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“What?” Jericho asked.

“Just admiring your man-bun.” Both Jericho and the ladies had piled their hair up on their heads to keep it clear of the water.

Jericho scowled. Tone defensive, he said, “In ancient times, warriors often wore their hair in achonmage.”

Liam coughed into his fist. “Man bun.”

“Well, I, for one, think he looks delicious,” Alex purred, nuzzling her mate’s exposed throat. “Mmm, easy access.”

Shit, there they went again. Liam grasped for a distraction. Any distraction. “About this dagger business,” he said a bit too loud, reclaiming their attention. “Thinking it’s time we put a call into the Mage Syndicate.”

Jericho’s dark brow furrowed. “Given the situation, they may be the lesser of the evils.”

Vivian tensed in Liam’s arms, apparently not keen on the idea. “The Syndicate operates in shadows, and they ignored my warning about Alistair. There’s no telling what they would do with the soul sword. No way I’m handing it over to them.”

Alex chimed in, “Well, they are the governing body of the mage. It seems to me this mess with Alistair and the dagger should be their problem, not yours. After all, you’ve more than done your part.”

Vivian pursed her lips in a way Liam could tell she was chewing on the idea. “Since the mage are not part of the Council, they’re not politically motivated, unlike Magister Steele. Nor do they have ties to the fire demons or Zion. At least, as far as we know.”

Jericho said dryly, “They’re not part of the Council because they believe themselves to be superior beings, and underworld politics are beneath them.”

“Which, in a way, makes them the enemy of my enemy,” Vivian offered reluctantly. “It isn’t the worst plan ever.”

“So, we’re all agreed,” Liam interjected before she could talk them out of it. “A call to the Syndicate is in order.”

“Agreed,” Vivian said, “but only a phone call. And only to convince them to help us destroy the blasted thing. When we contact them, I’ll do the talking. I’m told I can be quite convincing.”

“Yes, you can,” Liam growled against her mouth.

Alex choked a low, strangled sound, and Jericho snorted a laugh, saying to his Bride, “Just focus on me.”

While Jericho distracted Alex, Liam shifted his attention to his own Bride, moving her to straddle his thighs. She fit against him as though she were an extension of his own body.

Vivian lay her hand over his heart, the corner of her mouth curling, mischief dancing in her golden eyes. “Do you feel it,my chicken?”

He snorted a laugh, gripped her hips, and thrust his hardening cock against her sex. “Believe me, honey, I feel it.”

“Ever the poet.”

“Waxing lyrical on account of what I’ve been thinking.”

She arched a narrow brow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He lifted his chin. “Been thinking, after all of this dagger business is over, you and I could shack up in that fortress you’re building.”

Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Sure,” he grumbled, ogling her cleavage. “Why not, seeing as how I’m getting the hang of this bodyguard gig. Figure I could help you watch over the place.”

“Shhh.” She stiffened and pressed her fingers to his lips.

His chest tightened. Did she not want him in her sanctuary? The scent of her fear washed over him. His own senses went haywire. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you hear that?”

“Sounds”—he canted his head—“like a helicopter.”

He met Jericho’s eyes across the steaming water. His friend was equally alarmed, his expression ominous. Jericho held up two fingers, and Liam’s gut bottomed out.