Guns and Gems { Theodore & Briarwood }

[Briarwood Dayarm]

Briarwood stood at the edge of the bustling marketplace, her keen eyes scanning the crowd with the confidence of a woman who had built her empire from the ground up. Her leather satchel, expertly crafted and adorned with intricate designs, hung at her side, containing a trove of precious gems that sparkled like stars. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and the distant sounds of merchants haggling, but Briarwood remained unperturbed, every inch the master trader.

Across the table, a burly figure leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he examined the gems laid out before him. "These are exquisite, but you know they come at a price," he grumbled, his voice low and gravelly. Briarwood met his gaze without flinching, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She had faced far worse than this man in her rise to power, and his bluster was nothing more than a diversion.

“Is that so?” she replied, her tone smooth and confident. “Let's not waste each other's time. You know the value of what I offer.”

Just as the negotiation seemed to sway in her favor, the atmosphere shifted. A commotion erupted from the edge of the market, drawing her attention. A group of rough-looking men pushed their way through the crowd, their eyes glinting with malice—local thugs known for their intimidation tactics. Briarwood’s demeanor didn’t falter; instead, her heart quickened with the thrill of the challenge.

“Your gems won’t be going anywhere today, Dayarm,” the leader sneered, stepping forward with a swagger that betrayed his bravado. Briarwood’s eyes narrowed, a cool smile playing on her lips as she assessed the situation.

“Is that so?” she replied, her voice steady and laced with defiance. “You must not understand who you’re dealing with.” She straightened her posture, exuding the unshakeable confidence that had gotten her this far.

In one fluid motion, she reached into her satchel, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of an enchanted crystal. But alongside it, she also pulled out a sleek, polished gun, its metallic surface gleaming in the light. The thugs froze, the air thick with tension as Briarwood aimed the weapon with precision, her gaze unwavering.

“Let’s make this clear,” she said, her voice steady and commanding. “I’m not afraid to defend what’s mine. Nor am I afraid to take a life easily” She activated the crystal, sending a call through to the man who will be pissed she was doing this alone. “Theodore, I need assistance. Now.”

The thugs hesitated, clearly taken aback by her boldness. Briarwood seized the moment, her glare piercing as she faced them down, gun steady in her hand. She would not let them take what rightfully belonged to her. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she had no intention of backing down. As she awaited Theodore’s arrival, the marketplace buzzed around her, but in that moment, it was clear: Briarwood Dayarm feared nothing and no one, and she was prepared to fight for her empire.

[Theodore Tilden]

Theodore adjusted the worn strap of his utility belt as he leaned over the blue-lit holographic map spread across the cracked table inside the Revenant Order’s outpost. His fingers tapped methodically against the map, analyzing trade routes, supernatural activity reports, and the latest rumors of Valtheris' unrest. There was always another deal to make, another threat to neutralize. This city wasn’t like the old world... no, here, everything had a cost, including trust.

Valtheris was a powder keg... supernaturals and humans barely holding onto civility with fraying strings. The Revenant Order had to be sharper, quicker, more ruthless to survive. Especially now, with more eyes watching them, alliances cracking in secret corners of the world. Theodore’s mind was already on a dozen things at once, and the weight of responsibility hung heavy across his broad shoulders.

He was just reaching to pull a fresh communiqué from the encrypted drive when the relic at his hip pulsed, a subtle vibration only he could feel... a warning. His comm crackled to life a second later.

“Theodore, I need assistance. Now.”

Briarwood’s voice.

His entire body went rigid. Every damn instinct he had screamed into action. Without hesitation, he shoved away from the table, barking a sharp order over his shoulder. “Cain, Vargas... you’re with me. Now.” Within seconds, his two most trusted men fell into step, armored jackets and weapons glinting under the low lights. Theodore didn't waste time explaining. They knew: if Briarwood was calling, it wasn’t a request. It was a goddamn need.

The market was a few streets over. Even from this distance, Theodore could already hear the distant sound of a crowd stirring... fear rising like smoke. His boots slammed against the cracked stone streets as he closed the distance, his pulse a steady war drum in his ears. Every step he took, he called on the Azure Relic secured at his side. He could feel it surging under his skin, feeding strength into his muscles, sharpening his senses until the world around him crackled with electric clarity.

When he broke through the press of panicked merchants and scattering civilians, the sight that greeted him sent a flash of fury through his veins. Briarwood stood poised, gun in hand, facing down a half-dozen thugs like a queen facing her court of fools. Defiant. Fearless. Reckless. Theodore came to a stop just behind the mob of thugs, his jaw tight, his expression a thundercloud ready to burst. His piercing gaze locked onto her... beautiful, maddening Briarwood... and for one heartbeat, the chaos around them fell away.

He spoke low, dangerous, but loud enough for her to hear. “Are you out of your damn mind, Briar?”

He didn't even look at the thugs. Didn't acknowledge them. As far as Theodore was concerned, they were already dead. His full attention was solely, fiercely, on her. Briarwood smirked faintly, that infuriating glint in her eyes... the one that had both driven him mad and made him fall for her. Without moving his gaze from hers, Theodore gave a subtle flick of two fingers... barely noticeable. But to Cain and Vargas, it was the kill order.

All hell broke loose.

Cain surged forward like a battering ram, smashing the nearest thug off his feet with brutal efficiency. Vargas moved quicker, more precise, a blur of strikes that left another thug gasping on the ground, clutching his side. Theodore himself stepped forward, the Azure Relic crackling at his wrist, threads of cobalt energy weaving invisibly around his limbs. The thugs barely had time to react. They had come expecting a simple shakedown. They hadn’t come prepared for the Revenant Order. 

Theodore moved with lethal grace. One thug lunged at him, blade flashing. In a blink, Theodore caught the man's wrist, crushed it with a sickening crack, and hurled him across a vendor’s table stacked with woven fabrics. The marketplace erupted into full panic... merchants abandoning stalls, mothers grabbing children, screams echoing through the air like broken glass.

Another came at him from behind; Theodore spun, the Relic’s energy flaring briefly. His fist connected with the man's chest... amplified strength sending the thug flying backward into a row of pottery with a shattering crash. Theodore’s mind remained cold, calculating even in the midst of violence. Protect Briarwood. Secure the territory. Leave no threat breathing.

He caught another glimpse of her from the corner of his eye... still standing her ground, still ready to fight. Pride swelled unexpectedly in his chest. She didn’t need saving. But damn it if he wasn’t going to save her anyway. A final thug tried to flee. Theodore drew his gun in a single, fluid motion and fired... one precise shot to the man’s leg, dropping him to the ground with a howl of pain. He wouldn’t kill unless necessary. Briarwood hated needless bloodshed, even if he didn’t always share her mercy.

Within minutes, it was over. Theodore stalked through the wreckage, stepping over groaning bodies, his expression dark as a storm. He holstered his weapon, the Relic's glow dimming slightly as it settled back into dormancy against his side.

He finally stood in front of her, close enough now to lower his voice. His hand reached out, rough fingers briefly brushing her forearm as if to reassure himself she was whole, breathing, alive. “You pull a stunt like this again,” he said, voice a low growl edged with something dangerously close to fear, “and I will lock you in a safehouse until you come to your damn senses.”

Theodore's gaze was fierce, protective, unrelenting. He didn’t care about the stares from the market-goers. Didn’t care about the mess they had left in their wake.  All that mattered was her.

She was his empire, whether she realized it yet or not.

[Briarwood Dayarm]

Briarwood stood poised, a force of nature in a world that thrived on chaos. One thing she knew for certain: if she called him, he would come. There was no doubt in her mind. They were forged from the same coin, bound by an understanding that ran deeper than any relationship could define. He was her downfall, the only man capable of shattering the unbreakable queenpin she had become. 

As she felt the ground tremble beneath her heels, Briarwood playfully licked her painted lips, her head tilting slightly as one of the men dared to inch closer. “Now, now, I wouldn’t do that, deary. If you wish to keep any part of you intact, that is,” she warned, lowering her gun just enough to let her gaze lock onto his. A smirk, one that sent her minions scurrying, danced across her lips. “I knew you would come when I needed you. If not for you, Jethro here would have easily dealt with these idiots. But really, who’s out of their damn mind? This merchant thinks he can get my goods for a pittance.” She gestured dismissively toward the trembling man behind the booth, who was likely regretting his life choices at that very moment. 

Her eyes, fierce and unyielding, remained fixed on the feral male before her. It was a primal energy that stirred something deep within her, though she would never admit it. As chaos erupted around her, Briarwood tucked away her gun—Jethro—stepping aside to watch a frantic mother flee with her children. “They’re giant puppy dogs, I swear,” she quipped, tossing a wink to the wide-eyed child peering over his mother’s shoulder before turning her attention back to the merchant, who was now fully aware of the storm he had unleashed. “Next time, I expect you to meet my asking price.” 

The sudden crack of a gunshot pierced the air, and the tumult settled into a tense silence. Briarwood's heels clicked against the cobblestones, a sound that resonated in the aftermath of chaos. No other woman would dare navigate these stone markets in heels like hers; how she hadn’t broken her ankle was a mystery even to her. She glanced down at her ostentatious watch, the glint of it standing out in this rough-and-tumble place. “Oh, five minutes, guys. Almost beat your best time,” she remarked playfully, directing her light tone at Cain and Vargas, knowing it would set them on edge. 

Briarwood's gaze remained steady on him as she moved her hand to rest over the fading glow of the relic. “Is it really a stunt if I knew you weren’t far away?” she purred, trailing her nails affectionately down his arm. Rolling her eyes at him, she turned her attention to the men who were now rendered harmless. “Lock me in the safe house, and I’ll drive you to your wits’ end.” 

She approached one of the wounded men, the pain evident in his eyes, and pulled her phone from her pocket. With a swift tap, she pressed send. “Cedric, tagging,” she announced, marking him and another with a gesture. “Tell Kane to find out who sent them and how they knew where I would be.” As she hung up, the men vanished, leaving her dusting off her hands as she strolled back to him, the click of her heels echoing in the quiet aftermath. “I need a drink,” she declared, her tone nonchalant as if she were the one who had just fended off a gang of thugs. 

Taking a few steps toward a tavern she favored but seldom frequented, she leaned in closer to Theo, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think I have a leak.” With that, she made her way into the dimly lit establishment, finding a booth in the shadows and ordering drinks, ready to unwind amidst the storm that swirled just outside.

[Theodore Tilden]

Theodore followed her, every muscle in his body coiled tight as a bowstring. He didn’t rush... he never rushed when the fight was over. But the burn of adrenaline still licked under his skin, the Azure Relic at his side humming faintly like it hadn’t quite decided whether to power down. His men knew better than to crowd him; Cain and Vargas hung back, giving him space. They’d seen this look in his eyes before.

He watched Briarwood’s heels click against the cobblestones as though nothing had just happened... like she hadn’t nearly gotten herself killed. Like she wasn’t constantly pulling him into her damn chaos. Beautiful, infuriating chaos.

She slipped into the tavern, and Theodore’s jaw tightened. A leak. Of course there was a leak. There was always someone watching, always someone whispering. Valtheris didn’t play fair. Not for people like them. And yet… she treated it all like a game, a dance she would always win. He envied that confidence. Hated it. Needed it.

The tavern swallowed them in shadow, the low murmur of voices brushing against his ears. He let his eyes sweep the room once—every corner, every exit, every face that turned too quickly away when they recognized him. Old habit. Survival. Then he slid into the booth opposite her, the wood groaning beneath his weight.

The drinks came fast. Too fast. Theodore eyed the glass set before him but didn’t touch it. Not yet. His focus stayed pinned to her, the curve of her lips as though she knew she’d rattled him, the flicker of amusement in her gaze that only stoked the storm in his chest.

“You think this is a joke,” he said lowly, his voice rough, each word deliberate. He leaned forward, forearms braced against the table, his hands curling into fists. “You walk into the lion’s den, wave your jewels around, call me when the wolves come sniffing, and then you sit here like it’s a goddamn celebration.”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. He wasn’t angry at the fight. He was angry at how easily he could’ve lost her. Again.

His gaze cut back to her, steel meeting fire. “A leak means someone close. Someone on the inside. Which means the problem isn’t the thugs in the street, Briar... it’s the knife waiting in the dark. And if you’re too busy smirking to see it, then I’ll be the one who has to drag you out before it’s buried in your back.”

The words came out harsher than he intended. But truth had never been kind.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. The Relic at his side pulsed again, faint, feeding off his unrest. He forced it still with sheer will, curling his hand around the edge of his untouched glass. Finally, he lifted it, downed the liquor in one long swallow, and set it back on the table with a dull thud.

His voice dropped, quieter now, almost dangerous in its calm. “You want to find your leak? Fine. We’ll burn every name, shake every shadow until they crawl screaming into the light. But understand this, Briar...” His eyes held hers, unyielding. “If you keep playing reckless, the next call you send me won’t be a warning. It’ll be a death sentence.”

Theodore leaned back in the booth, the storm still roiling in his chest. She was going to drive him mad. And gods help him… he would let her.

[Briarwood Dayarm]

The truth about Briarwood was that she didn’t merely flirt with danger; she was in a committed relationship with it. She understood that living life on the edge was not for the faint of heart. One day, she would likely be outsmarted or outgunned. But until then, she intended to stride through the world as if she owned it, unapologetically herself and relying on only one person—him. The very man who wanted to hate her yet always came running whenever she called. After all, he knew well that if he didn’t, he’d likely face the wrath of a pointed-shoe vixen.

As he wandered into the tavern, she studied him intently, noting every exit, potential threat, and god-knows-what else. Her gaze lingered on this stoic male, who always seemed poised to either kill her or claim her as his own. The fine line between love and heat was one she mastered at blurring. “I don’t remember laughing,” she pointed out, lifting her drink and swirling it playfully.

Briarwood mused over his seriousness, leaning forward and bracing her forearms against the table. She adopted her best imitation of a disappointed Theodore, her feminine features softening just enough to be charming. “Would you rather I walk into the lion’s den, waving my jewels, and not call you when the wolves start sniffing?” She raised a brow, challenging him. “You, Theodore, are the king of mixed signals. You’re furious when I don’t call, yet you show up with a bruise. You need to make up your mind.”

Sitting back, she winced slightly at his harsh words but then lifted her drink to her lips, taking a long sip and keeping her gaze locked with his. “Sometimes I feel like all you think I do is smirk and get into trouble just to raise your blood pressure. Most of my escapades don’t end this way.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “And yes, yes, I know it only takes one slip-up for there to be no more Dayarm.”

“I’ve narrowed the leak down to three people. This mission was only known by three others,” she said, turning her glass on the table, hinting at the dual intent behind her words. Sometimes, she wondered if all he saw in her was a rich daddy’s girl causing chaos for the thrill of it. The thought made her lips dip slightly, but she quickly returned to the smirk he often accused her of wearing. Best to keep that mask firmly in place.

Then she stood, moving to his side of the booth without a care for their public surroundings. She slid onto his lap, her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. “You knew I was reckless from day one. You knew I was too much,” she said, her eyes searching his for a heartbeat. Leaning her head back, she huffed softly, glancing around the tavern before letting her gaze settle back on him.

A tightening fear crept into her chest—one she never wanted to acknowledge. What if he didn’t come next time? “Maybe it’s best if I leave the ‘we’ out of this. You clearly have more on your plate to handle. I can manage my own mess.” She trailed the tip of her nose softly against his, the intimacy of the gesture sending jolts through her. “I’ve grown too accustomed to having you come to my aid. Honestly, this is your fault,” she said with a humorless chuckle.

Brushing her lips against his gently, she leaned back to reach for the crystal she used to call him when she was in danger. She took his hand, resting the crystal against his palm. “Maybe if I don’t have the ripcord, I won’t jump,” she shrugged, her voice a mix of teasing and sincerity, knowing well the complexities of their tangled lives.