Page 19

T he Thursday night crowd at the Cider Citadel and Brewing Bastion was well thinned given the time of year, but that didn’t stop the diehards from attending trivia night. The bar was what Anna expected: lots of dim lighting broken up by random fluorescent beams advertising one brand of beer or another, a few high-top tables, an only-mildly-sticky floor, and pint after pint of some house ale or another.

The whiteboard was a surprise, as was the microphone setup. However, that made sense for emcee and scoring purposes if trivia was indeed the main item on the menu that evening.

However, an entirely different set of questions raced through her head, none of which would fall under the pop culture or sports and stats categories.

No, her qualms fell more in line with “What will everyone think of me?” and “Can I keep the bathroom trips to a reasonable number?”

“Can I take your coat?” Iron asked as he ushered her toward a cluster of tables at the back of the barroom. His hand never left her lower back the entire time, guiding them both through the meager crowd with bladed purpose. Every time he pressed against her just a little more firmly, piloting her away from any of the well-lubricated men who’d gotten a head start on their evening’s enjoyment, she recalled the rough thrill of his fingers when they’d caged her own during a far different type of game.

Not for the first time since she hastily swept on some mascara and broke out her one tube of questionably salvageable lip gloss earlier that evening, she wondered whether she was in over her head.

“I might just keep my coat on for a bit.” He didn’t need to know how grateful she was for the crappy lighting because it would hide her threadbare maternity leggings, which were the only pants she wore these days, and her very much non maternity cardigan, which was dipping and pulling in places a pregnant woman need not call more attention to.

Iron eyed her carefully, then nodded. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Are you? Comfortable, that is? I’m getting the sense that I may have asked for too much from you.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Let’s just say you’re about to witness a very crude display of family bonding.” Iron caught the eye of whoever he was walking toward and nodded. “And that’s just when Drea and Rose get teamed up. Molly tries to keep the peace when she can, but those women come up with some answers during the wild card rounds that would put Chrome’s penchant for cursing to shame.”

Anna laughed softly. “They sound wonderful.”

“They sound like a designated driver’s worst nightmare. And here they are, Trouble One and Trouble Two.”

Anna took a deep breath to center . . . whatever the hell it was that usually got centered when people took a deep breath and smiled at the assembled crowd.

Or she tried to, at any rate, because the second Iron escorted her to their table, she was swept up in a warm hug of Amazonian proportions.

“Oh my gosh, you’re Anna, right? Iron’s told us absolutely nothing useful about you. I really don’t know why Chrome and the others keep him around. I’m Drea, by the way.”

When the hug was finally relinquished, Anna was staring into the violet exuberant eyes of a six-foot-tall blonde woman whose breath and braid already carried the scent of a good time.

Mental note: discuss definition of the word trouble with Iron.

“Hi. Yes, I’m Anna. It’s nice to meet you.”

“To clarify, we keep him around because he knows the Wi-Fi password. Chrome. Pleasure.” A behemoth of a man with a military crew cut and two beers in hand winked at her, then passed one of the longnecks to Iron.

“Drea is Chrome’s soul bond, and Chrome is about to spend some quality time with the blunt end of my mace.”

Anna stifled a giggle and spoke out of the side of her mouth to Iron. “Well, he did just confirm your Wi-Fi password theory, so maybe he’s not all bad.”

“Oh, I like her! I like her so much! Can we keep her? I’d like to keep her.” Drea was bouncing on the balls of her feet like a kid who’d just cashed in their Skee-Ball tickets for a prize that was actually worth something.

Iron rolled his eyes and put an arm around Anna’s shoulders before gesturing to the group in front of them. “I’m probably going to need something a lot stronger than beer pretty soon, but before I get to that, let me introduce you to everyone. If you need name tags, let me know. I have absolutely zero problem slapping some Hello, My Name Is stickers on their shirts. That adhesive is hell on cotton fibers, and some of these clowns could use some humbling.”

They had four tables reserved for their group, which was the only reason Anna was able to keep anyone straight, especially when it came to the set of twins: Rose—Trouble Two, Anna presumed—and Tammy. Rose was soul bound to Titan, second-in-command to Tungsten, the sentinels’ leader, who Tammy was mated to. Thankfully, the twins were on different teams. Also, the two women not only had different hairstyles but wildly different personalities, which helped separate them in Anna’s mental catalog. Rose was sarcastic and endearing while her sister was a bit more reserved and studious but sweet as all get out. Validating Iron’s apparent fears from earlier, Chrome and Drea were paired with Titan and Rose.

At Tungsten and Tammy’s table sat another couple, Bronze and Clara. Iron explained that Bronze’s soul bond didn’t normally attend human functions because, her being a lycan, metal didn’t agree with her molecular makeup, but she could usually manage short periods without any major hiccups.

Brass and his mate, Molly, a woman who Anna recognized as an owner of one of the restaurants in town, sat at another table, their heads bowed over in strategy with another couple. Neela, who was the first female charmer and former kin of Cyro, and Rhode, the only angel among them created of the seraph class. Now, that was a relationship story she’d like to hear someday.

Then that left Steel and Bridget, who both had lighthearted gamer smiles plastered on their faces.

Before Anna could say hi again, her words were cut off when Iron spoke in her ear. “We’ll be on their team. They’re the least stressful to play with. Of all the characters I’ve introduced thus far, these two are the only ones who know this is still just a game. No pressure. Just fun.”

“It’s wonderful to meet all of you.”

Bridget smiled at her. “Likewise. Would you like something to drink? They have really good mocktails here.”

Anna shot Iron a questioning look, which he addressed with a single nod. “They’re aware.”

She dipped her head low so only he could hear. “Were you gossiping about me?”

His beard brushed against the shell of her ear as he replied, “You’re the first female I’ve ever introduced them to, and secrets don’t fly among our soul-bound family. Not anymore, at least. We’ve had to learn and grow on that front and have no interest in repeating mistakes. That means everyone you see here is protected, including your baby.”

Steel piped up. “Tell me about it. Talk to Bridget if you need more horror stories on secrets.” He shuddered in mock affront, and Anna raised a brow at Iron.

“Celestial senses,” Iron added matter-of-factly. “Sound travels fast for us.”

“Ah, got it. In that case, sure, I’ll have a drink.” I can’t inadvertently say something stupid if there’s a straw in my mouth.

Bridget slid her a menu, and Anna selected something with blood orange, sparkling coconut water—that was new—and yuzu.

The emcee took the stage, which was just a section of floor that had hardwood as opposed to laminate, and grabbed the microphone. “All right, my friends, it’s time to get the party started! Great to see so many of you here tonight. Let’s begin by going through the evening’s categor—” The sound cut out, a scratchy tsewmp popped through the two amps stationed at the front, and the overhead lights above the whiteboard began to flicker.

A few tables over, the white shock of Clara’s hair fell forward as she bent toward Bronze. “Oops. Sorry.”

The auburn-haired angel smiled wide and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “You’re always stealing the show.”

“Okay, that was weird,” the emcee said. “No matter, I’ll just—what do they call it in theater classes?—not yell . . . ah, project! Can everybody hear me all right?” After several nods from the room gave him his greenlight, he announced the categories, and they were off to the races. “The first category is superheroes. Who is the leader of the Avengers?”

Bridget and Steel had an answer down before any of the tables around them had finished deliberating, which was fine with Anna, while Drea, Rose, and Chrome were locked in some sort of heated debate over source material. When time was called, teams threw up their cards. Anna’s team guessed Iron Man, which was correct.

Chrome, however, waved his card proclaiming Captain America as their answer at the emcee. “Hey, are we basing the answer off screen adaptations here or the comic books? Because if we’re talking about the Marvel Cinematic Universe, there were entire movies and subsequent plot lines devoted to the ambiguity of the Avengers’ leadership.”

Then Rose stood up. “Yeah, and how long are the terms of leadership we’re talking about? I can literally think of a time when every single character in the original comics took on the Avengers mantle of leadership. So, are we talking over the course of a battle, a mission, a day, years? It really is unclear.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here we go.” Iron knocked back his beer, gestured to the waiter for another, and returned his attention to Anna, as if he were gauging her tolerance for ass-hattery.

He needn’t have worried, and she smiled to let him know as much.

This was freaking wonderful .

Over the course of ten rounds, one wild card battle, and a bracketed system that included several complicated knock-out sequences, Anna’s cheeks had found their new happy place supporting the wings of her smile. The drinks were yummy and the verbal battles more than entertaining, but that wasn’t what had her skin tingling and dopamine flowing.

Somewhere near the fifth round, Iron’s hand had taken a particular liking to hers. It started with gentle bumps and brushes whenever he’d slide her a napkin. Then those gestures turned into something more than simple courtesies. When she’d spent too long gripping her drink and she’d pull her hand away to wipe the condensation off her fingers and warm them up, he was already there holding out his palm to her. She’d give him her hand, and slowly, gingerly, he’d rub and dry away any traces of chilled wetness.

The contact was in everything he did, even when it wasn’t as apparent as touching. The way his arm was already bracketed behind her seat when she’d return from the bathroom. The new drink he always made sure took the place of her empty one, with special attention paid to ensuring the straw was facing her and that the drink wasn’t too close to the edge of the table lest she accidentally bump it. His unspoken removal and acceptance of her coat after she’d unbuttoned it, even though she’d been afraid to remove it for fear of exposing her clumsiness to her new friends and knocking into the table, sending her drink spilling across the response cards.

If Travis had been consumed with convenience, Iron was consumed with acts of service. With each small, warm kindness the angel showed her, the layers of ice that had dammed up around her heart slowly began to thaw, until she found herself reaching for his touch, craving it and all the promise it offered.

“Fuck,” Chrome bellowed as the winning team—Anna’s table—was announced.

Drea’s palm collided with the back of Chrome’s head before the k in his curse had the chance to run free. “Don’t swear in front of the baby,” she hissed, then slanted an apologetic look Anna’s way.

“It’s fine,” she replied, patting her belly for reassurance. “I’m fairly certain its ears aren’t fully formed yet. Though, I’ll find out tomorrow.”

The look of relief erasing Drea’s admittedly inebriated concern was heartwarming on so many levels. Iron had explained how Drea’s former life was lived as a messenger mage in the Empyrean. Between her time there and her largely controlled interactions in the mortal world before she’d mated Chrome, she had relatively little knowledge about babies and fetal development.

“See,” Chrome said, gesturing to Anna. “It’s fine!”

Iron leaned close. “What’s tomorrow?”

“My sixteen-week checkup. Not my favorite thing to do, but kind of necessary.” Around her, tables were beginning to clear as guests shrugged into coats and paid their bills.

“Are you nervous that something might be wrong?” he asked, standing and holding out her coat for her to slide into.

“No, not at all. It’s just a very couple-y experience. In the beginning, it wasn’t so terrible because I could just pretend I was there for a regular pap smear or something, but now that I’m starting to show a bit more, it’s clear I’m pregnant and flying solo. Again, not a problem, but it just feels a bit . . .”

“Inconvenient.”

Anna hadn’t expected Iron to finish her thought or remember Travis’s adjectival weapon of choice that the bastard would fling at her heart. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Anna shrugged on her coat and worked at the buttons. When she finally got them all to line up correctly—a frequent problem most days—she lifted her chin and was nearly struck dumb by the expression staring back at her.

It was Iron, but . . . not. He was silent and enigmatic like always, but a look of consternation warred across his strong features in a way she hadn’t seen before. Then he held out his palm to her, and knowing there was some significance to his offering, she placed her hand in his.

“How would you feel if I joined you?”

Her world stalled on his axis. “What?”

“At your appointment tomorrow. How would you feel if I went with you?”

“I-I’d feel . . . like you’d be needlessly subjecting yourself to an abnormally large number of hormonal pregnant women.”

He chuckled softly, massaging the fleshy pad between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s not needless if you don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as anything.”

She didn’t know what to say, but thankfully, she didn’t need to. Her body took it from there. Anna threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Right there, in front of his brothers, their mates, and whoever else decided to take their sweet-ass time leaving the bar to gawk at strangers. Let them. If this was a show to be put on, she’d do it a thousand times over if she got to feel the strength and warmth of his arms banding around her, lifting her off the floor like a treasure to be secured.

Iron brought her impossibly closer, and her breath hitched as, even through their coats, her body remembered how the hard planes of his muscles felt against a softness she was so afraid to show anyone. She angled her head, and an appreciative greedy moan vibrated from his lips into hers. Anna had no problems with greedy. She could be greedy. She could be?—

“Ow!” Neela’s startled shout broke Anna and Iron from their embrace. Someone, a man, must have bumped into Rhode’s soul bond and knocked her into the server behind her, sending a tray of drinking glasses and beer bottles clamoring to the floor.

“Easy, lady. Just had to reach for my keys. You’re fine.” A muscled man with long hair tied back in a low ponytail had righted himself after leaning around Neela to grab a rusted key ring complete with two keys and a bottle opener from a nearby table. A large stain bloomed across his white T-shirt, accompanied by the stinging bite of hard alcohol that, in high doses up close, always made Anna’s nose tingle.

Rhode was moving before Neela had a chance to regain her balance. The fool hadn’t even pieced together just what was happening to him when the seraph had his hands on the drunk man’s shirt collar and dragged him on his toes out the door.

While Anna watched the impressive display of waste removal, a few other men stood from a table near the door and walked out right after Rhode. Iron’s grip shifted to her hips and tightened. Then his eyes flashed that brilliant fiery topaz, and he quickly pulled her behind his back.

“Iron, what is it? What’s going on?”

Around them, the other angels had stood as well, flames dancing high in each of their eyes, painting their features in hard brutal shadows that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Charmers.”