Page 3 of Act of Brotherhood
“Look at her,” he said to one of his teammates, his tone hushed, examining the weapon closer. As he did, Garth realized he’d seen the beauty before. It had been one that had come up on the black market for auction. He’d attempted to buy it, but it had gone missing right before the auction had finished. The rat bastard dirtbag had stooped even lower than black market bidding. He’d had the thing stolen. Was there no honor among thieves? “Cheater.”
His second-in-command, an opinionated wolf-shifter who hailed from Scotland of old, Gram Campbell, moved up alongside him and put a hand on Garth’s shoulder. Gram was tall, but just missed being as tall as Garth, who was well over six and a half feet when in boots, as he was now. “You all right there? Looks as if yer caught between wanting to punch something or rub yerself in a dirty manner against the weapons here. If so, we can leave the room. I do nae think I’d be able to shake the image of you yanking on yer cock to the sight of a sword, so I do nae want to witness anything of the sort.”
“Asshole,” stated Garth evenly.
“Aye.” Gram grinned. The man’s Scottish brogue was thick.
Not that Garth could judge. He’d been in America for centuries and still carried a very heavy Scandinavian accent when he spoke. It only intensified when he was worked up in any way. Some of his fellow operatives had a few good laughs over it all. In recent years, Hollywood had taken an interest in Viking culture and Norse mythology. That meant more people were being exposed to it all—or something close to it, anyway. That also meant there was additional fodder for his fellow operatives.
That was all right. He had his fair share of nicknames for them too. Besides, he’d never really tried to rid himself of his accent because he just didn’t care enough to bother. Plus, he surrounded himself with men from around the world. They were a cultural melting pot. He was far from the only person in PSI with an accent when he spoke English. And like the majority of immortals he knew, English was just one of the many languages he spoke. So what if he did so with a heavy tongue?
Garth motioned to the sword in the case, still admiring her. Not to the point he wanted to jerk off, but damn close. “She was to be mine, but this douchebag stole her. Look at her now. Lonely without me. I can tell. Aren’t you, beauty?”
“Och, you do realize you refer to weapons as women? I know you call them girl names too,” said Gram, his arm around Garth’s shoulder. “That is worrisome, old friend. You do nae ever call a woman ‘beauty.’ You save the pet names for yer weapons. Verra concerning.”
He continued to stare at the sword, unconcerned with how his thoughts on the object came off to others. “I’m taking her before we leave. I want her.”
“We really need to get you laid. Then you could…I do nae know…refer to awomanas a woman. Or, you know, actually find one you like enough to give a pet name. Would go far in the gettin’ you laid bit. I’ve heard women talk of you. They say yer handsome. I do nae see it. You’re freakishly tall. You’ve blond hair and yer a Viking. Nae a Scot. A lot going against you there, brother. And let’s be honest. Yer nae as good-lookin’ as me. Not many are. Plus, yer hang-ups with weapons make most of the lasses think yer a homicidal maniac. Does nae do guid things in the getting-a-second-date department.”
“I do just fine getting women,” returned Garth with a grunt. Though, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had sex. He’d been too busy to stop and notice that it had been a while.
He shrugged, knowing he’d fix that issue at a later date. For now, he’d make a mental list of all the weapons he was confiscating from the dirtbag’s collection. Many were displayed in custom-made cases, backlit for effect. The sight of them made him feel almost giddy.
Maybe Gram was on to something.
Maybe therewassomething wrong with him.
Probably, but who the hell cares.
He snorted. “This place is great. Aside from the bloodstains all over the entrance and halls from ourgrandarrival.”
Gram waved a hand about in the air. With the movement came the buzz of magik. Since Gram possessed both the ability to shift into a wolf and wield magik, Garth wasn’t surprised. The Scotsman liked to show off as much as possible. “Aye. It was grand all right—and gruesome. Just think. If the bloodstains do nae come out, you can put in a lowball offer on the place. Get it for cheap.”
Rubbing his scruffy jawline, Garth mulled over what Gram had said. He had several homes as it was, located all around the world. His primary home was near PSI Division B Headquarters. “Hmm, I like his setup for displaying things, but I’m not into the whole gaudy decor he has going.”
Gram blinked several times in a row at him, as if he couldn’t believe the man was serious.
“What?”
“I was joking about you buying it,” returned Gram.
Garth scratched his chin and shrugged. “Oh. I considered buying it for half a second there—bloodstains and all.”
“When was the last time you talked to a head doctor at PSI?” questioned Gram, his expression one that said he was joking this time.
“Last month. She said I was fine.” Garth simply stared at his friend.
“Then we really need to get a new head doctor,” said Gram. His blue gaze moved in the direction of the historic samurai sword that had captured Garth’s attention to start with. “All right, I’ll give you that one. That is cool as shite.”
Garth touched the glass of the case softly, still amazed the sword was within his grasp once more. He’d thought it lost forever when it had gone missing. “I have one similar to this. They were made by the same man. It’s why I bid on her when she came up for auction years ago. I wanted the sisters together. With me.”
“This would be a legal auction?” asked Gram, his voice saying he already knew the answer.
Garth grumbled lightly. “Not so much. I’m a firm believer that rules were made to be bent to suit my needs.”
“You know, with as thick as yer Swedish accent is, I caught like a tenth of what you said…and I’m Scottish. No oneeverunderstands all of what we say.”
Garth flipped off his friend and returned to touching the glass case around the sword.
