“What is the axe?”

Helena had been eying the weapon, which was a beautiful example of blade-craft, even if it did smell so strongly of blood that it made her hungry every time she was in the same room as it was. All the same, she could smell the magic rolling off it, like the smell of a storm right before the very first flash of lightning.

It was heady, and she was intensely curious about it.

Owen held it like it was made for him. Maybe it was. Family weapons often took on the favored grip of the latest family member to handle them. Owen had said the axe was his great-grandfather’s, but it looked, and smelled, significantly older than three generations of human.

“Well, well.”

Teucer drifted in, impeccable as always in his favorite white suit, expensive designer scarf draping around his neck in place of a tie. Owen, who had a good instinct for that which could kill him, was always a little uneasy around Teucer, and still hadn’t figured out why. Helena felt a little bad for not letting him in on the secret, but she held her tongue nonetheless. Her sire’s request was significantly more powerful than her fondness for a human, even this one.

Unfortunately that meant that Owen got nervous whenever Teucer was closer than ten paces away.

Not that ten paces would actually help him if Teucer decided to harm him, but Teucer wouldn’t, and Owen didn’t need to know that.

“The Axe of Perun,” Teucer continued, and ran one fingertip over the blood-stained handle of the ancient weapon. He gave Owen a very speculative once-over, and tilted his head as he thought. “Last I heard, this had vanished during the thirteen-hundreds or so. Something about a particularly violent extermination of the local troll population, and a nasty little war to follow.”

“It’s been in my family for a while,” Own replied, and snickered when the axe, which really didn’t like non-humans touching it, shot a violent spark of lightning into Teucer’s fingertip. He squawked and stuck his finger in his mouth, eyes wide and hurt. Helena smiled faintly. The drama queen. He was healed almost before the lightning faded. “We tried to stick it in a museum once. It appeared under Grandfather’s bed that night. He mostly used it for splitting wood.”

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“It certainly does have an attitude,” Teucer observed, and took a cautious step back from the axe, which crackled smugly at him. “And quite the attitude. Is Perun still in there?”

The axe of Perun. Supposedly forged from the steel scale of a god of the underworld, and set into a handle cut from the World Tree. Helena knew the legends, mostly because Teucer loved mythology so much, but she had never seen the weapon in person.

“We don’t know,” Owen said, and lifted the ae with ease. It looked right when he propped it on his shoulder, red handle bright against his soft grey shirt. “Family legend says that Perun gave it to us when we first started hunting monsters. No idea if it’s true. We weren’t big on writing the family history down at that point.”

“Too busy killing trolls?”

“And then there was that war you mentioned. We moved to England and Scotland after that.”

Teucer chuckled and leaned in to look at the axe again. Helena watched as he, without touching the blade, read through the runes that marched invisibly down the handle.

“What do they say?” she asked, unable to contain her own curiosity. Teucer could certainly read them, although she couldn’t. Of course, she hadn’t made a study of the ancient languages like he had.

Also, he was old enough that some of those ‘ancient’ languages were his contemporaries.

“Send back to the Underworld, that which belongs there,” he translated, and beamed at Owen. “Paraphrased, of course. The proper translation is less poetic in English. That’s a fine weapon for one who lives to kill non-humans.”

“Not non-humans,” Owen corrected him, and traced the runes before closing his hand around the handle again and setting the axe back on the table. “Monsters. Right now, the only monster I’m after is human to the core.”

“That may be what’s wrong with him,” Teucer observed thoughtfully, and leaned on the desk, far enough away from the axe that, although it crackled warningly at him, he was out of reach. “You’re an interesting one. I’ll be watching you closely.”

With that he drifted back out of the room the same way he came, and Helena only sighed.

Owen looked between them incredulously, and shook his head.

“I know you’re not gonna tell me,” he said and took a long swig from his water bottle. “But I would really like to know who the hell he is.”

“You wouldn’t like the answer,” Helena told him, and leaned over to steal a slow kiss. He combed his fingers through her hair, and smiled at her with an emotion she didn’t care to name in his eyes. “I trust him.”

“That’s enough for me,” Owen murmured, and kissed her again before reaching for his axe. “I need to train with this thing. Want to come dance with me?”

“I suppose I could be convinced,” she allowed and took his free hand in hers, all too aware that the coming battle might take him from her. She was fast, but no one was faster than Death, and Owen was human. She would enjoy what time she had with him. “But I may insist you wrap the blade. Bullets are no bother to me, but the Axe of Perun is made to kill things like me, and I would rather not be killed on this day.”