Watcher Redeemed

Duty. Honor. His brothers. That's all he has.

On the outs with Zander, and fighting to win back his place in the garrison, Kyrian steps in it and finds more trouble than he's ready for. He kills the wrong male, sleeps with the wrong female, and as the Darkwold rebellion takes on a roaring second run at the garrison, there is nothing to be done but fight for the outcome even he doesn't believe possible.

Cassiane grieves the loss of her father and vows to avenge Stryker’s murder. With the eyes of the Shedim weighing her worth as their new leader, she must prove herself as ruthless and cunning as any demon queen. Her first task, take down the filthy Watcher who killed the man who meant everything to her. Her problem—she might be falling in love with him.

Kyrian sidestepped a clothing rack, giving a wide
berth to two half-naked women as they grappled and swung. Screeching at a
decibel beyond imagination, their altercation seemed to be focused on the last
Cat Woman costume in size four and the Superhero Halloween party of the century
tomorrow night. The blonde salesgirl—ironically dressed as a naughty cop—tried
to hold them apart, while her brunette Pocha-hottie co-worker muttered into her
walkie for help.

Cue two muscle-heads in stretched black tee’s striding
in to break up the fun.

Amusing as a catfight would normally be, the influx of
testosterone and hostility made Kyrian itch. He slid beyond the drama and
followed the short corridor to the close quarters of the boutique’s private
dressing area.

From the back, the mass of the hulking male acting as
a blockade could have been either of the Egyptian twins. The absence of a
spiked dog-collar gave it away. Kyrian drew a deep breath, hoped for the best
and steeled himself for the worst. “Seth. How’s things, my brother?”

“Greek.” Seth offered up his tattooed fist for a bump
and shifted to unblock the entry. “Same ole. Cleaning up on the streets and in
the sheets. You? How’s the clinic and that Lightworlder doc of yours?”

Kyrian shrugged. Stepping into the ten-by-ten mirrored
sitting area, he positioned himself to watch the doorway and the corridor
beyond. “Clinic’s almost operational. Drina’s a rock star. She’s got mean
skills.”

Seth’s cool smile morphed into a slow, sly grin he’d
seen all too often. Horny motherfucker. “I hear that.”

Really? Was there anyone in the three realms Seth and his twin hadn’t
sampled—jointly or one-on-one. Kyrian rubbed a hand across his jaw and exhaled.
“At least tell me you treated her well. It was just you, right? Seth?”

Seth chuckled and waggled his brows. “Consenting
adults, Greek. S’all good. And trust me, you don’t need the details.” Seth
resumed his position in front of the access hallway, his bulk sucking the walls
of the space in close and the ceiling down tight. His brother-in-arms wasn’t
one of those bulging ’roid-droid types. Seth and his twin were massive warriors
who fed, fought, and fucked like machines.

Kyrian met his gaze and tried to read his mood. “You
don’t seem surprised to see me. We good?”

“Us? Always.” As he scrubbed his fingertips against
his dark, buzzcut hair, his jacket shifted, and the butt of his Glock made a
quick appearance. He had his double holster on, so the matching piece would be
under the other arm of his trench. Kyrian approved; the guy was guarding
precious cargo. “And no, I’m not surprised she insisted on a shopping trip
today. She misses you fierce, and a mall crawl is the one place Zander would
never follow.”

Kyrian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “So, how is
Z? How’s his control?”

Seth locked eyes on the fitting room door and frowned.
“With her . . . perfect. I’ve never seen anything like it. He’ll be about to go
Candu reactor over something, and she’ll lay her palm on his chest and you can
actually feel the energy in the air settle. With everyone else . . . well,
let’s say we’re all giving him space.”

Kyrian knew about giving Zander’s dark side space.
After Austin’s resurrection from the dead, she’d lain unconscious for three
days. During those uncertain seventy-two hours, Zander lost himself to the full
force of his transformation. He’d ripped into the Shedim Master responsible for
the attack; violated and tortured the bastard, like one of the vile scum they
were bred to fight against. He never imagined Zander capable of crossing that
line. Still couldn’t believe it.

With all traces of duty and honor lost, reasoning with
Zander had been impossible. Kyrian had stepped in to save his brother’s soul.
Zander, however, didn’t see it that way.

“She in there?”

Seth nodded. “If you’ve got our girl, I’ll go check
out the squawk-and-scuffle and give you two some privacy.”

“Thanks, my man. And Seth . . .” His brother glanced
back over his shoulder and Kyrian was struck by how much he’d missed the
wisecracking pain in the ass. “I swear I won’t jam you up with Zander. If he
finds out, I’ll fall on the blade.”

Seth waved away Kyrian’s concern. “S’all good, Greek.
S’all good.”

Alone in the boxy sitting area, Kyrian shifted for a
better defensive position and scanned the mirrored walls of the room. The way
they were angled reflected twenty little white platform stages, twenty
pansy-assed velveteen sofas, and twenty ash-blond Greeks that hadn’t slept in waaay
too long. He leaned forward, giving the hollows under his cheekbones and the
dark circles under his eyes a dispassionate once over. Man, those bags
reflected back at him gave his face a hard-ass edge.

He slid his fingers down the front of his new Balmain
military jacket and released the silver epaulets from their moorings. The two
halves of his jacket hung open. It would be the work of a split second to reach
his twin SIG forty’s tucked snug at the small of his back. And if needed, he
had another dozen weapons concealed in inside pockets, depending on what type
of Daemon or evil had the balls to slither into his path.

He rapped a knuckle on the buttercream colored door.
“How you doing in there, sweetheart?”

“Kyrian!” Austin’s silky southern drawl pegged
him square in the chest. The door flung open and she latched around him. Silky
mahogany hair brushed his cheek and a wave of coconut shampoo filled his
senses. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

He needed to loosen the cage of their embrace before
his scent was all over her. He willed his arms to release her or his legs to
take a step back, but that was a big no-go. He was rooted in place, right where
he needed to be. His fingers clenched her hair, and he pulled her closer. For
the first time in two months, he drew a full, deep breath. “So, how’s married
life?”

“Can we sit?”

He guided Austin toward the loveseat opposite the
mirrored walls and helped her settle. Being blind didn’t slow her down any, and
even less now that she saw members of the Otherworld. The positioning of the
couch compromised his line-of-sight to the entrance a little, but he sat on her
left, so his dagger hand was free to defend, if need be.

Austin proceeded to fill him in on everything he’d
missed at the loft. After fighting within his squad for the past millennia, two
months of exile was negligible. Honestly, he didn’t care what Daemon drama
they’d faced since Zander had taken him off rotation. Serpentine. Poltergeist.
Wraith. None of it held his interest. At least not in that moment.

He let her talk and drank in every word.

The smooth southern cadence and her never-ending smile
warmed him within. Damn. Only a bastard fixated on a woman married to
his brother. Zander and Austin were in love. And he wouldn’t change that for
all the longing in his pitifully empty life. Whatever.

This thing he felt for her was what it was—and he had
no idea what that was.

Over the course of the next half hour, the two
salesgirls poked their heads in to check on them, like expectant prairie dogs.
When it was obvious Austin wouldn’t be hurried or interrupted, they retreated
to the chaos of their ‘End of Summer’ sale up front, looking like they needed a
little liquid sedative and some TLC after closing.

He sighed. They weren’t the only ones. After a couple
of hours out with Austin, he was going to be raw and only too happy to join
them in smoothing away the rough edges of the day. He might even pop back and
take them up on that. Once Austin was safely back in the loft with her husband,
of course.

“So, what do you think?” Austin stepped onto the
little platform stage and struck a pose, so that twenty Austins sporting
wrist-biting, ice-blue, goddess costumes reflected back at him. The sheer
fabric cut low enough up front to make a monk stand at attention and high
enough along her silky thighs to barely cover her hoohaw—as she called
it.

“You are utterly delicious, sweetheart,” he swallowed,
“but Zander will be homicidal the entire night if you wear that. Killing club
clientele is bad for business. I think a full-length gown would be better.”

Austin swept her chestnut hair up into a chignon and
pivoted like a runway model. “Such a den mother, Kyrian. I invited you shopping
so I wouldn’t end up being covered stem to stern. If Zander gets his
way, I’ll be a nun or a mummy or something.”

He laughed. She had Z pegged.