Krystian excuses himself from his adoring fans then steps outside. His gaze automatically drifts to me, high up on the roof next door, and he flips me off.
“You couldn’t have given me a few more minutes?” he asks, amusement quirking up one corner of his lips.
“That’s how long it takes you? No wonder women don’t come back for seconds,” I quip.
Krystian chuckles. “Oh, they come back for seconds. I just send them away.”
“Can we focus, please?” Zaid asks in his soft, sibilant voice. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can return home.”
Rafael mutters something about the compound not being home, but we all ignore him. The compound is theonlyhome any of us know.
Especially since the world has changed so drastically from when we were first put to sleep, almost three or four centuries earlier.
When the truth of supernaturals came out to the humans, about four hundred years ago, the gods also revealed themselves. They vowed to be the protectors of the humans, saving them from rogue creatures that kill indiscriminately. Thus, the elite teams came to be. Each of them was chosen by a god with one purpose and one purpose alone—to protect those who can’t protect themselves.
Centuries ago, I was born with a birthmark shaped like a sword and a shimmering haze surrounding me.
Ares chose me as one of his champions.
The other three were all born within minutes of me, and together, we trained and learned how to utilize our skills as supernaturals to protect the innocents. When we reached the age of twenty-five, we were put into a deep, catatonic sleep,which would only end when we were needed, since there’s only ever one team active at a time.
We woke up two years ago, after Aphrodite’s team was slaughtered by a feral giant.
“Target is in position.” Zaid’s voice cuts through my thoughts like the slash of a whip.
Immediately, I hop to my feet and take a running jump into the alley four stories below. I land in a crouch, my senses heightened, and meet up with Krystian. For once, his cocky smirk is no longer on his face.
“Let’s get this over with,” he tells me, reaching behind him.
A second later, a bow and arrow set materializes as if out of thin air—though I know it’s actually a product of a powerful glamour.
We race the last few feet until we reach the destination we decided on earlier. It’s a narrow street too big to be considered an alley, nestled between tall brick buildings. The smell of garbage assaults my senses from the rows of dumpsters lining the wall, and I inwardly curse my enhanced shifter senses.
Zaid solidifies beside us.
“He’s there.” He points to where Dennis is attempting to unlatch the gate at the end of the street in order to get home.
We’ve watched him long enough to know he takes this route every day when he returns home from the bar. He believes it’s a shortcut, but the dumbass doesn’t realize it actually adds five minutes to his walk.
Krystian notches an arrow, and it zips through the air and embeds itself in our target’s leg.
He immediately cries out and falls to the ground, surprise and fear crowding his features as he turns in our direction.
“W-what? What’s going on? Please. Don’t hurt me. You can have all my money.” The pathetic waste of space begins to throw handfuls of cash in our direction.
I bite back a snort.
“We don’t want your damn money.” Krystian’s nose crinkles derisively, as if the mere idea we’re petty thieves is laughable.
“You’ve been a naughty boy, Dennis.” I tsk my tongue in mock disapproval.
“W-what are you talking about?” Dennis splutters. “How do you know my name?”
“Do you know what my arrows can do?” Krystian begins almost conversationally as he grabs one of said arrows and holds it in front of him. He reverently runs the pad of his thumb over the tip. “They’re called light arrows. Have you heard of them?”
Dennis whimpers and scoots away, until his back is flush against the chain-link fence.
“They eat away at your skin. I would say you have, maybe, five more minutes until you’re experiencing pain like you’ve never felt before.” A wide, terrifying grin spreads on Krystian’s face.
