As they passed the bikers hanging near the motorcycles and puffing up a pungent storm of smoke, Blaéz slowed down, scanning the side street. At the sudden prickles coasting his skin, he changed direction and headed deeper into the alley instead of finding a darkened place to dematerialize back home. Away from the humans, he moved in preternatural speed, skirting the dumpsters and several fallen crates spilled in his path.
“O-kay, so we’re heading for Club Anarchy instead of the castle.” Týr’s droll tone drifted to him. “You need…entertaining?”
“Not at all.” Blaéz halted, the itch bearing down his back intensifying. He searched the dark alley with its looming warehouses. “Something doesn’t feel right, and hasn’t for a while.”
“Well, then, let’s find out what shit’s stirring and clean it out.” A dark grin appeared. “It’s been my kinda week. Blood, gore, and chances of more decapitation? Perfect.”
Blaéz shook his head at Týr’s penchant for bloody violence and surveyed the rooftops of the warehouses. “You sure have a way with words. Hallmark should be grateful they don’t have you on their team.”
“Maybe I’ll compose a sonnet for the wedding.”
Blaéz heard the smirk in his tone. “Like I want to hear your drivel.”
“Don’t knock my verse ‘til you’ve heard it, you uneducated SOB,” he retorted, and cheerfully strolled where even angels feared to tread. “Roses are red, violets are blue—”
“For fuck’s sakes! They’re bloody purple.”
“Stop with the interruptions. Don’t care if they’re pink, it’s how the damn rhyme goes. Roses are red, violets are blue, Darci’s so lovely, how in the hell did she end up with a fucker like you—” His amused gaze shifted to Blaéz. “Okay, it needs some fine-tuning, but I should be good to go on the big day.”
“Not if you want to keep your head.” Blaéz slowed down, his attention on the throng of people lumbering out of the club. A flash of light hair caught his gaze and an eerily familiar sensation skated over his psyche. “Shit.”
“What?” Týr asked, scanning the crowd, too.
Without answering, Blaéz took off across the street. Since the demon bouncers knew the Guardians, he sprinted into the club, avoiding the partygoers in the dimly lit corridor, and shoved the metal door open. The pounding rock music reverberating against the walls barely made an impact as he dodged bodies fumbling about in the darkened club, skidding to a halt on the landing. He scanned the interior. Despite the imminent arrival of closing time, the place still swarmed with revelers.
“Fuck, Celt, who the hell are we chasing? At least then I know whom to kill,” Týr growled from his side.
“I’m not sure…I think I saw Finnén.”
Týr cut him a sharp look. “Your twin?”
His expression grim, Blaéz nodded, probing the upper VIP level with his mind for his kin’s familiar vibe.
“Perhaps you saw someone else who looks like him?”
“Perhaps. He wouldn’t dare show his face in this realm knowing I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he came after us again.”