House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City, #2)

He didn’t bother waving to Baxian, despite his help last night. And Pollux hadn’t come up to the ring for their private hour of training—he was presumably still in bed with the Hind. Naomi had waited for him for thirty minutes before bailing and going to inspect her own troops.

Hunt stepped toward the glass doors into the building, wiping the sweat from his brow, but the Harpy followed him. He sneered over a shoulder. “Bye.”

She gave him a slashing grin. “I’m to escort you back.”

Hunt stiffened. This couldn’t be good. His body going distant, he kept walking, aiming for the elevators. If he sent a warning message to Bryce right now, would she have enough time to flee the city? Unless they’d already come for her—

The Harpy trailed him like a wraith. “Your little disappearing act last night is going to bite you in the ass,” she crooned, stepping into the elevator with him.

Right. That.

He tried not to look too relieved as the acid in his veins eased. That had to be why Celestina was summoning him. A chewing-out for bad behavior, he could deal with.

If only the Harpy knew what he’d really been up to lately.

So Hunt leaned against the far wall of the elevator, contemplating how he’d best like to kill her. A lightning strike to the head would be swift, but not as satisfying as plunging his sword into her gut and twisting as he drove upward.

The Harpy tucked in her black wings. She’d been built wiry and long, her face narrow and eyes a bit too large for her features. She went on, “You always did think more with your cock than your head.”

“One of my most winning attributes.” He wouldn’t let her bait him. She’d done it before, when they’d both served Sandriel, and he’d always paid for it. Sandriel had never once punished the female for the brawls that had left his skin shredded. He’d always been the one to take the flaying afterward for “disturbing the peace.”

The Harpy stepped onto the Governor’s floor like a dark wind. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Athalar.”

“Likewise.” He trailed her to the double doors of Celestina’s public office. She halted outside, knocking once. Celestina murmured her welcome, and Hunt stepped into the room, shutting the door on the Harpy’s pinched face.

The Archangel, robed in sky blue today, was immaculate—glowing. If she’d been kept up all night with Ephraim, she didn’t reveal it. Or any emotion, really, as Hunt stopped before her desk and said, “You asked for me?” He took a casual stance, legs apart, hands behind his back, wings high but loose.

Celestina straightened a golden pen on her desk. “Was there an emergency last night?”

Yes. No. “A private matter.”

“And you saw fit to prioritize that over assisting me?”

Fuck. “You seemed to have the situation under control.”

Her lips thinned. “I had hoped that when you promised to have my back, it would be for the entire night. Not for an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “If it had been for anything else—”

“I’m assuming it had to do with Miss Quinlan.”

“Yeah.”

“And are you aware that you, as one of my triarii, chose to assist a Princess of the Fae instead of your Governor?”

“It wasn’t for anything political.”

“That was not how my … mate perceived it. He asked why two of my triarii had ditched our private celebration. If they thought so little of me, of him, that they could leave without permission to help a Fae royal.”

Hunt ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Celestina. I really am.”

“I’m sure you are.” Her voice was distant. “This shall not happen again.”

Or what? he almost asked. But he said, “It won’t.”

“I want you staying in the barracks for the next two weeks.”

“What?” Hunt supposed he could always quit, but what the fuck would he do with himself then?

Celestina’s gaze was steely. “After that time, you may return to Miss Quinlan. But I think you need a reminder of your … priorities. And I’d like you to fully commit to helping Baxian adjust.” She shuffled some papers on her desk. “You’re dismissed.”

Two weeks here. Without Quinlan. Without getting to touch her, fuck her, lie next to her—

“Celestina—”

“Goodbye.”

Despite his outrage, his frustration, he looked at her. Really looked.

She was alone. Alone, and like a ray of sunshine in a sea of darkness. He should have had her back last night. But if it was between her and Bryce, he’d always, always pick his mate. No matter what it cost him.

Which was apparently two weeks without Bryce.

But he asked, “How’d it go with Ephraim?” You don’t look too happy for a female who recently bedded her mate.

Her head snapped up. Again, that distance in her eyes that told him he’d been shut out before she even said, “That’s a private matter, to use your words.”

Fine. “I’ll be around today if you need me.” He aimed for the door, but added, “Why send the Harpy to get me?”

Her caramel eyes shuttered. “Ephraim thought she might be the most effective.”

“Ephraim, huh?”

“He is my mate.”

“But not your master.”

Power glowed along her wings, her tightly curling hair. “Careful, Hunt.”

“Noted.” Hunt strode into the hall, wondering if he’d done something to piss off Urd.

Two weeks here. With all the shit happening with Bryce and the rebels and Cormac … Fuck.

As if the mere thought of the word rebels had summoned her, he found the Hind leaning against the far wall. There was no sign of the Harpy. The Hind’s beautiful face was serene, though her golden eyes seemed lit with Helfire. “Hello, Hunt.”

“Here to interrogate me?” Hunt aimed for the elevator that would take him back to the training ring. He kept his pace casual, arrogant. Utterly unfazed.

Even if Danaan had been freaked out by her, Hunt had seen and dealt with Lidia Cervos enough to know which buttons to push. Which to avoid. And that if he got her away from Mordoc, from Pollux, from her entire dreadwolf retinue, he’d leave her in smoking ruin. Fancy that—she was alone right now.

The Hind knew it, too. That was what made her dangerous. She might appear unarmed, vulnerable, but she carried herself like someone who might whisper a word and have death fly to defend her. Who might snap her fingers and unleash Hel upon him.

He’d been in Sandriel’s possession when the Hind had signed on—recruited by the Archangel herself to serve as her spy-master. Lidia had been so young: barely into her twenties. She’d just made the Drop, and had no apparent deep well of magic, other than her swiftness as a deer shifter and her love of cruelty. Her appointment to such a high position had been a blaring alarm to stay the fuck away from her—she was a Vanir who’d cross any line, if she pleased Sandriel so greatly. Pollux had courted her almost immediately.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hunt asked, stabbing the elevator button. He blocked any thought of Ophion, of Emile, of their activities from his mind. He was nothing but the Umbra Mortis, loyal to the empire.

“You’re friends with Ruhn Danaan, are you not?”

Burning fucking Solas. Hunt kept his face neutral. “I wouldn’t say he’s a friend, but yeah. We hang out.”

“And Ithan Holstrom?”

Hunt shrugged. Calm—stay calm. “He’s a decent guy.”