Page 9 of Bad Witch

Fender: On my way

When I walked into the clubhouse twenty minutes later, Warrick and Jagger were at one of the tall tables, nursing beers.

Our alpha jerked up his chin when he saw me. “Brother.”

I leaned against the table beside Jag. “What’s up?”

War slid a beer my way. “We got some intel.”

I swallowed down a few mouthfuls.

“Turns out there are some weapons that could be really fucking useful. Thought you could hunt them down.”

My leg had started aching, and I leaned heavier on the table to take some weight off it. “What kind of weapons?”

“Angel killers,” War said.

“Hell-forged?”

“Yeah. An arsenal of them.”

We’d recently discovered that Uriel, one of the archangels, had taken over upstairs. No one had seen the others in his ranks for a while, but most importantly, Michael, the archangel who usually kept things running smoothly and the most level-headed of his kind, had vanished. We assumed Uriel either had control of the lesser angels, or they were on board with his plans, because he wasn’t doing this alone. It had been Uriel who had freed Seraphina, a vindictive, power-hungry angel, a while back so that she could torture Roxy and Lothar for intel on Lucifer. She’d been killed, but it had been a close thing.

But worst of all, we now knew for sure that Uriel wanted to enact the forgotten prophecy, changing the course we were on, which meant some really bad shit was about to go down if we didn’t stop him. All that had happened and now he’d gone quiet, but we knew it wouldn’t be for long.

We had to prepare for the worst, and an arsenal of angel-killing weapons would definitely be useful. Hell-forged weapons took time to make, and not all angels were created equal. Some were harder to kill than others. “Can they take out archangels?”

“These aren’t just any Hell-forged weapons,” War said. “The iron is from Hell’s core and forged in Tregon’s fire, so yeah, archangels.”

“Fuck.” Tregon was a fire-breathing dragon-like creature that resided in the deepest pit in Hell. He’d been there for thousands of years. He was left alone, guarded by an ancient and powerful demon, Garan, because no one but him had ever ventured into that creature’s territory and survived. Weapons like that would be a game changer. “Where are they?”

“That’s still unknown. They were removed from Hell a long time ago, though. Willow read about their existence in some old texts. Mags spoke to Agatheena to see if she’d heard about them, and the crone verified their existence. That’s all we know, and since you’re still healing and this would take some research, I thought it might be something you could help with.”

Since I was broken and nowhere near the warrior I’d been and only good for shuffling papers is what he meant. I got it. I was a fucking liability right now, at least until I got my pain sorted and my head straight, and my brothers knew it. “I’ll do what I can.”

War gripped my shoulder. “Appreciate it, brother.”

“How was the session with Tempest today?” Jag asked.

Thinking about her made me grin, despite myself. “As confusing as the female herself.”

War took in my expression. “And you like that?”

“Today she asked about my sex life,” I said and chuckled.

Jag huffed a laugh. “Sex life? Like she wanted to know who you’re fucking? What does that have to do with your leg?”

I shrugged, not wanting to go into the finer details of our session, but I knew they’d get a kick out of it and it helped wipe away the pitying looks that had crept across their faces. “No idea.”

War chuckled. “You like this female?”

I shrugged, playing it down. “I’d like her under me, but not sure she’d fuck with a patient,” I said, then frowned because I realized I didn’t like talking about her like that, even if we were just talking shit like we usually did. A restless feeling hit me. Where was she now? Was she being safe?

“And you guys think we gossip,” Willow said as she stopped beside her mate, Violet in her arms. The pup reached for her father instantly.

War grinned as he took her, cradling his tiny daughter to his chest, and pressed his nose to her head, breathing her in before looking down at his mate. “We’re not gossiping, we’re helping Fender out with his sex life.”

Jagger almost spat out his beer. “Yeah, our brother is in need of some female companionship and⁠—”