Page 62 of Tyr

Amezodile nodded, shuffled to the bedroom door, and stumbled out.

Celeste’s gaze slid to her mother’s prone form. “You too, Mother.”

Tyr tookin the strip bar calledAnton’s Dolls. “Is this a joke? You said we were going to Celeste.”

Heimdall held up his hand. “Give it a minute.”

A minute? What the hell did that mean? He’d given it a minute, a lot of minutes, and Celeste was nowhere to be seen.

Tyr growled and paced. He had so many things he was going to say to her. He’d practiced his words over and over. Heimdall had given him the basic rundown of what she was doing and why. As much as it relieved him to know she wasn’t running from him, he was equally as angry she’d thought she could rescue her father alone. She was still healing, and she had no fighting skills at all. If anything happened to her?—

A black SUV screeched to a halt at the curb, and the driver jumped out like he was being chased by hellhounds. He raced around the vehicle and yanked open the passenger side door, pulling someone out. The dark-haired woman clawed at the man, swearing and spitting. The man dragged her by the arm toward the bar, an expressionless mask on his face. He stared straight ahead and didn’t bother to glance Tyr’s way.

The back door to the vehicle opened, and Celeste slid out. Tyr strode forward, the words he’d practiced waiting on his lips. But the moment he opened his mouth, Celeste threw herself into his arms. She squeezed him tight, and the anger inside crumbled. He wrapped her in his arms and crushed her against him. She was okay. She was in his arms again. Safe. Safe but… furious. The anger wafting off her seeped into him, making his skin tingle and his view glow red. He wanted to feed on her anger, stoke it, see it play out.

No. Not her. Not Celeste. She didn’t deserve what would happen if he stoked that fire.

He pushed her away and peered into her tear-stained eyes.

“What the Hel were you thinking?”

She shook her head and wiped her face.

“Do you have any idea what I would have done if you’d been hurt? Or worse?”

“No,” she managed.

Anger bubbled inside him again at the thought. “I’m the God of War, Celeste. Give it a guess.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to get my dad.”

Tyr nodded to the car. “Is he in there?”

She shook her head and pointed at the bar. “Anton has him.”

Tyr turned to the bar, and his gut twisted. “Is that the guy who hurt you?”

“Yes,” she said, stronger. As if something washed over her, she stood straighter, and her expression hardened. “He has my dad.”

Again, her anger burst through him, fueling him, feeding him. His sword pressed against his ankle, wanting to be unleashed and used to slay every being in the bar.

Tyr nodded. “You stay here. Heimdall and I will handle this.”

“No. I need to do this.”

Tyr wanted to argue with her, but he, of anyone, understood how cathartic vengeance could be in healing a wounded soul. And from the anger wafting off her, she was beyond wounded. He realized she’d dropped her shields. She let him in. Fully in. It excited but also terrified him of what he might see. He delved into her memories from the last thirty minutes.

Power, anger and pleasure in causing pain flooded him. If they’d been at home, he would have taken her right in that moment. But he had to choose. If he fed that side of her, he didn’t know who she would turn into. Or how much she would hate him for letting her… Even so, she had to choose. He couldn’t choose for her.

He prayed he’d be able to hold himself back from ripping the guy and his men apart. Just thinking of what he’d done to Celeste, the man was lucky he’d not already started slaughtering everyone in the place.

“It’s your choice. But you stay by me.”

She nodded. “And you stay by me.”

He grabbed her hand, and together with Heimdall, they entered the building. A bouncer stopped them.

“Anton is expecting us,” said Celeste.

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