House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (30 page)

From the hallway behind him, low voices murmured. Naomi—and Pollux. Isaiah’s soothing tones wove between them. Thank the gods.

Hunt found Baxian observing him warily. He threw a flat stare back, one he’d perfected as the Umbra Mortis. Baxian just aimed for the hallway. Hunt gave him a wide berth.

The Hammer filled the doorway of Vik’s room, talking to Isaiah and Naomi in the hall. It was Pollux’s room now. Hunt’s magic rumbled, lightning on the horizon. Pollux sneered at Hunt as he stalked past. Bags and boxes were piled high behind him, a miniature city dedicated to the Hammer’s vanity.

Hunt, keenly aware of all the cameras, of Bryce’s plea to behave, continued on, nodding at Naomi and Isaiah as he passed.

“Well, here you go,” Hunt said to Baxian, pausing before Justinian’s old room. Baxian opened the door. The room was as bare and empty as Hunt’s had been.

A duffel lay beside the narrow bed. All of Baxian’s belongings fit in one fucking bag.

It didn’t make a difference. The Helhound was an asshole who had done shit that even Hunt couldn’t stomach. For him to be in Justinian’s room, filling his place—

The crucifix in the lobby flashed in Hunt’s mind, Justinian’s agonized face as he hung on it. Hunt tried to banish the thought, but failed. He’d fucked up. Twice now, he’d fucked up. First with the Fallen rebellion, then this spring with the Viper Queen, and now … Was he really going to allow himself and Bryce to be dragged into something similar? How many people would be destroyed by the end?

Baxian said, stepping into his room, “Thanks for the tour, Athalar.”

Hunt again glimpsed that sad, empty little room behind the Helhound. Perhaps something like pity stirred him, because he said, “I’ll give you a lesson on video games tomorrow. I gotta get home.”

He could have sworn a shadow dimmed in Baxian’s eyes that appeared a Hel of a lot like longing. “Thanks.”

Hunt grunted. “We’ll link up after the morning check-in. You can shadow me for the day.”

“Real generous of you,” Baxian said, and shut the door without further reply.

Fortunately, Pollux shut his own door right then—slammed it in Naomi’s face. Leaving Hunt with his two friends.

They headed for the common room without needing to say a word, waiting until they’d closed the door and ensured no one was in the bathroom before sinking onto the couch. Hunt really wanted to go home, but … “So this fucking sucks,” he said quietly.

“Pollux should be drawn and quartered,” Naomi spat.

“I’m amazed you’re both still alive,” Isaiah said to her, propping his feet on the coffee table and loosening the gray tie around his neck. Judging by the suit, he must have recently gotten in from escorting Celestina somewhere. “But as your commander, I’m grateful you didn’t brawl.” He gave Hunt a pointed look.

Hunt snorted. But Naomi said, “The two of them defile those rooms by staying in there.”

“They’re only rooms,” Isaiah said, though pain tightened his face. “All that Vik and Justinian were … it’s not in there.”

“Yeah, it’s in a box at the bottom of a trench,” Naomi said, crossing her arms. “And Justinian’s ashes are on the wind.”

“So are Micah’s,” Hunt said softly, and they looked at him.

Hunt just shrugged.

“Were you really going to rebel this spring?” Naomi asked. They hadn’t once spoken about it these past months. The shit that had gone down.

“Not by the end,” Hunt said. “I meant everything I said on the boat. I changed my mind; I realized that wasn’t the path for me.” He met Isaiah’s disapproving frown. “I still mean it.”

He did. If Sofie and Emile and Ophion and Cormac and all that shit went away right now, he wouldn’t fucking think twice about it. Would be
glad
for it.

But that wasn’t how things were playing out. It wasn’t how Bryce wanted it to play out. He could barely stand the sight of Isaiah’s tattooed brow.

“I know,” Isaiah said at last. “You’ve got a lot more on the line now,” he added, and Hunt wondered if he’d intended the slight tone of warning in the words.

Wondered if Isaiah remembered how he and the other angels in the Summit conference room had bowed to him after he’d ripped
off Sandriel’s head. What would his friends do if he told them about his recent contact with an Ophion rebel? His head spun.

Hunt changed the subject, nodding to the hall behind the shut door. “You two going to stay here or find places of your own?”

“Oh, I’m out,” Isaiah said, practically beaming. “Signed a lease this morning on a place a few blocks from here. CBD, but closer to the Old Square.”

“Nice,” Hunt said, and lifted a brow at Naomi, who shook her head.

“Free rent,” she said, “despite the new hallmates.” Pollux and Baxian would be staying here until Celestina deemed them well adjusted enough to live in the city proper. Hunt shuddered to think of them loose.

“Do you trust that they’re going to behave?” he asked Isaiah. “Because I fucking don’t.”

“We don’t have any choice but to trust that they will,” Isaiah said, sighing. “And hope that the Governor will see them for what they are.”

“Will it make any difference if she knows?” Naomi asked, tucking her hands behind her head.

“I guess we’ll see,” Hunt said, and glanced at his phone again. “All right. I’m out.” He paused at the doorway, however. Looked at his two friends, wholly unaware of the shit that was coming their way. It’d be huge for either of them—potentially freeing for Isaiah—to bust Ophion. To capture Sofie Renast and her brother and haul in Cormac.

If he spoke up now, spilled his guts, could he spare Bryce from the worst of it? Could he avoid crucifixion—avoid having an empty room being all that was left of him one day, too? If he played it right, could he save them both—and maybe Ruhn and Ithan—and live to tell the tale? Tharion was likely dead fucking meat for not telling the authorities about his mission, queen or no, as was the Crown Prince of Avallen. But …

Isaiah asked, “Something on your mind?”

Hunt cleared his throat.

The words sizzled on his tongue. A parachute, and now would be the exact moment to pull it open.
We have a major problem with rebels converging on this city and I need your help to make sure they play right into our hands.

Hunt cleared his throat again. Shook his head.

And left.

21

“Dusk’s Truth, huh?” Hunt’s deep voice rumbled across the bed to Bryce as they lay in the darkness, Syrinx already snoring between them.

“Danika definitely thought she was onto something,” Bryce replied. Hunt had missed dinner, leaving her to an unbearably awkward meal with Ithan. He’d been quiet and contemplative, wearing the game face she’d seen before big matches. She’d said as much to him, but he hadn’t wanted to talk.

So Bryce had combed through Danika’s papers and clippings again. Had found nothing new. She’d only filled Hunt in when he’d finally gotten home from the Comitium and they’d readied for bed. Any thoughts of continuing what had gone down in that alley had vanished by the time she’d finished.

Hunt hummed, shifting onto his side. “So you’re really going to help Cormac, then.”

“It’s not about wanting to help him—it’s more about wanting to help Emile. But I meant what I said to you in the alley: this is also about getting what I can out of the situation for our own advantage.” An end to the betrothal, and some training. “And,” she admitted, “learning about Danika.”

“Does it matter? About Danika, I mean?”

“It shouldn’t. But it does. For some reason, it does.” She said
carefully, “I know we discussed this earlier, but … I can’t do this without you, Hunt.”

He said softly, “I know. I’m just … Fuck, Quinlan. The thought of anything happening to you scares the shit out of me. I understand, though. That’s what prompted me this spring … what I was doing with Vik and Justinian. It was for Shahar.”

Her heart strained. “I know.” And he’d been willing to give that up for her—for
them
. “So you’re in?”

“Yeah. Whatever help I can give, I’ll offer it. But we need an exit strategy.”

“We do,” she agreed. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, though. I’m exhausted.”

“All right.” His wing brushed her bare shoulder and she turned her head to find him with his head propped on a fist.

“Don’t
do
that.”

“What?” His eyes sparkled in the dimness.

She turned onto her own side and waved a hand toward him. “Look so … like that.”

His lips curled upward. “Sexy? Attractive? Seductive?”

“All of the above.”

He flopped onto his back. “I feel weird doing anything with Holstrom a wall away.”

She pointed to the aforementioned wall. “He’s on the other side of the apartment.”

“He’s a wolf.”

Bryce inhaled the musky, midnight scent of him. Arousal. “So let’s be quiet, then.”

Hunt’s swallow was audible. “I … All right, I’ll be straight with you, Quinlan.”

She arched a brow.

He blew out a breath toward the ceiling. “It’s been … a while. For me, I mean.”

“Me too.” The longest she’d ever gone without sex since her first time at seventeen. Well, ignoring what she and Hunt had done on the couch months ago—though that wasn’t the kind of sex she wanted right now.

He said, “I guarantee that however long it’s been for you, it’s been longer for me.”

“How long?”

Some part of her howled at the idea of anyone—any-fucking-one—putting their hands and mouth and other parts on him. Of
Hunt
touching anyone else. Wanting anyone else. Of him existing in a world where he hadn’t known her, and some other female had been more important—

Some other female
had
been more important. Shahar. He’d loved her. Been willing to die for her.

He nearly died for you, too
, a small voice whispered. But … this was different somehow.

Hunt grimaced. “Six months?”

Bryce laughed. “That’s it?”

He growled. “It’s a long time.”

“I thought you were going to say
years
.”

He gave her an affronted look. “I wasn’t celibate, you know.”

“So who was the lucky lady, then?” Or male, she supposed. She’d assumed he preferred females, but it was entirely possible he also—

“A nymph at a bar. She was from out of town and didn’t recognize me.”

Bryce’s fingers curled, as if invisible claws appeared at their tips. “Nymph, huh.”

Was that his type? Exactly like those dancers at the ballet? Delicate and svelte? Had Shahar been like that? Bryce had never searched for portraits of the dead Archangel—hadn’t ever wanted to torture herself like that. But Sandriel had been beautiful as Hel, slim and tall, and Hunt had once mentioned that they were twins.

Bryce added, if only because she wanted him to feel a shred of the misery that now coursed through her, “Lion shifter. In a bathroom at the White Raven.”

“The night of the bombing?” The words were sharp. As if her fucking someone while they’d known each other was unacceptable.

“Less than a week before,” she said nonchalantly, quietly pleased at his sharpness.

“I thought you didn’t like alphaholes.”

“I like them for some things.”

“Oh yeah?” He trailed a finger down her bare arm. “What, exactly?” His voice dropped to a purr. “You don’t seem to enjoy males bossing you around.”

She couldn’t help her blush. “Every once in a while.” It was all she could think to say as his fingers reached her wrist and he lifted her hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her palm. “This one was especially good at being in charge.”

“All right, Quinlan,” he said against her skin. “I’m thoroughly jealous.”

She chuckled. “So am I.”

He kissed the inside of her wrist, lips grazing over sensitive flesh. “Before we went off on this stupid tangent, I was trying to warn you that it’s been a while, so I might …”

“Be fast?”

He nipped at her wrist. “Be loud, asshole.”

She laughed, running her fingers over his smooth, unmarked brow. “I could gag you.”

Hunt barked out a laugh. “Please tell me you’re not into that.”

She let out a
hmmm
.

“For real?” He sat up slowly.

She lay back against the pillows, arms behind her head. “I’ll try anything once.”

A muscle throbbed in his neck. “All right. But let’s start with the basics. If that gets boring, I promise to find ways to keep you interested.”

“That doesn’t get rid of the problem of Ithan’s keen hearing.”

He shifted against the bed, and Bryce found the blatant evidence of his interest pushing against his tight boxer briefs. Solas, he was huge.

She laughed softly, sitting up as well. “It really has been a while.”

He trembled, though—with restraint. “Tell me yes, Bryce.”

She went molten at the raw need in his words. “I want to touch you first.”

“That’s not a yes.”

“I want
your
yes.”

“Yes. Fuck yes. Now your turn.”

She only smirked, pressing a surprisingly steady hand to his bare, muscled chest. He allowed her to push him back against the pillows. “I’ll say yes when I’ve had my fill.”

Hunt let out a low, rough noise.

“Not too late for a gag,” Bryce murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest.

Hunt was going to burst out of his skin. He couldn’t stand it: the sight of Bryce now straddling his thighs, wearing nothing but an old, soft T-shirt, the silken glide of her hair over his bare chest as she pressed a kiss between his pecs. Pressed another near his nipple.

There was another person in this apartment. One with exceptional hearing, and he—

Bryce’s lips closed around his left nipple, wet heat sending Hunt’s hips straining toward hers. She flicked her tongue across the taut bud, and Hunt hissed. “For fuck’s sake.”

She laughed around his nipple, then moved to the other. “Your chest is as big as mine,” she muttered.

“That’s the least sexy thing anyone has ever said to me,” he managed to say.

She dug her long nails into his chest, the pain a light, singeing kiss. His cock throbbed in response. Gods spare him, he wouldn’t last a minute.