“What the fuck does that mean?” Hunt’s power flared at his fingertips.
Baxian shrugged. “I might not have been a slave as you are—were.” A nod toward his clear brow. “But I had as little choice in serving Sandriel as you did. Only I didn’t make my displeasure known.”
“Bullshit. You served her gladly. You don’t get to rewrite your history now that you’re here.”
Baxian’s wings rustled. “You never asked me why I was in her triarii, you know. Not once, in all those decades. You’re like that with everyone, Athalar. Surface-level.”
“Fuck off. Go back to your work.”
“This is my work. The Governor just messaged me and told me to team up with you.”
Hunt’s stomach turned. Did Celestina somehow know about Tharion asking for help finding that thunderbird kid? What better way to monitor him than to shackle him to the Helhound? “Hel no,” he said.
Baxian’s mouth curled upward as he nodded toward Pollux. “I’ve been stuck with that prick for a hundred years. It’s someone else’s turn to deal with him.” He pointed to Naomi.
Was it selfish to be glad he didn’t have to deal with the Hammer? “Why not tell us during the meeting earlier?”
“I think she’s been watching us this morning.” Baxian inclined his head to the cameras. “Likely didn’t want to alter our behavior before deciding who to pair up.”
“To what end?”
As if in answer, Hunt’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his shorts to find a message from Celestina.
As Isaiah will be escorting me around the city to meet its various leaders, I am relying on you and Naomi to help our two new arrivals adjust. I’d like you to partner with Baxian. Show him the ropes. Not just the ins and outs of the 33rd, but also how this city operates. Ease him into life in Valbara.
Hunt considered, even as he inwardly groaned. He was acutely aware of those cameras—the Archangel might be observing his every expression. “She put Naomi in charge of helping Pollux adjust?”
Across the ring, Isaiah was now checking his phone, frowning deeply. He glanced to Hunt, face lit with alarm. Not at the honor of escorting the Governor, Hunt knew.
Hunt turned back to Baxian, who’d no doubt gleaned that Hunt had all the orders he needed. “There’s no way Pollux will allow anyone to show him the ropes.”
Baxian shrugged. “Let Pollux dig his own grave here. He’s too pissed about being separated from the Hind to understand his new reality.”
“I didn’t realize the Hammer was capable of caring for anyone like that.”
“He isn’t. He just likes to have control over his … belongings.”
“The Hind belongs to no one.” Hunt hadn’t known Lidia Cervos well—their time had only briefly overlapped when he’d served Sandriel, and the Hind had spent most of it off on missions for the Asteri. Rented out like some sort of field-worker to do their spy-hunting and rebel-breaking. Whenever Lidia had been at Sandriel’s castle, she’d either been in secret meetings with the Archangel, or fucking Pollux in whatever room they felt like using. Thank the gods the Hind hadn’t come here. Or the Harpy.
But if Emile Renast was heading for this city … Hunt asked, “The Hind’s really not coming to Lunathion?”
“No. Pollux got a call from her this morning. He’s been moody ever since.”
“Mordoc finally making his move?” The head of the Hind’s dreadwolves was as formidable as his mistress.
Baxian snorted. “He’s not Lidia’s type. And doesn’t have the balls to go head-to-head with Pollux.”
“Did Mordoc go with her to Ephraim?” He had to step carefully.
“Yeah,” Baxian said, attention on Pollux. “They’re all in Forvos right now. Ephraim’s been keeping them close for the last few weeks—it’s pissed off the Hind. The Harpy’s even madder.”
So the Hind wasn’t in pursuit of Emile. At least, not at present. Which left the Ophion agents as the main danger to the boy, he supposed. He made a mental note to tell Tharion when he saw him later and said, “I thought you and the Harpy were a pair—you don’t seem too hung up on not seeing her.”
Baxian let out another one of those low laughs that skittered over Hunt’s bones. “She and Pollux would be a better pair than him and Lidia.” Lidia. Hunt had never heard Baxian use the Hind’s given name, but he’d used it twice now. “She’ll make Ephraim miserable,” Baxian went on, smiling to himself. “Too bad I can’t see it.”
Hunt almost pitied Ephraim for inheriting the Harpy. “And the Hawk?”
“Doing what he does best: trying to outdo Pollux in cruelty and brutality.” The hawk shifter had long been Pollux’s main rival for power. Hunt had steered clear of him for decades. So had Baxian, he realized. He’d never seen them interact.
“You’re a free male,” Hunt said carefully. “Sandriel’s gone. Why keep serving at all?”
Baxian ran a hand over his closely buzzed hair. “I could ask the same question of you.”
“I need the money.”
“Is that so?” Baxian clicked his tongue. “Bryce Quinlan’s an expensive girlfriend, I take it. Princesses like pretty things.”
Hunt knew better than to deny that Bryce was his girlfriend. Not if it’d open a door for Baxian to taunt him. “Exactly.”
Baxian continued, “I like her. She’s got balls.”
Isaiah shouted Hunt’s name from across the space, and Hunt nearly sagged with relief to have an excuse to get out of this conversation. “Here’s the first rule of getting adjusted: don’t fucking talk to me unless I talk to you.” As Isaiah’s Second, he outranked Baxian.
Baxian’s eyes flared, as if realizing it. “I’m taking this assignment seriously, you know.”
Hunt gave him a savage grin. “Oh, I know.” If he had to help Baxian adjust, he’d happily drag him into the current century. Hopefully kicking and screaming. “So am I.”
Baxian had the good sense to look a little nervous.
Tharion wanted to own Bryce Quinlan’s apartment. Badly.
But he sure as shit didn’t make enough to afford it, and the sun would shine in Hel before the River Queen allowed him to live Above. The thought had him scowling as he knocked on the apartment door.
The lock clicked, and Ithan Holstrom peered out from the doorway, brows high. “Bryce isn’t back yet.”
“She already told me.” Tharion held up his phone, displaying the brief exchange with the Fae Princess from a few minutes ago.
I’m at your apartment and ready to go through your underwear drawer.
She’d written back immediately, You’re early. I’ll be there in ten. Don’t leave drool stains on the lace ones. Or worse.
No promises, he’d answered, and she’d replied, Just spare the pink bra, please.
To Tharion’s surprise, Ithan checked that the number under her contact info was indeed Bryce’s. Smart kid. Ithan’s jaw worked before he said, “I thought she was involved with Athalar.”
“Oh, she is,” Tharion said, pocketing his phone. “But Legs and I have an understanding when it comes to her underwear.” He stepped forward, a blatant demand to be let in.