminded her in a low whisper. “I’m not disputing the fact that he’s a dickhead, but if you could refrain from starting a war, on behalf of the Southern Sanctuary High Council, I’d be very grateful.”
Fen was a better person than she. He’d been hurt. Chained and beaten. It was all she could do not to attack the snobbish Vulcan and not stop until he was nothing but a smear on the ground.
No, Brodie took a deep breath. Fen was right, not only did Lanyard fall into the God category, but he was also related to her best friend Lena, by marriage. “For the sake of clarity, Lanyard, would you remind me of your proposition?”
“I would have you service me.”
“Service you?” Brodie was caught off guard by his choice of words.
Lanyard misread her surprise, interpreting it as stunned disbelief at her good fortune. “Until I grow tired of you, of course.”
Fen had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from howling with laughter.
“And this servicing of you… it would entail what exactly?”
Lanyard crossed his arms, biceps bulging. There was a faint brooding scowl clinging to his handsome face. But it was hard to tell whether that was because no woman had ever required more details of his kind offer before, or whether thinking hurt him. “Sex.”
“Of course.” Brodie nodded. “And? I assume there is more, otherwise you would have just asked me to have sex with you.”
“Yes, more.” Lanyard nodded vigorously even as his frown deepened. “You would entertain me.”
“Entertain you?” Brodie looked dubious. “How? Juggling? Magic tricks?”
“Err… you would dance for my pleasure.”
“Twerking? Ballet? The funky shuffle?” Fen really wanted to know.
Lanyard’s frown cleared. “With a stripper pole, obviously.”
“Minor God. Minor God. Minor God.” Fen muttered the reminder, even as he fought not to laugh. How Lanyard had lived this long with no woman killing him was a mystery.
“Anything else on this master list of yours besides sex and stripping?” Brodie enquired, forcing a smile, her teeth clenched together tightly.
“You will have the privilege of bathing me, feeding me, dressing… and of course frequently undressing me.” Lanyard sent her a heated promising look.
Brodie fought back on the urge to gag. “I can’t work out why Lena ever married Soldan?”
“It’s a mystery to me as well.” Lanyard acknowledged.
“Did he ask Lena to service him?” Brodie would kick Soldan’s ass next, if that were the case.
“I assume so, it is our way. Soldan began acting differently when he met Lena, despite all the black eyes he was always smiling though, it was very confusing. Then he announced he was getting married, we thought it a joke at first.”
Hah, she should have known Lena would have pummelled Soldan into shape on her own. Which just left her to face this Neanderthal, chauvinistic throw back.
“I am weary of these games you play little Valkyrie; this merry chase you’ve led me on half way around the world. Ignoring me. Flaunting pathetically weak rivals in my face. I have allowed you a grace period but it is time you came to heel. I will have your answer now and we will leave.”
“Allowed? You allowed me?” The Vulcan was begging for a beating. “I’m sorry... Lanyard was it? You seem to be u
nder the mistaken belief about why we are meeting here today.”
Lanyard’s wide mouth twitched upwards, twisting into an indulgent smile. “More games, little one?” He shook his head, tawny hair rippling down over his shoulders. “As often is the way with women, you talk too much. It will be my privilege to correct you.”
“Oh, dude.” Fen winced. “There are just some things you never, ever, say to a woman. I can’t protect you now.”
Brodie hesitated, Fen’s humour bleeding away some of the blinding rage that had filled her as she listened to the Vulcan’s goading words. Glancing back, to show she still had some control, her attention was caught and held for a moment by the thick manacles encasing Fen’s wrists. The sight of his shiny, red raw, peeling, blistered skin, sending a tsunami of red rage through her. The Vulcan must suffer, the same way Fen had obviously suffered.
She stomped over to the sagging, brown, raggedy armchair. “Do you value this chair?” Her words directed towards Fen came out stilted and forced.
Fen’s expression instantly turned wary. He’d never seen Brodie look so murderous, the few hairs that hadn’t been singed off his arms lifted. “Not especially.”
“Good.” Brodie lifted the ungainly, ugly, second-hand chair up and then broke it in half over one knee. As she turned, holding aloft two long jagged pieces of timber, her outfit shimmered and morphed. Her glossy black hair was suddenly intricately braided tightly around the crown of her head, the gold plating of her breast plate and pleated micro skirt gleamed, and the knee high, lace up gold boots she now wore managed to somehow look both light and sturdy enough for kicking ass.
Lanyard’s momentary confusion at Brodie’s transformation disappeared and he began to smile. “Kinky outfits? I like it. Though I’m more partial to the naughty schoolgirl look.”
“Fuck, it’s like you want to die.” Fen quickly transferred his attention to the manacles, conscious of Brodie stalking towards the Vulcan. It was time for him to break free. He sent arrow sharp blasts of air slamming into the hinges on either side of the cuffs. Shit, he breathed deeply, sweat breaking out across his forehead as he channelled more energy, he had to get free to stop Brodie from killing Lanyard. Digging deep into the dregs of his remaining strength, he called more power.
