“I think I know how to zip up my pants, asshole.”
“But what are you going to do about that beard?”
Nord froze, leveling an icy look at his friend. “What about my beard?”
Finley chuckled, shaking his head. “Mate. You look like you belong in a cave with a giant club and a bear pelt tied around your waist. Would it kill you to trim the thing? Or at least brush the crumbs out of it.”
“I do not have crumbs in it!” Nord insisted, moving toward the mirror hanging over his dresser.
He was not a vain man, but Nord took great pride in his beard. Centuries ago, when he’d been a boy with his tribe, he’d been taught that a man’s beard was a sign he was ready for battle; the fuller the beard, the greater a man’s strength. Now an immortal warrior in his own right, the lesson had never quite left him although many other things had.
Shrewd blue eyes scanned his tanned reflection. Frowning, Nord had to admit his beard was a bit scragglier than he remembered, the longest part of it reaching his chest. Running his hands along the length of it, he muttered, “Maybe a trim wouldn’t be amiss.”
Throwing his hands up, Finley cried out, “Thank you!”
Nord glared at him.
“We’ll do your hair while we’re at it,” Finley declared, already moving down the hall toward his bathroom.
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
Finley shook his head. “No one wears their hair that long anymore, mate.”
Nord looked in the mirror at the mess of blond hair that hung down his back, not seeing anything wrong with it. It was thick and clean. What more was it supposed to be?
Coming back into the room, Finley held up his clippers and silver sheers. “Trust me; you’ve been away for so long, you don’t know how to blend in anymore. Let me help you.”
Grudgingly, Nord nodded. If he was going to this damned ball, he didn’t want to look like an ass.
Finley cast a pointed glance at Nord’s hands.
Already knowing what he was going to say, Nord stopped him before he began. “The rings stay.”
Finley loved to make fun of Nord’s ring collection. Each band was a reminder of a long-ago battle fought and won. No matter what else he’d had to give up when he joined the Brotherhood, he’d refused to leave them behind. They were worn, ancient, and his most cherished possessions.
His father had crafted the first one after Nord had returned from his first solo hunt, a wild boar slung over his back. He’d used one of the beast’s tusks to create a smooth, ivory-colored ring. It didn’t fit anymore, but Nord still wore it on a chain around his neck.
The others were of various metals, each one forged from the weapon of a foe he’d slain. The last, the most important, was the one on his left index finger. His people generally saved that finger for their mate bands as it was said to be linked to the heart. Nord had no notions of being mated, having given his life to the Brotherhood. Instead, it’s where he wore the ring he crafted after avenging his father’s death.
Running his thumb over the smooth band, Nord frowned. Finley could change whatever he wanted about his appearance, but he’d gut the man—brother or not—if he tried to take his rings.
“Let’s get this over with,” Nord growled.
Grab your ticket to the Monster Ball here and find out why sometimes what happens at the Monster Ball doesn’t always stay there…