It was as much as Fury had ever said about being … whatever she was.
“Why is it dangerous to be a bloodhound?”
“Because people will pay highly to use the gift and to kill anyone with it. Imagine being able to tell someone’s true lineage—especially if that person is a politician or some royal whose parentage is in question. Apparently, the gift came from her sire’s line.”
Maybe that was another reason why Danika hadn’t wanted to mention it. She’d never discussed the male who’d been ballsy enough to fuck Sabine.
Bryce asked, “You never thought to tell me this during the investigation?”
“It didn’t seem relevant. It was only one of Danika’s many powers.”
Bryce lifted a hand to rub at her eyes, then halted, remembering her makeup. “What are the odds that Sofie knew that?”
“No idea,” Fury said. “Slim, probably.” Then she asked carefully, “You sure you want to start digging into this? Go after that kid?”
“It’s not only for Emile’s sake,” Bryce confessed. “I want to know what Danika was up to. I feel like she was always two steps—more like ten steps—ahead. I want to know the full scope of it.”
“She’s dead, Bryce. Knowing or not knowing won’t change that.”
Bryce cringed at her friend’s harsh words. “I know. But if Danika was tied up with Ophion, with Sofie … I want to find Sofie, if she’s alive. Learn whatever it is that Sofie knew about Danika, and how they were even in contact. Whether Danika truly was aligned with Ophion.”
“You’re tangling in some dangerous shit.”
“Hunt said the same thing. And … you’re both right. Maybe that makes me stupid, for not walking away. But setting aside the fact that Emile is a kid being chased by some intense people, if I can locate him for Tharion—he’ll lead me to Sofie, or the information about her. And her answers about Danika.”
Fury saluted her thanks to the barista and sipped her second chai. “And what will you do once you learn the truth?”
Bryce chewed on her lip. “Pray to Cthona that I can accept it, I guess.”
14
Hunt crossed his arms, trying to focus on the unit sparring in one of the Comitium’s rooftop training areas and not the scorching heat threatening to singe his wings. Beside him, Isaiah also sweated away, dark eyes fixed on a pair of fighting soldiers. The female was faster and cleverer than the male she faced, but the male had a hundred pounds on her. Each of his blows must have felt like being hit by a semitruck.
“My money’s on the male,” Isaiah murmured.
“So’s mine. She’s too green to hold out much longer.” Hunt wiped the sweat from his brow, grateful he’d cut his hair shorter before the heat had set in. Solas was slow-roasting them over a pit of coals. Thank fuck he’d changed in the barracks to shorts and a T-shirt.
“Won’t really matter in the long run,” Isaiah said as the male landed a blow to her jaw with the pommel of his sword. Blood sprayed from her mouth. “Not if we head into war.”
The great equalizer.
Hunt said nothing. He’d barely slept last night. Hadn’t been able to calm the thoughts that circled over and over. He’d wanted to talk to Bryce, but that acid in his veins had surged every time he’d gotten close, and dissolved all his words. Even this morning, all he’d been able to say was that they needed to talk.
But Bryce being Bryce, she’d seen all of that. Knew what haunted him. And held his hand as she said yes.
He checked his phone. Only an hour until Tharion would show up at the apartment to discuss things. Great.
“You think we’ll wind up back there?” Isaiah went on, face distant. “On those battlefields?”
Hunt knew which ones he meant, though they’d fought on many. Sandriel had sent both him and Isaiah to slaughter human rebels decades ago, when Ophion had initially formed.
“I hope not,” Hunt said, blocking out the images of those muddy massacres: the mech-suits smoldering with their pilots bleeding out inside them; heaps of broken wings piled high to the skies; some shifters going feral and feasting on the carrion alongside the crows.
He looked over at Isaiah. What would his friend say if he knew about Tharion? Isaiah’s words from their last argument in Shahar’s war tent still rang in his ears. This is folly, Athalar! We fly into slaughter. We have no allies, no route of retreat—you two are going to kill us all!
Hunt had ordered his friend out. Had curled up alongside Shahar, who’d listened to their argument from her bed behind the curtain of the tent. She’d promised him that Isaiah was wrong, that he was merely afraid, and Hunt had believed her. Because he was also afraid, he realized later. He’d believed her, and they’d fucked like animals, and a few hours after dawn, she was dead.
Hunt shook the memories of the past away and focused on the fight in front of him. The female ducked and slammed her fist into the male’s gut. He went down like a sack of flour, and Hunt chuckled, memories and dread shaking loose. “A pleasant surprise,” he said, turning his attention to the other soldiers paired off throughout the space. Sweat gleamed on bare skin, wings white and black and brown and gray rustled, and blood shone on more than a few faces.
Naomi was in the skies training a unit in dive-bombing maneuvers. It was an effort not to glance to the far ring, where Pollux and Baxian oversaw a unit practicing their shooting. The latter was currently in his large canine form, his coat a slick black.
It felt wrong to have those two pieces of shit here, instead of Vik and Justinian.
So wrong that he did look at them after all. Sized up the Helhound’s animal form. He’d seen Baxian rip limbs from opponents with those jaws, and move as fast on land as he did in his malakh form. As if sensing his attention, Baxian turned his head. His dark eyes gleamed.
Hunt bristled at the blatant challenge in Baxian’s gaze. It didn’t lessen when Baxian shifted in a flash of light, a few angels nearby startling at the return of his humanoid form.
Isaiah murmured, “Relax,” as Baxian said something to Pollux before stalking for them.
Baxian stood nearly as tall as Hunt, and despite the sweltering heat, he still wore head-to-toe black that matched his wings and his Helhound pelt. “I thought you were doing something far more interesting here in Valbara, Athalar. I’m surprised you haven’t dropped dead from boredom.”
Isaiah took that as a cue to check on the male who’d fallen, winking at Hunt as he left.
Traitor.
“Some of us crave a normal life, you know,” Hunt said to Baxian.
Baxian snickered. “All those battles, all that glory you won for yourself, all that lightning in your veins … and you simply want a nine-to-five job?” He tapped the scar on his neck. “The male who gave me this would be horrified.”
“The male who gave you that,” Hunt said through his teeth, “always wanted peace.”
“Didn’t seem like it when your lightning flayed me.”
“You handed over that rebel family to Sandriel without a second thought. I’d say you had it coming.”
Baxian laughed, low and lifeless. The hot, dry breeze rustled his black wings. “You were always a literal sort of bastard. Couldn’t read between the lines.”