The Hind had been right, though: he’d walked into Connor’s dorm that day early in his brother’s freshman year at CCU, intending to meet the awesome, gorgeous, hilarious hallmate Con talked about endlessly. And on his way down the dingy, carpeted hall, he’d run into … well, an awesome, gorgeous, hilarious hallmate.
He’d been struck stupid. She was the hottest person he’d ever seen, no joke. Her smile had warmed some gods-forsaken place in Ithan’s chest that had been icy and dark since his parents had died, and those whiskey eyes had seemed to … see him.
Him, not the sunball player, not the star athlete or anything like that. Just him. Ithan.
They spoke for ten minutes in the hall without exchanging names. He’d just been Connor’s little brother, and she hadn’t given her name and he’d forgotten to ask for it, but by the time Connor poked his head into the hall, Ithan had decided he was going to marry her. He’d attend CCU, play sunball for them and not Korinth U, who’d already been wooing him, and he’d find this girl and marry her. He suspected they might even be mates, if he was right about that gut tug toward her. And that would be that.
Then Connor had said, “Looks like you met Ithan already, Bryce,” and Ithan had wanted to dissolve into that disgusting dorm carpet.
He knew it was fucking stupid. He’d spoken to Bryce for ten minutes before finding out she was the girl his brother was obsessed with, but … it had messed with him. So he’d thrown himself into the role of irreverent friend, pretended to be into Nathalie so he had something to complain to Bryce about. He’d suffered on the sidelines watching Connor tiptoe around Bryce for years.
He’d never told Bryce that the reason why Connor had finally asked her out that night was because Ithan had told him to shit or get off the pot.
Not in those terms, and he’d said it without raising his brother’s suspicions, as he’d always done when talking about Bryce, but he’d had it. Had just had it with his brother hesitating while Bryce dated a string of losers.
If Connor didn’t step up to the line, then Ithan had decided he’d finally come forward. Take a gamble and see if that spark between them might lead somewhere.
But Bryce had said yes to Connor. And then Connor had died.
And while Connor was being murdered, she’d been fucking someone else in the White Raven bathroom.
Ithan had no idea how there wasn’t some black hole where he’d been standing the moment he’d found out about that night. That was how hard he’d imploded, like the star he’d been gave the fuck up and bailed.
Ithan leaned back against the bench, sighing. These last few days, he’d felt like he was poking his head out of that black hole. Now this bullshit about Connor and the Pack’s souls being fed into the Dead Gate threatened to pull him back in.
He knew Bryce was pissed about it. Upset. But she had Athalar now.
And no part of Ithan resented them for it. No, that history was behind him, but … he didn’t know what to do with himself when he spoke to her. The girl he’d been so convinced would be his wife and mate and mother to his kids.
How many times had he allowed himself to picture that future: him and Bryce opening presents with their children on Winter Solstice eve, traveling the world together while he played sunball, laughing and growing old in this city, their friends around them.
He was glad to not be living in her apartment anymore. He’d had nowhere else to go after Sabine and Amelie had kicked him out, and he sure as fuck wasn’t planning to stage any kind of coup with her, as Sabine seemed to fear, but … he was grateful Ruhn had offered him a place to stay instead.
“A little early, isn’t it?” Tharion called from the river, and Ithan stood from the bench to find the mer treading water, powerful fin swirling beneath him.
Ithan didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Can you get me to the Bone Quarter?”
Tharion blinked. “No. Unless you want to be eaten.”
“Just get me to the shore.”
“I can’t. Not if I don’t want to be eaten, either. The river beasts will attack.”
Ithan crossed his arms. “I have to find my brother. See if he’s okay.”
He hated the pity that softened Tharion’s face. “I don’t see what you can do either way. If he’s fine or if he’s … not.”
Ithan’s throat dried out. “I need to know. Swim me past the Sleeping City and I’ll see if I can glimpse him.”
“Again, river beasts, so no.” Tharion slicked back his hair. “But … I need to find that kid, if he’s not in the Sleeping City. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”
Ithan angled his head. “Any idea where to look instead?”
“No. So I desperately need a hint in the right direction.”
Ithan frowned. “What do you have in mind?”
“You’re not going to like it. Neither is Bryce.”
“Why does she need to be involved?” Ithan couldn’t stop his voice from sharpening.
“Because I know Legs, and I know she’ll want to come.”
“Not if we don’t tell her.”
“Oh, I’m going to tell her. I like my balls where they are.” Tharion grinned and jerked his chin to the city behind Ithan. “Go get some money. Gold marks, not credit.”
“Tell me where we’re going.” Somewhere shady, no doubt.
Tharion’s eyes darkened. “To the mystics.”
37
“Keep holding, hold, hold!” Madame Kyrah chanted, and Bryce’s left leg shook with the effort of keeping her right leg aloft and in place.
Beside her, Juniper sweated along, face set with focused determination. June held perfect form—no hunched shoulders, no curved spine. Every line of her friend’s body radiated strength and grace.
“And down into first position,” the instructor ordered over the thumping music. Totally not the style that ballet was usually danced to, but that was why Bryce loved this class: it combined the formal, precise movements of ballet with dance club hits. And somehow, in doing so, it helped her understand both the movements and the sound better. Merge them better. Let her enjoy it, rather than dance along to music she’d once loved and daydreamed about getting to perform onstage.
Wrong body type had no place here, in this bright studio on an artsy block of the Old Square.
“Take a five-minute breather,” said Madame Kyrah, a dark-haired swan shifter, striding to the chair by the wall of mirrors to swig from her water bottle.
Bryce wobbled over to her pile of crap by the opposite wall, ducking under the barre to pick up her phone. No messages. A blissfully quiet morning. Exactly what she’d needed.
Which was why she’d come here. Beyond wanting to come here twice a week, she needed to be here today—to work out every swirling thought. She hadn’t told Juniper what she’d learned.
What could she say? Hey, just FYI, the Bone Quarter is a lie, and I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a true afterlife, because we all get turned into energy and herded through the Dead Gate, though some small bit of us gets shoved down the gullet of the Under-King, so … good fucking luck!
But Juniper was frowning at her own phone as she drank a few sips from her water bottle.