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

Ithan had no fucking idea who’d even be in his pack. He’d locked himself out so thoroughly from old friends and family after Connor’s death that he’d only bothered to associate with Amelie’s pack. Perry was the closest thing he had to a friend at the Den, and she’d never leave her sister’s side. Ithan swallowed hard. “I’m honored, but … I need to think about this.”

“You have been through a great deal, boy. Take the time you need to decide, but know the offer stands. I would not lose another wolf of worth—especially to the Fae.” Before Ithan could say goodbye, the old wolf hung up. Stunned and reeling, Ithan leaned against one of the brick buildings in the alley. Alpha.

But … an Alpha in Sabine’s shadow, once the Prime was gone. Sabine would be his Prime. Amelie would reign as her Prime Apparent. And then Prime, when Sabine herself was gone.

He had little interest in serving either of them. But … was it a betrayal of the wolves, of his brother’s legacy, to leave the Valbaran packs to Sabine’s cruelty?

He brushed his hair back from his face. It was longer than it’d ever been while playing sunball. He couldn’t tell if he liked it or not.

Fuck, he couldn’t tell if he liked himself or not.

Straightening, Ithan pushed off the wall and finished his walk, arriving at his destination. The towering doors to the Astronomer’s building of horrors were shut. Ithan pulled the crescent moon door chime once.

No answer.

He pulled it a second time, then pressed an ear to one of the metal doors, listening for any hint of life. Not even a footstep, though he could make out the hum of the machines beyond. He knocked twice, and then pressed his shoulder into the door. It opened with a groan, nothing but darkness beyond. Ithan slipped in, silently shutting the heavy door behind him. “Hello?”

Nothing. He aimed for the faint, pale glow of the three tanks in the center of the cavernous space. He’d never seen anything so strange and unsettling—the three beings who’d been sold into this life. Existence. This sure as fuck wasn’t a life.

Not that he’d know. He hadn’t had one in two years.

Their visit last week had lingered like an unhealed wound.

He might have walked out of here condemning everything he’d seen, but he’d still given the Astronomer his money. Kept this place running.

He knew it bugged Bryce, but she’d been swept back into the shit with Danika, and as a princess, her hands were tied as far as a public scene. Especially when she walked such a dangerous line these days—any additional bit of scrutiny might be her downfall.

But no one gave a fuck about him. No matter what the Prime had said.

“Hello?” he called again, the word echoing into the dimness.

“He’s not here,” rasped a hoarse female voice.

Ithan whirled, reaching for his gun as he scanned the darkness. His wolf-sight pierced through it, allowing him to make out the speaker’s location. His hand dropped from his hip at the sight of her.

Long chestnut-brown hair draped over her too-thin, pale limbs, her body clad in that white shift that all three mystics wore. Her dark eyes were still—like she was only half-there. A face that might have been pretty, if it weren’t so gaunt. So haunted.

Ithan swallowed, slowly approaching where she huddled against the wall, bony knees clutched to her chest. “I wanted to see your … boss.”

He couldn’t say owner, even though that’s what the old creep was. In the gloom, he could make out a worktable beyond the mystic sitting on the floor, with a small box atop it. Light filtered out from the box, and he had a good idea of what was kept inside it. Who were kept inside, trapped in those four rings, which were apparently valuable enough that the old male had left them behind, rather than risk them in the city at large.

The mystic’s rasping voice sounded as if she hadn’t spoken in ages. “He put the other two back in, but didn’t have the part he needed to fix my machine. He’s at the Meat Market, meeting with the Viper Queen.”

Ithan sniffed, trying to get a read on her. All he could get from this distance was salt. Like it had brined the scent right out of her. “You know when he’ll be back?”

She only stared at him, like she was still hooked up to the machine beyond them. “You were the one who freed me.” Solas, she sat with such … Vanir stillness. He’d never realized how much he moved until he stood before her. And he’d considered himself capable of a wolf’s utter stillness.

“Yeah, sorry.” But the word stuck—freed. She’d been pleading to go back. He’d assumed she’d meant into the between-place where the mystics roamed, but … What if she’d meant this world—back to her life before? The family who had sold her into this?

Not his problem, not his issue to solve. But he still asked, “Are you okay?” She didn’t look okay. She sat the way he had in his dorm bathroom the night he’d learned that Connor was dead.

The mystic only said, “He will be back soon.”

“Then I’ll wait for him.”

“He will not be pleased.”

Ithan offered her a reassuring smile. “I can pay, don’t worry.”

“You’ve caused him a great deal of inconvenience. He’ll kick you out.”

Ithan took a step closer. “Can you help me, then?”

“I can’t do anything unless I’m in the tank. And I don’t know how to use the machines to ask the others.”

“All right.”

She angled her head. “What do you want to know?”

He swallowed hard. “Was it true, what the demon prince said, about my brother being safe for now?”

She frowned, her full mouth unnaturally pale. “I could only sense the other’s terror,” she said, nodding toward the tanks. “Not what was said.”

Ithan rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. Thanks. That’s all I needed.” He had to know for sure that Connor was safe. There had to be some way to help him.

She said, “You could find a necromancer. They would know the truth.”

“Necromancers are few and far between, and highly regulated,” Ithan said. “But thanks again. And, uh … good luck.”

He turned back toward the doors. The mystic shifted slightly, and the movement sent a whisper of her scent toward him. Snow and embers and— Ithan went rigid. Whirled to her. “You’re a wolf. What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer.

“Your pack allowed this to happen?” Rage boiled his blood. Claws appeared at his fingertips.

“My parents had no pack,” she said hoarsely. “They roamed the tundra of Nena with me and my ten siblings. My gifts became apparent when I was three. By four, I was in there.” She pointed to the tank, and Ithan recoiled in horror.

A wolf family had sold their pup, and she’d gone into that tank— “How long?” he asked, unable to stop his trembling anger. “How long have you been in here?”

She shook her head. “I … I don’t know.”

“When were you born? What year?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I made the Drop. He had some official come here to mark it, but … I don’t remember.”

Ithan rubbed at his chest. “Solas.” She appeared as young as him, but among the Vanir, that meant nothing. She could be hundreds of years old. Gods, how had she even made the Drop here? “What’s your name? Your family name?”

“My parents never named me, and I never learned their names beyond Mother and Father.” Her voice sharpened—a hint of temper shining through. “You should leave.”