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

The lobby ceremony had been the start of Hunt’s utter confusion. Rather than strutting magnanimously past the gathered crowd, the voluptuous, lush-bodied Archangel had taken her time, pausing to greet the malakim who stepped forward, asking for their names, saying things like I’m so very happy to meet you and I look forward to working with you. Cthona spare him, but Hunt honestly thought she might be serious.

He didn’t let his guard down, though. Not when she’d reached him, Naomi, and Isaiah, standing before the elevator doors to escort her to her new residence and office; not when she’d taken his hand with genuine warmth; and certainly not now that they sat here for this private meeting.

Celestina surveyed them with unnerving clarity. “You three are all that remains of Micah’s triarii.”

None of them replied. Hunt didn’t dare mention Vik—or beg the Archangel to pull her out of Melino?’s inky depths. To spare her from a living Hel. It had been months. Odds were that Vik had gone insane. Was likely begging for death with each moment in that box.

The Governor angled her head, her tightly curling black hair shifting with the movement. She wore pale pink-and-lilac robes, gauzy and ethereal, and the silver jewelry along her wrists and neck glowed as if lit by the moon. Where Micah had radiated dominance and might, she shimmered with feminine strength and beauty. She barely came up to Hunt’s chest, yet … she had a presence that had Hunt eyeing her carefully.

“Not ones for talking, are you?” Her voice held a musical quality, as if it had been crafted from silver bells. “I suppose my predecessor had rules quite different from mine.” She drummed her fingers on the desk, nails tinted a soft pink. “Allow me to make this clear: I do not wish for subservience. I want my triarii to be my partners. I want you to work alongside me to protect this city and territory, and help it meet its great potential.”

A pretty little speech. Hunt said nothing. Did she know what he’d done to Sandriel? What Bryce had done to Micah? What Micah had done in his quest to supposedly protect this territory?

Celestina wrapped a curl around a finger, her immaculate wings shifting. “I see that I shall have to do a great deal of work to earn your trust.”

Hunt kept his face bland, even as he wished that she’d be equally as forthright as Micah. He’d always hated his owners who’d disguised their dead souls in pretty speeches. This could easily be part of a game: to get them to trust her, come limping into her soft arms, and then spring the trap. Make them suffer.

Naomi’s sharp chin lifted. “We don’t wish to offend you, Your Grace—”

“Call me Celestina,” the Archangel interrupted. “I abhor formalities.” Micah had said the same thing once. Hunt had been a fool to buy it then.

Isaiah’s wings shifted—like his friend was thinking the same.

His friend, who still bore the halo tattoo across his brow. Isaiah was the better male, the better leader—and still a slave. Rumors had swirled in the months before Micah’s demise that the Archangel would free him soon. That possibility was now as dead as Micah himself.

Naomi nodded, and Hunt’s heart tightened at the tentative hope in his friend’s jet-black eyes. “We don’t wish to offend you … Celestina. We and the 33rd are here to serve you.”

Hunt suppressed his bristle. Serve.

“The only way you could offend me, Naomi Boreas, would be to withhold your feelings and thoughts. If something troubles you, I want to know about it. Even if the matter is due to my own behavior.” She smiled again. “We’re partners. I’ve found that such a partnership worked wonders on my legions in Nena. As opposed to the … systems my fellow Archangels prefer.”

Torture and punishment and death. Hunt blocked out the sear of white-hot iron rods pounding his back, roasting his skin, splitting it down to the bone as Sandriel watched from her divan, popping grapes into her mouth—

Isaiah said, “We’re honored to work with you, then.”

Hunt pushed aside the bloody, screaming horrors of the past as another lovely smile bloomed on the Governor. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you, Isaiah Tiberian. I’d like you to stay on as leader of the 33rd, if that is what you wish.”

Isaiah bowed his head in thanks, a tentative, answering smile gracing his face. Hunt tried not to gape. Was he the only asshole who didn’t believe any of this?

Celestina turned her gaze upon him. “You have not yet spoken, Hunt Athalar. Or do you wish to go by Orion?”

“Hunt is fine.” Only his mother had been allowed to call him Orion. He’d keep it that way.

She surveyed him again, elegant as a swan. “I understand that you and Micah did not necessarily see eye to eye.” Hunt reined in his urge to growl in agreement. Celestina seemed to read his inclination. “On another day, I’d like to learn about your relationship with Micah and what went wrong. So we might avoid such a situation ourselves.”

“What went wrong is that he tried to kill my—Bryce Quinlan.” Hunt couldn’t stop the words, or his stumble.

Naomi’s brows nearly touched her hairline at his outburst, but Celestina sighed. “I heard about that. I’m sorry for any pain you and Miss Quinlan suffered as a result of Micah’s actions.”

The words hit him like stones. I’m sorry. He’d never, not in all the centuries he’d lived, heard an Archangel utter those words.

Celestina went on, “From what I’ve gathered, you have chosen to live with Miss Quinlan, rather than in the barracks tower.”

Hunt kept his body loose. Refused to yield to the tension rising in him. “Yeah.”

“I am perfectly fine with that arrangement,” Celestina said, and Hunt nearly toppled out of his chair. Isaiah looked inclined to do the same. Especially as the Archangel said to Isaiah and Naomi, “If you should wish to dwell in your own residences, you are free to do so. The barracks are good for building bonds, but I believe the ones between you are quite unshakable. You are free to enjoy your own lives.” She glanced at Isaiah, to the halo still tattooed on his brow. “I am not one to keep slaves,” she said, disapproval tightening her face. “And though the Asteri might brand you as such, Isaiah, you are a free male in my eyes. I will endeavor to continue Micah’s work in convincing them to free you.”

Isaiah’s throat worked, and Hunt studied the window—the shining city beyond—to give him privacy. Across the room, Naomi followed his lead.

Celestina couldn’t be serious. This had to be an act.

“I’d like to hit the ground running,” the Governor went on. “Each morning, let’s gather here so you can update me on any news, as well as your plans for the day. Should I have tasks for you or the 33rd, I shall convey them then.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I am aware that you are skilled at hunting demons, and have been employed to do so in the past. If any break into this city, gods forbid, I’d like you to head up the containment and extermination unit against them.”

Hunt jerked his chin in confirmation. Easy enough. Though this spring, dealing with the kristallos had been anything but easy.

Celestina finished, “And should an issue arise before our meeting tomorrow morning, my phone is always on.”