“I told you: Come visit me in Lunathion. I’ll show you a good time, Day.”
“So eager to meet me.”
“I like the sound of your voice. I want to know the face behind it.”
“That’s not going to happen. But thank you.” She added after a moment, “I like the sound of your voice, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She chuckled. “You’re trouble.”
“Is it cliché if I say that Trouble is my middle name?”
“Oh yes. Very.”
“What would your middle name be?” he teased.
Her flames pulled back, revealing those eyes of pure fire. “Retribution.”
He grinned wickedly. “Badass.”
She laughed again, and his cock hardened at the sound. “Goodbye, Night.”
“Where are you going?”
“To sleep. Properly.”
“Isn’t your body resting?”
“Yes, but my mind is not.”
He didn’t know why, but he gestured to her fainting couch. “Then sit back. Relax.”
“You want me to stay?”
“Honestly? Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I feel calm around you. There’s so much shit going down, and I … I like being here. With you.”
“I don’t think most females would be flattered to be called ‘calming’ by a handsome male.”
“Who says I’m handsome?”
“You talk like someone who’s well aware of his good looks.”
“Like an arrogant asshole, then.”
“Your words, not mine.”
Day rose to her feet, striding to the fainting couch. Her flames rippled as she lay upon it, and Ruhn jumped onto his own couch.
“All I need is a TV and a beer and I’m set,” he said.
She snickered, curling on her side. “As I said: typical Valbaran male.”
Ruhn closed his eyes, bathing in the timbre of her voice. “You gotta work on those compliments, Day.”
Another chuckle, sleepier this time. “I’ll add it to my to-do list, Night.”
43
Hunt breathed in the cool air off the turquoise sea, admiring the pristine water, so clear that he could see the corals and rocks and the fish darting among them.
Down in the quay, hidden in a massive cavern, the cargo ship was still being unloaded. The sea cave, tucked into an isolated, arid part of Ydra, one of the more remote Coronal Islands, ran at least a mile inland. It had been selected because the water flowing within it ran so deep—deep enough for massive cargo ships to slide into its stone-hewn dock and unload their contraband.
Hunt stood in the shadows just within the mouth of the cave, focusing on the bright, open water ahead and not the reek of the oil on the ancient mech-suits currently helping to unload the ship into the fleet of awaiting vehicles: laundry trucks, food trucks, moving trucks … anything that might reasonably inch along one of the island’s steeply curving roads or board one of the auto-ferries shuttling vehicles between the hundred or so islands of this archipelago without raising too much suspicion.
Cormac had teleported everyone to Ydra an hour ago. Hunt had nearly puked during the five-minute-long trip with several stops—when they’d finally arrived, he’d sat his ass on the damp concrete, head between his knees. Cormac had gone back, again and again, until all of them were here.
And then the poor fuck had to go head-to-head with whoever was in charge from Command, to convince them Pippa Spetsos shouldn’t be anywhere near this shit.
Cormac had been unsteady on his feet, pale from the teleporting, but had left them with the promise to return soon. Bryce, Tharion, and Ruhn all sat on the ground—apparently not trusting their legs yet, either. Hunt hadn’t failed to notice that Ruhn kept reaching over his shoulder—as if to seek the reassuring presence of the Starsword. But the prince had left the blade back in Lunathion, not wanting to risk losing it here if all Hel broke loose. It seemed the male was missing his security blanket as their stomachs and minds settled.
“I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast,” Tharion was saying, a hand on his abs. He wore only tight black aquatic leggings, equipped along the thighs with holsters for knives. No shoes or shirt. If he needed to shift into his mer form, he’d said upon arriving at Bryce’s place this morning, he didn’t want to lose much.
Tharion’s timing had been unfortunate—he’d arrived at the apartment right after Hunt. Bryce was already propped up on the counter, gripping Hunt’s shoulders while he lazily licked up her neck. Tharion’s knock on the door was … unwelcome.
That would all have to wait. But his mate had gotten him out of the barracks—he’d repay her generously tonight.
Bryce now patted Tharion’s bare shoulder. “I’m weirdly satisfied that a mer can get airsick, considering how many of us suffer from seasickness.”
“He’s still green, too,” Tharion said, pointing to Hunt, who grinned weakly.
But Tharion went back to idly observing the cave around them. Perhaps too idly. Hunt knew Tharion’s main objective: get Pippa to talk about Emile. Whether that interrogation would be friendly was up to the mer captain.
Ruhn murmured, “Incoming.”
They all turned toward the cargo ship to see Cormac striding over to them. Still pale and drained—Hunt had no idea how he’d get them all out of here when this was over.
But Hunt tensed at the fury simmering off Cormac. “What’s up?” Hunt said, eyeing the cave interior beyond Cormac. Tharion’s attention drifted that way as well, his long body easing into a crouch, ready to spring into action.
Cormac shook his head and said, “Pippa’s already got her claws in them. They’re all eating out of her hand. The weapons are hers, and she’s now in charge of the Valbaran front.”
Tharion frowned, but scanned the space behind the Avallen Prince. “Anything about Emile or Sofie?”
“No. She didn’t say a word about them, and I couldn’t risk asking. I don’t want her to know we’re on the hunt as well.” Cormac paced. “A confrontation about Emile in front of the others would likely lead to bloodshed. We can only play along.”
“Any chance of isolating her?” Tharion pressed.
Cormac shook his head. “No. Believe me, she’ll be on her guard as much as we are. You want to drag her off for questioning, you’re going to have a battle on your hands.”
Tharion swore, and Bryce patted his knee in what Hunt could only guess was an attempt at consolation.
Cormac faced Hunt. “Athalar, you’re up.” He jerked his head to the massive ship. “They’re unloading the new prototype right now.”
In silence, they followed the prince, Hunt keeping close to Bryce. The rebels—all in black, many with hats or masks on—stared at them as they passed. None of them smiled. One man grumbled, “Vanir pricks.”
Tharion blew him a kiss.
Ruhn growled.
“Play nice,” Bryce hissed at her brother, pinching his side through his black T-shirt. Ruhn batted her away with a tattooed hand.
“Real mature,” Hunt muttered as they halted at the foot of the loading platform. Ruhn subtly flipped him off. Bryce pinched Hunt’s side, too.