“For fuck’s sake, Quinlan.”
She propped her head on a hand. “So you had no idea you could do that? Take the energy from the Dead Gate and transform it into lightning and all that?”
“No. It never occurred to me to channel anything into my lightning until the Prince of the Pit suggested it the other night. But … it made sense: you took the power out of the Heart Gate this spring, and Sofie Renast, as a thunderbird, could do something similar, so … even if the push came from the Prince of the Pit, trying it out seemed like a good alternative to being eaten.”
“You went …” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “All lightning-berserker.”
He kissed her brow, running a hand down her hip. “I get a little hysterical when your safety is involved.”
She kissed the tip of his nose. “Such an alphahole.” But she flopped back on the bed, tucking her arms under her head. “You think there actually is a resting place for our souls?” She sighed at the ceiling. “Like, if we died and didn’t go to those places … what would happen?”
“Ghosts?”
She scowled. “You’re not helping.”
He chuckled, tucking his hands behind his own head. She crossed her ankle over his shin, and they lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling.
He said after a while, “You traded your resting place in the Bone Quarter for Danika’s.”
“Given what happens to everyone over there, I feel kind of relieved about that now.”
“Yeah.” He took one of her hands in his and laid their interlaced fingers atop his heart. “But wherever you’re headed when this life is over, Quinlan, that’s where I want to be, too.”
36
The bridge was blissfully quiet compared to the absolute insanity of Ruhn’s day.
He’d brought Holstrom back to his place, where Flynn and Dec had been gobbling down five pizzas between the two of them. The former had arched a brow at Ruhn’s announcement that the fourth bedroom—a disgusting heap of crap thanks to years of throwing their messes in there before parties—was now Ithan’s. He’d have the couch tonight, and tomorrow they’d clean out all the shit. Declan had only shrugged and tossed Ithan a beer, then pulled his laptop over, presumably to continue combing through the gallery footage.
Flynn had eyed the wolf, but shrugged as well. The message was clear enough: Yeah, Holstrom was a wolf, but so long as he didn’t mouth off about Fae, they’d get along just fine. And a wolf was always better than an angel.
Guys were simple like that. Easy.
Not like the female burning across from him on the bridge.
“Hey, Day.” He wished he had someplace to sit. For one fucking moment. He was technically sleeping, he supposed, but …
Well, damn. A deep-cushioned armchair appeared a foot away. He slumped into it and sighed. Perfect.
Her snort rippled toward him, and another chair appeared. A red velvet fainting couch.
“Fancy,” he said as Day draped herself over it. She looked so much like Lehabah that his chest ached.
“Seeing me like this causes you distress.”
“No,” he said, puzzled as to how she’d read his emotions when night and stars covered his features. “No, it’s … I, ah, lost a friend a few months ago. She loved to sit on a couch like that one. She was a fire sprite, so your whole fire thing … struck a little close to home.”
She angled her head, flame shifting with her. “How did she die?”
He checked himself before he could reveal too much. “It’s a long story. But she died saving my—someone I love.”
“Then her death was noble.”
“I should have been there.” Ruhn leaned back against the cushions and gazed toward the endless black above them. “She didn’t need to make that sacrifice.”
“You would have traded your life for a fire sprite’s?” There was no condescension in the question—merely bald curiosity.
“Yeah. I would have.” He lowered his stare back to her. “Anyway, we made the intel drop-off. Nearly got caught, but we did it.”
She straightened slightly. “By whom?”
“Mordoc. The Hind. The Harpy.”
She stilled. Her fire guttered to that violet blue. “They are lethal. If you’re caught, you will be lucky to just be killed.”
Ruhn crossed an ankle over a knee. “Believe me, I know that.”
“Mordoc is a monster.”
“So’s the Hind. And the Harpy.”
“They’re all … Where you are now?”
He hesitated, then said, “In Lunathion. Might as well tell you—you could have turned on the news and figured out where they are.”
She shook her head, flame flowing. “You say too much.”
“And you too little. Any other intel about the shipment on the Spine?”
“No. I thought you called me here to tell me something.”
“No. I … I guess my mind reached for yours.”
She watched him. And even though he couldn’t see her face, and she couldn’t see his, he’d never felt so naked. She said quietly, “Something’s riled you.”
How could she tell? “My day was … difficult.”
She sighed. Tendrils of fire rippled around her. “Mine too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The word was teasing, a reminder of their earlier conversation. She did have a sense of humor, then.
Day said, “I work with people who are … Well, they make Mordoc seem like one of those sweet little otters in your city. There are days when it wears on me more than others. Today was one of them.”
“Do you at least have friends to lean on?” he asked.
“No. I’ve never had a true friend in my life.”
He winced. “That’s … really sad.”
She snorted. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think I’d have made it this far without my friends. Or my sister.”
“For those of us with neither friends nor family, we find ways to make do.”
“No family, eh? A true lone wolf.” He added, “My father’s a piece of shit, so … a lot of the time I wish I were like you.”
“I have a family. A very influential one.” She propped her head on a burning fist. “They’re pieces of shit, too.”
“Yeah? Your dad ever burn you for speaking out of turn?”
“No. But he did flog me for sneezing during prayers.”
She wasn’t an Asteri, then. Asteri had no family. No children. No parents. They just were.
He blinked. “All right. We’re even.”
She laughed quietly, a low, soft sound that ran delicate fingers over his skin. “A truly tragic thing to have in common.”
“It really is.” He smiled, even if she couldn’t see it.
She said, “Since you are in a position of power, I’m assuming your father must be as well.”
“Why can’t I be self-made?”
“Call it intuition.”
He shrugged. “All right. What about it?”
“Does he know of your rebel sympathies?”