Just how hard did I hit my head? he wondered as he blinked up into the strikingly beautiful features of the platinum haired man that was looking down his nose at Hastur.

He blinked and realized he hadn’t hit his head at all, nor was he being visited by an angel. It was Reeve Branimir, inexplicably caught up in the crowd watching his fight with a bunch of snot-nosed wannabe gangers.

“Boy, you sure picked a helluva time to take me up on that drink,” Hastur said and grinned, unable to help himself.

The reeve raised one skeptical brow but Hastur would have sworn he saw one corner of his mouth quirk up. “Been busy, have we?” he drawled archly.

Movement in his periphery again, Hastur swung his sheath up and caught the redheaded boy mid-lunge with a blow to the ribs that sent him stumbling.

“Oh, not all that busy,” Hastur said and rolled to his feet. For some undeniably foolish reason, Hastur was suddenly filled to the brim with the need to, if not show off, then at least not take any more hits from a bunch of kids in the middle of a street brawl.

He’d always meant to give them a solid schooling— demonstrate the difference years of experience both on the street and in battle could give a person so they’d catch a hint and back down of their own accord, but now Hastur wanted to do it with a little flair. Not that he wanted Branimir to be impressed or anything, he just needed to build up a proper rep now that he was back, that was all…

People in the crowd had started making bets among themselves on the outcome of the fight but it didn’t take long for the inevitable conclusion to become obvious to even the most oblivious of gamblers. Zelimir, Jasna’s brother, had tired himself out making broad, overpowered swings at Hastur that the more experienced man easily sidestepped until he saw an opening and swept the boy’s legs out from under him. He went down in a heap and didn’t move again except to curl in on himself to nurse his undoubtedly fractured ribs.

The fight mostly went out of the youngsters after that, until only Jasna and Gavrail remained. Hastur had noticed the boy’s heart didn’t seem to be in the fight so he’d mostly let him be. Now he had Jasna’s arm slung across his shoulders and he was half-supporting his badly beaten leader. The fire hadn’t gone out in the girls eyes, though, which Hastur couldn’t help but flash a brief smile at when he turned to focus on them again.

“You’re done here,” he said and brought his sheathed blade up to rest against his shoulder.

“We’re not done…until we get what we ruddy well came for,” Jasna insisted, breathing labored as she glared at him, then over his shoulder where Hastur knew Prishka was standing among the crowd of passerby.

He stepped in and swung his sword down and stopped just shy of the girl’s knee, then tapped it lightly instead of shattering the joint the way he could have, had he really wanted to. She knew it too, judging by the way she went pale, though to her credit Jasna never took her eyes from Hastur’s even as he threatened her.

“You’re done,” he repeated firmly and cast his eyes over her beleagured cohort. “Go home. Come see me in a few days when your bruises fade and your pride isn’t stinging quite so sharp. Bring the pup when you do,” he said and jerked his chin at Gavrail who grimaced.

“What, want another round?” the red headed girl said and bared her teeth at him, defiant to the end.

Hastur snorted. “Want a busted knee? No, wanna offer you a job.”

The girl barked a laugh, harsh and bitter even as she started to sag more heavily against Gavrail, who struggled to get a better grip on her. “Rather… eat my own boots,” Jasna said then sagged limply so her friend was forced to swing her up into his arms to keep her from going down.

“Guess you are the bright one of the group, huh, pup?” Hastur mused as he looked from Jasna to Gavrail who only heaved a sigh. “We can talk details later, just make sure she shows up, yeah? Try a bit harder than you did today, though. I told you not to let her come.”

Gavrail stared him down, expression sullen as he voiced his suspicion. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to. You only told me to try just to push her into coming at you haphazard today instead of taking time and catching out on the streets where we might have the advantage.”

Pleased the boy had put it together, Hastur gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged while he returned his sword to its place at his hip. “Mind like a steel trap, you. We’ll make something out of you yet, pup. Now shove off before the crowd turns— you’re vulnerable,” he warned then turned away and went back inside the Red Bird with Prishka and a few of her regulars.

Tables and chairs were brought in from where they’d been stashed in the kitchen and the yard behind the inn to avoid damage. “See, not so much as a smashed chair,” Hastur bragged while he muscled one of the larger tables back into the room on his own and she rolled her eyes, though he was pretty sure she’d only done it to mask a smile.

“We’ll talk rates later— now go grab those chairs and be gentle-like or I’ll take it all back.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hastur said with a salute and did as she said. When he returned he moved to help a man wrestling a table into position in the corner of the barroom and found none other than the reeve. “You stuck around,” Hastur observed, unreasonably pleased, particularly considering he’d definitely just broken the law, perhaps several times, by fighting openly in the street like he had been.

Together they heaved the table right way round and back into place. “I did,” the reeve mused and dusted off his hands. His long blue coat and matching tunic were nicer than what you generally saw around Ashtown, but not so nice as to make him a walking billboard with ‘rob me’ written in big, bold letters across it. There was something about his air and the sharpness of his gaze that would put off all but the most determined (or stupid) of pick-pockets anyways.

Whatever their quality, their color suited his tanned skin and pale hair and once again Hastur got distracted admiring the fine features of the man’s face. His long nose and cat-like eyes, his shapely lips and strong brows…

“Ward,” Branimir called, one of said strong brows arching sharply at him so Hastur realized he’d gone and got distracted staring at him. “Did one of your little friends manage to hit you in the head before you dragged your fight into the street?”

Doing his best to recover, Hastur played it off with a laugh and dragged a seat over to the table then dropped into it. “It’s been a long day, can you blame a man for taking a minute to enjoy the view?” he asked and waved one of Prishka’s serving girls over and called for two drinks.

“You’re a very foolish man,” the reeve said, expression impassive in contrast to the restive way he shifted on his feet.

“Yeah, yeah. Sit down and tell me all about it, Reeve, but do it soon— you’re giving me a crick in my neck,” Hastur complained and hooked his boot under the leg of a second chair then dragged into place for Naum with a sweep of his leg.

The reeve hesitated, but then the serving girl returned with two tankards of the good ale Prishka kept under the bar and Hastur offered it to the man himself with a mischievous smile. Finally, Naum accepted and sank into the seat then took a long drink of ale— not quite quaffing it, but obviously eager to wash down a long, hard day and Hastur followed suit.

They both put down their tankards at almost the same time and Hastur remarked, “Must’ve been some day for you to come all the way to Ashtown for a drink.”

Naum slid his hand into the front of his tunic and came up with a cigarette case. He pulled one out and returned the case, then felt for his matches but came up short. Hastur went to offer him one from his own stash he kept for his pipe but the Reeve beat him to the punch. There was an increasingly familiar, if faint, sizzle of magic, then the caster flicked his thumb and a small, blue flame blossomed at its tip. He raised it to the end of his cigarette to light it, then gave his hand a sharp shake so it went back out again.

Hastur found the whole display so unreasonably sexy it took everything in him not to gape at the reeve. Mouth dry despite all the ale he’d already downed, he said, “Nice trick.”

Naum cast him a sidelong look as he took a long pull of his cigarette, cat-like eyes almost golden in the warm glow of the oil lamps, then turned and blew smoke directly into Hastur’s face. “Kills at parties,” he drawled blithely.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph is he trying to kill me? Hastur wondered silently as he tried to quash his newly reawakened libido. Finding men to bed, let alone romance, had been such risky business in Mike’s world that Hastur had all but given up there for a long while. Now here came Naum Branimir, just about everything Hastur looked for in a man, at least on the surface, but life just had to throw another hurdle for him.

Hastur may not have to worry about risking life and limb to court a man here in his own world, but as a man looking to start a second criminal career, a reeve was just about the worst person he could pick to chase.

What a rotten joke.