Free Sword of the Raven by Diana Duncan Page A

he scooped her up. The most ripped guy she’d ever known—at least until she’d met Rowan—Archer was also the most contradictory. His upper arms were immense, and his abs could probably break steel beams. His close-cropped hair and lethal umber gaze appeared intimidating, while his crooked grin was sweet and without guile. She’d seen him unhesitatingly flatten obnoxious mashers in the club, then gently comfort upset patrons.
    “I can walk.”
    “Humor me. I haven’t worked out yet today.”
    As he strode into the club and kicked the glass panels shut behind them, Delaney slung her arms around his neck…and caught an envious look from a passing blonde on the street. Archer exuded barely-leashed sexual energy that lured both men and women like moths to a propane torch. But if he had relationships of either sex, he was extraordinarily discreet. She’d never spotted him with anyone. He was always alone.
    “Had yourself one bodacious day, huh?” Scorning the elevator, he loped up three flights of stairs as if he was merely carrying a kitten, his booted feet pounding the sturdy wooden treads. “I repo’ed your car. It’s snug and sound in the parking garage.”
    “Thanks!” She rested her check against his chest. “Just wait until you hear everything about my day.” Once, after Zack’s desertion to Phoenix had instigated a solo pomegranate mojito pity party, Archer had caught her sniveling in a corner of the nightclub. He’d carried her up to bed…exactly like this…and tucked her in. There were no sexual vibes between them. Archer had been remarkably wise and compassionate as a mere twenty-two-year-old when he’d taken in thirteen year-old Delaney and her sixteen year-old brother eleven years ago. No doubts, no questions, no strings.
    He was the only one who knew the whole ugly truth about their past, and the trio shared an unbreakable bond.
    Speaking of friends… Delaney shifted. “Where’s Van, is she okay?”
    “Thelma is dandy. She’s snoring away on my couch. How about you, Louise?” His endearingly lopsided grin flashed in the dim light from the antique hallway sconces. “Your place or mine?”
    He’d leased her a utilities-included apartment down the hall from his own top-floor penthouse for ridiculously cheap while she’d been paying for law school classes. The building was old, but loaded with character, and the two of them had had a blast furnishing her place in garage sale shabby chic. Archer, Delaney, and Archer’s assistant Rini were the building’s only tenants, and it was private and secure.
    Since she’d tanked her career, Delaney waitressed for him at Starry Night in lieu of rent. Her tips kept her in gas and groceries while her days were free to follow leads on Connor’s case.
    “Yours. You have better food. And coffee.”
    Connor had cautioned her to stay close to Archer. Until she figured out what was going on, it wasn’t a bad idea. If, Lord forbid, she did have a brain disorder and suffered a seizure or something, at least he could call 9-1-1. Her arms tightened around his neck. “Archer, we need to talk.”
    He glanced down at her. “So I gathered.” Not even breathing hard, he opened his apartment door and whisked her inside. He carried Delaney past where Vanessa slept on his plum velvet Victorian sofa in front of a crackling fire, and deposited her on a stool at the countertop eating area that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Van filled me in on her end. How’s Connor hangin’ in?”
    “You know him, always trying to be upbeat for me. But it’s bad.” She clung to the shiny black granite in front of her, cold and firm beneath her clammy fingers. “The past forty-eight hours have been down-the-rabbit-hole strange. I don’t even know where to start.”
    He stalked to the huge espresso maker that had more gauges than her car. When he turned his back to flip switches, she caught a glimpse of the elaborate red, yellow, and orange sun tattoo