Grimm: A Novel In The Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Series (The Temple Chronicles Book 3) (38 page)

I launched a blast of air at the approaching Grimm.

But felt a familiar shield fall into place before I could strike.

Mustachio smiled, raising a finger to shake at me. “Ah, ah, ah. No power. Just a good old fashioned ass whooping, Temple.”

Well.

Two on one was never good odds.

So I threw my wine glass at Mustachio. The glass shattered in his face, right in the eyes and his stupid mustache, causing him to roar in pain. The beefier Grimm yelled and began stomping towards me. I grabbed my towel and high tailed it out of the kitchen. I needed a weapon. These guys were strapped.

I tore through the hallways of
Chateau Falco
, trying to determine the closest weapon from the layout of the house in my mind. I hadn’t had time to nab anything from the kitchen. The rapidly approaching footsteps told me I wouldn’t have a chance at reaching any of the swords, guns, or axes in time. Then I had a thought. I veered abruptly to the right, racing through the dining room. I knocked over any piece of furniture within easy reach, lamps, chairs, tables, anything to slow them down. Then I hit the foyer, smiling at the sound of curses from the larger Grimm. At least the scrawnier, faster one was still plucking glass out of his mustache. I shivered at the imagined sensation of what was to come next, my fingers wrapping around the door handle leading outside. I threw myself through the door before I could think about it too much.

Icy cold hit my still damp hair and genitals like a knife. I pressed on, racing across the snow in bare feet, ignoring the stabs of pain from the gravel, and bolted straight towards the stable. I remembered the old rusty knife I had been meaning to fix sitting on the workbench.

The knife had surprised me by still holding an edge. It had once been a real specimen, long, full-tang, and bound with a sinister bone handle. An antique of some kind.

I tore through the door, which was luckily open, and sprinted for the workbench.

Or I tried to.

Something hanging just inside the doorway clipped me in the temple and I went sprawling, seeing stars. I heard heavily booted feet just outside the door as the beefy Grimm tried to close the gap. Having boots helped while running through snow. My feet were numb and no doubt bleeding from the gravel, and my head still spun woozily in the darkness of the stable. I lurched to my feet and stumbled to the workbench.

My hand closed around the hilt and I dove to the side, rolling to my feet quickly on the icy concrete as I anticipated the attack. A club slammed into the workbench a hairsbreadth away from clobbering me. I stood from my crouch with a manic grin. It was McBeefy Grimm. He took one look at my knife, smiled, and dropped his club. He withdrew a truly impressive knife from his belt, blade glittering in the filtered light coming through the windows. Luckily it was a wide-open space. Knife fights tended to require a lot of room.

I wrapped the towel around my left forearm – the one with the Infinity Gauntlet still covering my fist, and palmed the blade in the other hand. I felt naked.

Look, not just
literally
. I
was
naked in that department, which also wasn’t good for a knife fight.

But naked without my
power
. I had grown used to having it, and knowing these punks were blocking me lent me a bit of paranoia. No backup. Just brawn against brawn.

And these guys knew brawn.

McBeefy approached on the balls of his elephant feet, surprisingly nimble, grinning as he shook his head at the ridiculous situation of getting into a knife fight in a garage with a nude, powerless wizard who was wearing an oven mitt and a towel for armor.

It would just make my victory more impressive.

Or my beating more embarrassing.

I lunged, swiping at his thigh like a snake. Mallory had taught me the ins and outs of knife fighting. I wasn’t sure where he had learned it, but judging by his scarred forearms, he had practiced quite a bit in his youth. I scored a hit, a deep cut lashing his thigh, but he hammered my kidneys with his empty fist on my way by and I grunted as the pain struck my groin, like only a true kidney punch could do.

He grunted at the strike, wiping a hand on the bloody smear and holding it up to the light. Then his brother, Mustachio, tore through the doorway, face bleeding and furious. His mustache was now lopsided, one side perfectly curled, the other a ragged protrusion of loose hair.

“Wardrobe malfunction?” I asked, motioning towards my upper lip.

He merely set his lips in a tight line, and pulled out his own knife. Then closed off any chance of escape as he nudged the door closed with a boot, eliminating the additional light from outside. They circled me like wolves.

Lucky me, I
knew
wolf. Gunnar had been my sparring partner for
years
.

I feinted left, watching with a distant grin as the larger Grimm fell for it. Mustachio yelled in warning but was too late. I slashed McBeefy’s wrist. The one holding the knife. The blade clattered to the ground but he had instinctively reached to catch it, so caught my knee on his jaw instead, which sent him into a dazed twirl before he crumpled to the floor. I immediately jumped to the side rather than stomping on the Grimm for good measure.

Lucky me. Mustachio had lunged to catch me in the back, but missed. He growled, kicking his partner lightly in the ribs. “Get up.” No response.

“I read him a bedtime story. Just you and me now.” I smiled back, chuckling.

He snarled and lunged. I caught the blade on my towel-clad forearm, but it cut through the fabric easily. I felt fire lash my wrist and I tried to slice back, but he was fast. Not superhuman fast, which he no doubt could have been. Just experienced fast. Lucky me, these guys were staying true to their word and relying solely on their skills as humans.

For now.

I felt another slice graze my ribs – deep enough to draw blood – and my counter swing missed again. He was chuckling now. He was good. I needed to end this fast. Before Dean showed up and became collateral damage.

Or leverage. Which seemed to be a common tactic for the Grimms.

I threw myself at him in a savage flurry, missing with my first two strikes. I hit him two times out of four, one of them on his cheek. And that’s when he began to change the rules. He used magic.

A force slammed into me, spinning me around, and his knife sliced my back. Hard. I fell, the bloody towel unraveling from my impromptu knot. The hand holding the knife hit the ground and the blade shattered. The Grimm began to chuckle.

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Mustachio called from over my shoulder. I turned to face him, lifting my
Infinity Gauntlet
to defend myself, calling on my power one last time, but to no avail. Apparently, Mustachio was the one blocking me, not McBeefy, or the shield would have evaporated. The knife raced towards me in a blur.

A crossbow bolt abruptly punched through his throat, sending him into a spin. His blade managed to slice the outside of my thigh in a deep cut as he fell, which hurt. Mustachio twitched once, and then a pool of blood began slowly growing around his body. I glanced back, grunting at the knife wound in my thigh. Dean stood in the doorway, holding a crossbow and a grocery bag. He hit a button on his key fob and his car alarm chirped on.

“Really, Master Temple. I told you about the crossbow on the wall by the door. Why did you grab that rusty old knife you so cleverly hid from me?” I blinked at him. Surprised at him saving my life, but also that he had known about the knife I had tried hiding from him. He calmly surveyed the scene. “Is that all of them?” He asked. I nodded. He hung the crossbow back on the wall and left without another word.

I blinked.

Then I used the towel to tie a makeshift tourniquet around my thigh. I used zip ties to bind McBeefy. Several of them on each arm and leg for good measure. Then I padlocked him to a fender of one of the late model cars parked in the stable. The kind made of all steel, no fiberglass. He groaned lightly as I did so, but didn’t wake. I punched him in the nose and his head rocked back, striking the fender with a satisfying
clang
. I disarmed both bodies, threw a tarp over Mustachio, and made my way back inside
Chateau Falco
.

Dean was calmly plucking glass out of the cake. He turned to look at me with a frown of disapproval before pointedly glancing back at the cake. “You should shower again and bandage those wounds. You need to leave in thirty minutes to make your reservation.”

I stared in utter disbelief for a few seconds as he silently began icing the cake. Then I left to follow his advice, muttering under my breath.

Goddamn Grimms
.

Goddamn snarky Butlers
.

Chapter 39

I
sat in the middle of the restaurant, trying not to fidget. My wounds were aching and burning in a steady, reliable rhythm, matching the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. Dean had bandaged me up, and I was using my powers to block the insistent throbbing pain threatening to overwhelm me from the brief but violent knife fight, among other injuries over the past few days. I masked my grimace. It might send the wrong impression to Indie.

I, Nate Temple, life-long bachelor, was about to propose.

And then likely be murdered in the morning.

I signaled the waiter again impatiently. He danced over to my side, having been watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, Master Temple.” I had already ordered dinner for Indie and I, knowing what she generally liked and disliked, but also because she enjoyed the surprise. We always took turns. Sometimes she ordered, sometimes I did.

“Make sure to keep an eye out for-”

“Miss Indiana Rippley. Yes. Of course, Sir.”

I grumbled dark things under my breath at his interruption. In his defense, I
had
reminded him three times already. “And you have everything you need to proceed as I ask-”

“Yes, Sir. Everything is ready, only awaiting your signal.” He showed me the signal.

“And the-”

“Yes, the…
token of love
is ready and waiting. I’m sure she will adore the sentiment.” His tone may or may not have held an undercurrent of sarcasm. I scowled for good measure, and then nodded. He left. I took a sip of my wine, waiting impatiently.

As if on cue, Indie entered the restaurant, and time seemed to slow. Everyone turned to look at her. She was very…
noticeable
, to say the least. She wore an ermine gown, slit at the thigh to reveal a small, tasteful slice of pale leg, and the fabric clung to her well-curved frame like a second skin. I smiled as I stood. She returned the smile as she spotted me and then approached. Many people continued to watch, some looking confused, and others shaking their heads before turning back to their meals. Perhaps they were still upset at me for the failure of Temple Industries, and my seeming blatant disregard in the interviews. But that had been Wilhelm, not me. Still, they didn’t know that, and I didn’t care about any of that tonight.

Indie stepped up to the table and the waiter was suddenly there holding the chair back, looking composed but slightly startled. Perhaps she had snuck in before they could guide her. I hadn’t seen a waiter leading her to my table. And waiters in places like this could take those kinds of slights personally. I reminded myself to tip well.

The waiter arched a questioning brow at me and I nodded. His lips compressed into a thin line, but he continued on without Indie noticing. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Was he really that upset about not escorting her to my table?

I sat down after her, and all the weariness of the fighting and near death experiences over the last few days slowly dissipated. I was still in pain and nervous as hell, but some of the weight had lifted from my shoulders upon seeing her dressed to the nines. I began to think about Misha, and Ashley, and quickly had to shake away the thoughts. Indie noticed, dropping her gaze in understanding.

The waiter spoke. “Shall I-”

“I’ll have what he’s having.” She interrupted, staring at my drink. Which was not her typical drink. Then again, it was not a typical night. We were on edge. The waiter, still looking ruffled, nodded once, and then departed. Indie smiled at his back in amusement before turning to me, eyebrows arched. “Should we really be celebrating right now?” She asked softly. “It looks like many in this room would skewer you alive if they could.” She added as an afterthought, glancing around the room.

Indeed, we were garnering many looks. Some hostile, some interested; all package and parcel for me. I was a celebrity in town, and was used to it. Indie would eventually get used to it also. She would have to.

“Of course we should be celebrating. We are
alive
.” I spoke softly.

Indie nodded, looking down.

“After what I saw today, I needed to remember what we are fighting for. What is truly important.” And just like that, I found myself ready to spill my guts to her, not even waiting for our food.

Or Indie’s drink.