Page 2 of Definitely Dead

Tyr had felt the same way when he’d first arrived. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Really, though, what is this place?”

He glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Golden hair cut into shaggy layers that framed his face. Big, crisp green eyes. Plump cheeks with a soft jaw. The little witch looked like a fucking kid, but the energy pouring off him belied his meek appearance.

Something about the way he spoke, though, felt…off. Not his words or tone, exactly. It was more in his cadence.

“Village of Lost Souls.” A little hamlet built for the dead, those who, for whatever reason, refused to move on. “You should go back and wait for the ferryman.”

“Maybe later.” The male rounded his shoulders, his thin black tee offering little protection from the biting cold. “I’m Aster, by the way. Aster Hornby.”

He grunted. “Tyr.”

“Tyr? Like top-tier badass?” His laughter rang through the darkness, and he tossed his head back, clearly amused by his own joke.

“Just Tyr.” They reached the top of the slope and stepped onto the narrowed, cobbled street that ran the perimeter of the village. “If you’re staying, you should talk to Helen.” He pointed toward a shop to his left, the windows dimly lit by the orange glow of candlelight. “She’ll tell you what to do next.”

Aster glanced at the crooked door of the bakery and back, his brow creased and a frown tugging at his lips. “You’re not going to show me around?”

“No.”

He’d figure it out. They all did eventually.

Striding into the dark alley between the buildings, Tyr emerged onto the main thoroughfare. From there, he could see every ramshackle structure in the town, as well as the massive high-rise that towered over everything else and disappeared into blackness.

Shiny, modern, it was in total juxtaposition to the rest of the place. Rumor had it Hades had constructed the building himself to house the lost souls who wandered the banks of the river.

The god had never confirmed nor denied the suspicions, but Tyr wouldn’t be surprised if he had. Hades had a well-earned reputation for being a hard ass, but he could also be absurdly generous if the mood struck.

Case in point, the castle at the water’s edge Tyr and his brethren shared with their prince.

As Guardians, they were sworn to protect the royal families of the paranormal world. For centuries topside, that had meant safeguarding Orrin Nightstar, heir to the elven court. When the prince had met his mate and relocated to the Underworld, he hadn’t ordered them to follow, but their oath didn’t end just because their ward had relocated.

Tyr didn’t regret his choice, and given the opportunity, he would do it again. But things had changed since their arrival, and despite more than twelve hundred years to acclimate, he hadn’t figured out how to change with them.

“You’re brooding again.”

Tyr’s gaze slid sideways toward the male, but he kept walking. “I don’t brood.”

Undeterred, the guy pushed off the lamppost, his face shadowed from the flickering flames of the lantern that hung overhead. “You have that look.”

He slowed, but he didn’t stop moving. “This is just my face.”

Stepping off the crumbling curb, Rune fell into step beside him. “Who pissed you off this time?”

“No one.” He might be annoyed, but not angry. He just wasn’t particularly happy either. “Why are you here?”

The big Guardian shrugged and threaded his fingers through his hair, dragging the dusky strands away from his face. “Disagreement at the Tower.”

Tyr flicked his gaze toward the high-rise and grunted.

Rune had joined the Nightstar Guard a few years after him, and barring a short transition period, had seamlessly integrated into the team. Strategic, and a bit of a perfectionist, he had been in charge of coordinating Orrin’s security for decades.

He didn’t just have a plan B. The shifter incorporated the whole damn alphabet, prepared with a contingency for every possible scenario. And no one knew Ministry law like Rune Calix.

No small thing when the Ministry of Otherling Affairs took more of a “punish first, explain later” approach to governing the paranormal world.

In the village, Rune managed petty skirmishes between dead people, and he did it with the same attention to detail and understanding of regulations. Only now, he operated under the rules of the Underworld.

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