Buckshot & Mistletoe (Genesis: Savage Warriors #2)

Chapter One

Snow came to this part of Colorado, sure enough, and tonight—Christmas Eve—it fell hard and heavy, rolling in thick waves across the open pastures of the Shadowfell Ranch.

The white drifts caught the moonlight, turning the fields into something almost magical. Other large buildings lay in the distance, but it was the main house that drew the eye—its string of Christmas lights flickering like stars, swaying in the wind.

Inside the main house, the most dangerous men alive were…decorating.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never strung a strand of lights before,” Real drawled from the step stool in the great room, hammer in one hand, nails in the other. The last of the decorations waited—somehow, they’d been roped into finishing the job.

People saw his broad shoulders and soldier’s stance and assumed he’d been born with a gun in his hand. Maybe he had. But right now, he was losing a fight with a strand of gold and green garland.

“It’s not exactly a skill they covered in training manuals,” Azrael muttered.

He stood a few feet away, clutching a string of lights as if they might explode.

Leaner and years younger, Azrael’s long, dark hair perpetually fell into his eyes.

The younger man didn’t look like he belonged among killers, and yet the SR1911 on his hip and the silver dagger strapped mid-thigh said otherwise.

They called Azrael an expert marksman. Real figured that was just a polite way of saying his man never missed.

“Where’s your crew?” Crow asked as he stepped in.

YA—that was the crew Crow meant, young assassins, working at the Nevada ranch these days under Azrael’s lead.

“They said something about taking over the barn,” Azrael murmured, passing Real the strand of lights with a grateful glance.

The place everyone called the Barn was still a meeting hall—at least on paper—but the guys had turned half of it into a large man cave.

“How are the two newest recruits working out?” Rebel asked, coming in from the kitchen to stand beside his husband.

Crow and Rebel were a pair—met on the job, rough start, fell hard anyway. These days, it was strange to see one without the other.

“Sage is restless. Ocean’s fitting in, but like Sage, he doesn’t talk much,” Azrael said.

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch,” Crow said, pulling Rebel into a tight hug.

Rebel snorted but didn’t pull away, content to stay right there.

“Have you heard from Gage and Mason?” he asked Real.

“I did. They made it to the resort in the Bahamas safe and sound. The kids are loving it,” Real said with a smirk.

“Lucky,” Rebel pouted.

“Hey, if you oversaw this place like they do, you’d want a break too,” Crow chided.

“Bahamas. Next year,” Rebel muttered, glaring at his husband.

“Yes, dear.” Crow pulled him closer.

Azrael sputtered, and Real couldn’t help but laugh.

“They deserve a break,” Real said. It was true—Gage and Mason, former Pegasus operatives, ran Shadowfell Ranch.

The two men had worked their asses off building this place to mirror the facility in Nevada.

The twenty-one thousand acres bordered a national forest and had been quietly purchased by the government under a shell corporation’s name.

“That leaves Dave and Stone in charge,” Azrael said.

“Where are they?” Rebel asked.

“Probably dreading walking up from the house,” Azrael grinned.

“Hey, if I had a home in the mountains and was retired, I wouldn’t want to leave it either,” Crow said.

“Aww, honey, do you want to retire?” Rebel batted his lashes.

“No.” Crow gave a mock scowl and teasingly chomped on Rebel’s neck, making him laugh.

“Good thing their home’s close to the main ranch house,” Azrael said.

Most of his words were lost beneath the sudden burst of music from the barn.

“YA’s taken over the barn,” Real said with a low snort. He liked those kids—but watching Azrael lead them always tied something tight in his gut.

“And are probably up to no good,” Azrael agreed with a smile.

Real stepped down from the stool, set the lights aside, and slid an arm around Azrael’s shoulders—close enough to feel the quiet ease between them.

“You should probably go check on them,” Real said. “I’ll get us some hot chocolate and meet you out there.”

“With marshmallows?” Azrael asked, glancing up—those deep brown eyes steady on him, soft in a way Real felt down to his soul.

“Is there any other kind?” Real smirked, and Azrael lifted onto his toes to kiss him.

“I want hot chocolate,” Rebel announced to Crow, and Real couldn’t help but grin when Crow rolled his eyes.

With a small curve to his lips, Azrael stepped outside.

Real headed for the kitchen—the echo of that smile lingering.

Snow or no snow, cocoa or chaos—it didn’t matter. For the first time in a long time, he had somewhere to be—and someone waiting for him.