“Bianka,” Kaia said with a laugh as she launched herself to meet her sister in the middle of the room. The twins hugged and danced as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.
“I would have been here sooner but Lysander held me prisoner in our cloud,” Bianka said with a grin. “He wouldn’t relent until Sabin gave the okay. Which I still don’t understand and will continue to punish him for until he spills. Secrets or guts, I don’t care which.”
That would explain the black eye the warrior currently possessed, Strider thought with a grin of his own.
“You’re so lucky,” Kaia said. “You can harm your consort.”
“I know. And feel free to harm him yourself. Although, maybe don’t hurt him too badly. There’s all kinds of trouble in the heavens nowadays, something about losing a piece of love, whatever that means, and my pookybear is stressed.”
That was the last thing Strider understood as the sisters began talking over each other.
“—because you look amazing and—”
“—wouldn’t believe the balls on—”
“—next time I want video feed of—”
“—cut just right, flesh makes the cutest purse—”
“—
In unison, they faced the bar, leveling Juliette with glares of abject disgust. Juliette pretended not to notice. Not her consort, though. He smiled at the twins as if they were the Christmas present he’d always wanted.
Strider would have volleyed himself like an H-bomb if a hard hand hadn’t settled on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t,” Lysander said.
“You wouldn’t. I would.” His gaze remained locked on the male he desperately wanted to slay.
An equally hard hand settled on his other shoulder. “Perhaps you should rethink your strategy,” Zacharel said in his cold, toneless voice.
Yeah, well, perhaps the humans disagreed with Strider’s “physically perfect” description, because they still loitered inside the bar, paying the angels no heed. And hell, they had wings and wore girly robes. Two other reasons to stare right there.
“They cannot see Lysander or me,” Zacharel explained. “You were correct. If they could, they would stare.”
Strider’s jaw clenched. “Stay out of my head.”
“Stop projecting your thoughts.”
He didn’t mind when Amun read him, but Zacharel? An angel? Freaking irritating. “The consort. What is he?”
Lysander didn’t ask for clarification. “His name is Lazarus, and he is the only son of Typhon.”
Oh, shit. He’d been right—guy was far from human. Strider wanted to shake his head, to deny, to do anything but accept. But when an angel spoke, there was no doubting him. Ever. Truth layered every nuance of Lysander’s voice and every cell in Strider’s body believed what he’d just been told.
As an elite guard to Zeus, Strider had fought many monsters. None had ever compared to Typhon. Bastard was a giant with the head of a dragon and the body of a snake. His wings spanned the entire length of a football field and a never-ending abyss had waited in his eyes.
Typhon had challenged Zeus, and he would have won, had been winning, until Strider and friends arrived on the scene, causing the giant to flee.
“Who’s his mother?” Strider asked.
“I do not know her name, only that she is a Gorgon.”
“This just gets better by the second,” he muttered dryly. Gorgons could turn a man to stone with only a glance. They had snakes on their heads rather than hair—snakes that poisoned their victims when they bit. Medusa was the most famous of them, and so legendary even humans told tales of her evil prowess.
Mortals. So gullible. If they only knew Medusa was the cream of the crop and a real sweetheart compared to others of her race.
“Clearly, he wants a piece of Kaia.”
“Who doesn’t?” Zacharel asked, deadpan. As always. “She is a beautiful woman and I have seen how happy a Harpy can make an angel.”
Strider had his nose pressed into the angel’s a second later, breath sawing in and out. “You better stay away from her.”
“I will,” the angel said easily. “Stay away from her, that is.”
Strider blinked, confused, and backed a step away. “But you just—”
“I just agreed with you. Yes. Every unmated man in this building wants a piece of her.”
He was back in the guy’s face a second later. “And you?” Damn it. He had to get himself under control. He’d vowed not to let himself be challenged majorly for the next few weeks, yet he kept reacting to everyone who so much as glanced in Kaia’s direction.
“I was merely ensuring you desire her, rather than…someone else.”
Someone, like an angel. Once again, he stepped backward. Faster this time, his cheeks heating with mortification. So. The bastard had picked up on the earlier fascination.
“You look all innocent and shit, but you’re really a devil in disguise, aren’t you?”
Zacharel merely shrugged, his expression unchanging.
Defeat might have agreed, but there were no accompanying sparks of pleasure. Nor were there spurts of pain.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he grumbled.
“Bianka competes in the next game. Lysander wishes me to—”
“Lysander can speak for himself,” the warrior interjected. “I wished for a supporting arm to either hold me back or help me, should I be inclined to punish Bianka’s opponents.”
Aw. True love. How sickening.
Both Lysander and Zacharel could create swords of fire from nothing but air. A few Harpy heads would probably roll by the time the second game ended if any harm came to Kaia’s twin.
“You do know you’ll embarrass Bianka if you—”
“Who are you talking to, Strider?” Though Haidee had closed most of the distance between them, she asked the question from behind her beer bottle, not daring to glance in his direction. He knew she didn’t fear Kaia, though she should, but merely thought to prevent another attack while the enemy was nearby.
And damn it. The angels had warned him. No one else could see them. Well, Sabin and Gwen could, he was sure, since they were smothering their laughter behind beers of their own.
“No one,” he muttered.
“—no better time,” Bianka was saying.
“Then let’s do it,” Kaia responded with an evil grin. “Juliette will never know what hit her.”
Shit. Do what? With those two, “it” always involved bloodshed, grand theft auto or a five-alarm blaze. Or, on special days, a combination of all three. He watched, dread coursing through him, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, as the girls moved forward.
Then the worst of his fears were confirmed when they climbed onto the dais.
To karaoke.
