But that wasn’t how things were playing out. It wasn’t how Bryce wanted it to play out. He could barely stand the sight of Isaiah’s tattooed brow.
“I know,” Isaiah said at last. “You’ve got a lot more on the line now,” he added, and Hunt wondered if he’d intended the slight tone of warning in the words.
Wondered if Isaiah remembered how he and the other angels in the Summit conference room had bowed to him after he’d ripped off Sandriel’s head. What would his friends do if he told them about his recent contact with an Ophion rebel? His head spun.
Hunt changed the subject, nodding to the hall behind the shut door. “You two going to stay here or find places of your own?”
“Oh, I’m out,” Isaiah said, practically beaming. “Signed a lease this morning on a place a few blocks from here. CBD, but closer to the Old Square.”
“Nice,” Hunt said, and lifted a brow at Naomi, who shook her head.
“Free rent,” she said, “despite the new hallmates.” Pollux and Baxian would be staying here until Celestina deemed them well adjusted enough to live in the city proper. Hunt shuddered to think of them loose.
“Do you trust that they’re going to behave?” he asked Isaiah. “Because I fucking don’t.”
“We don’t have any choice but to trust that they will,” Isaiah said, sighing. “And hope that the Governor will see them for what they are.”
“Will it make any difference if she knows?” Naomi asked, tucking her hands behind her head.
“I guess we’ll see,” Hunt said, and glanced at his phone again. “All right. I’m out.” He paused at the doorway, however. Looked at his two friends, wholly unaware of the shit that was coming their way. It’d be huge for either of them—potentially freeing for Isaiah—to bust Ophion. To capture Sofie Renast and her brother and haul in Cormac.
If he spoke up now, spilled his guts, could he spare Bryce from the worst of it? Could he avoid crucifixion—avoid having an empty room being all that was left of him one day, too? If he played it right, could he save them both—and maybe Ruhn and Ithan—and live to tell the tale? Tharion was likely dead fucking meat for not telling the authorities about his mission, queen or no, as was the Crown Prince of Avallen. But …
Isaiah asked, “Something on your mind?”
Hunt cleared his throat.
The words sizzled on his tongue. A parachute, and now would be the exact moment to pull it open. We have a major problem with rebels converging on this city and I need your help to make sure they play right into our hands.
Hunt cleared his throat again. Shook his head.
And left.
21
“Dusk’s Truth, huh?” Hunt’s deep voice rumbled across the bed to Bryce as they lay in the darkness, Syrinx already snoring between them.
“Danika definitely thought she was onto something,” Bryce replied. Hunt had missed dinner, leaving her to an unbearably awkward meal with Ithan. He’d been quiet and contemplative, wearing the game face she’d seen before big matches. She’d said as much to him, but he hadn’t wanted to talk.
So Bryce had combed through Danika’s papers and clippings again. Had found nothing new. She’d only filled Hunt in when he’d finally gotten home from the Comitium and they’d readied for bed. Any thoughts of continuing what had gone down in that alley had vanished by the time she’d finished.
Hunt hummed, shifting onto his side. “So you’re really going to help Cormac, then.”
“It’s not about wanting to help him—it’s more about wanting to help Emile. But I meant what I said to you in the alley: this is also about getting what I can out of the situation for our own advantage.” An end to the betrothal, and some training. “And,” she admitted, “learning about Danika.”
“Does it matter? About Danika, I mean?”
“It shouldn’t. But it does. For some reason, it does.” She said carefully, “I know we discussed this earlier, but … I can’t do this without you, Hunt.”
He said softly, “I know. I’m just … Fuck, Quinlan. The thought of anything happening to you scares the shit out of me. I understand, though. That’s what prompted me this spring … what I was doing with Vik and Justinian. It was for Shahar.”
Her heart strained. “I know.” And he’d been willing to give that up for her—for them. “So you’re in?”
“Yeah. Whatever help I can give, I’ll offer it. But we need an exit strategy.”
“We do,” she agreed. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, though. I’m exhausted.”
“All right.” His wing brushed her bare shoulder and she turned her head to find him with his head propped on a fist.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?” His eyes sparkled in the dimness.
She turned onto her own side and waved a hand toward him. “Look so … like that.”
His lips curled upward. “Sexy? Attractive? Seductive?”
“All of the above.”
He flopped onto his back. “I feel weird doing anything with Holstrom a wall away.”
She pointed to the aforementioned wall. “He’s on the other side of the apartment.”
“He’s a wolf.”
Bryce inhaled the musky, midnight scent of him. Arousal. “So let’s be quiet, then.”
Hunt’s swallow was audible. “I … All right, I’ll be straight with you, Quinlan.”
She arched a brow.
He blew out a breath toward the ceiling. “It’s been … a while. For me, I mean.”
“Me too.” The longest she’d ever gone without sex since her first time at seventeen. Well, ignoring what she and Hunt had done on the couch months ago—though that wasn’t the kind of sex she wanted right now.
He said, “I guarantee that however long it’s been for you, it’s been longer for me.”
“How long?”
Some part of her howled at the idea of anyone—any-fucking-one—putting their hands and mouth and other parts on him. Of Hunt touching anyone else. Wanting anyone else. Of him existing in a world where he hadn’t known her, and some other female had been more important—
Some other female had been more important. Shahar. He’d loved her. Been willing to die for her.
He nearly died for you, too, a small voice whispered. But … this was different somehow.
Hunt grimaced. “Six months?”
Bryce laughed. “That’s it?”
He growled. “It’s a long time.”
“I thought you were going to say years.”
He gave her an affronted look. “I wasn’t celibate, you know.”
“So who was the lucky lady, then?” Or male, she supposed. She’d assumed he preferred females, but it was entirely possible he also—
“A nymph at a bar. She was from out of town and didn’t recognize me.”
Bryce’s fingers curled, as if invisible claws appeared at their tips. “Nymph, huh.”
Was that his type? Exactly like those dancers at the ballet? Delicate and svelte? Had Shahar been like that? Bryce had never searched for portraits of the dead Archangel—hadn’t ever wanted to torture herself like that. But Sandriel had been beautiful as Hel, slim and tall, and Hunt had once mentioned that they were twins.