Crescent City

The thumping bass from the shitty old boom box reached Bryce full two levels below the apartment. The sweet, musky scent of mirthroot hit her when she reached the next landing. And by the time Bryce unlocked the door and stepped inside, she was already dancing.

“There’s my favorite person!” Danika shouted, saluting Bryce with a rolled cigarette of mirthroot. A pile of it lay on the coffee table before her, Danika’s bare feet inches away. Bryce’s roommate gestured magnanimously to the spread of drugs.

“Where the fuck did you even get that much mirthroot?” Bryce toed off her heels, scrunching her chafed, aching toes a few times to work some life back into them. Then she reached under her dress and snapped her bra free. She whipped it around her head once for good effect, then sent it soaring across the living area. It landed in a sweaty heap on the threshold of her bedroom. Fuck, it was hot out. And it was hot in here.

Even with the air-conditioning on, a light sweat coated Danika’s face. It probably didn’t help that she wore her familiar leather jacket, with Through love, all is possible scrawled across the back, despite the summer heat.

Danika took a long drag of mirthroot, exhaling through her nostrils before saying, “I confiscated it from some asshole tourists who thought it’d be cool to get wasted in the Oracle’s Park and see if they picked up on her psychic vibes or whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Gave them a formal warning and took their drugs.”

Bryce chuckled, plopping onto the sagging couch beside her best friend. “You’re a real role model.”

Danika passed her the smoldering cigarette. “Oh yeah. Crescent City’s finest.”

Bryce inhaled deeply, every taut muscle in her body relaxing at the taste of the smoke in her mouth.

On the crappy, too-small TV across the living room, the evening news blathered on, barely audible above the thump of the music on the boom box. The blackout last week, blah, blah, blah-

“Where’s everyone else?” Bryce asked, exhaling slowly before passing the mirthroot back to Danika. She’d gotten Danika’s message half an hour ago: a short video showing the pile of mirth - root - which had then been on the kitchen counter-with music blasting in the background, accompanied by the words Hurry home quick, honey.

So Bryce had, locking the gallery up in record time. So fast that she’d forgotten her dirty dance clothes from the class she’d taken at lunchtime. So fast that poor Syrinx had only gotten in one cuddle before she’d been out the door with promises to bring him a big treat tomorrow.

“Working,” Danika replied at last, smoke rippling from her lips. “Being the role model that I am, I took the evening off to enjoy the spoils.” She wriggled her toes, each one coated in chipped purple nail polish, at the mirthroot. “Bronson made me promise to leave some for him, so don’t make me a liar.”

Bryce took another hit. “If we smoke all of that, I think we’ll die, Danika.”

“Nah,” Danika said, smirking as Bryce slowly released a sweet cloud. “But you might still be high in two days.”

Bryce’s phone chirped, and she grabbed it from the coffee table to find that an email from Jesiba had popped up. Bryce skimmed its contents, then winced. She’d just put her phone down, intending to ignore the message for as long as possible, when Danika said, rising to her feet, “Maybe three days.” Bryce laughed, the room starting to slow and spin with a familiar haziness. She set the mirthroot down in the lopsided ceramic ashtray-a gem from their half-assed college pottery class-and leaned back on the stained cushions to savor the chill creeping over her.

Humming along to the music, Danika padded into the galley kitchen. Bryce’s phone buzzed with another message from Jesiba I expect a reply within the next five–

Bryce sighed and began typing back, any building bliss fading away.

“Wanna go out?” Danika called from the kitchen.

Bryce propped her feet on the coffee table, sending the email to Jesiba as she did. “No. My bra is officially off and I am not put ting it back on.”

“Who said you need a bra on to go out?” Danika emerged from the kitchen, munching on a soggy leftover sandwich.

“There’s still plenty of ziti from what I made last night,” Bryce offered, the music starting to send rippling gold rings through the room. Pretty. “That sandwich is, like, six days old.”

Danika took another bite and said around a mouthful, “I’d rather risk food poisoning from this thing than that… concoction.”

Bryce flipped off her friend with a finger that felt a million miles away. “You said the ziti was good!”

“It might have been on its own.” Danika crossed her arms. “But you added…?”

“Sausage.” “And?”

Bryce winced. “Some other stuff?” Okay, maybe she’d gotten a little overeager adding things to the recipe. She’d stopped herself after the garlic and olives, though.

Danika nodded sagely. “Yeah, no ziti. Let’s go out, though-I’ve still got plenty of room for more. Pizza, then beer. Then whiskey.”

“I have work tomorrow,” Bryce hedged. “Jesiba’s already messaging me about the pile of paperwork she wants me to fill out before she even gets in tomorrow morning. There’s no way I can get through it if I’m nursing a hangover. Or still high.”

Just two drinks.” Danika promised, unraveling and then re-braiding her blond, corn-silk hair with strands of amethyst, sapphire, and rose woven throughout. “I’ll have you in bed by one.”

That was a big fucking lie, if Bryce had ever heard one. But if Danika wanted to go out, only the two of them, no mention of making it a party with June and Fury…

“Please,” Danika asked, frowning slightly. She approached the coffee table and picked up the mirthroot cigarette, inhaling again.

“I could use it.”

Even with the haze of the drugs, it was hard to miss the tightness in Danika’s face, her posture.

So Bryce asked, as soberly as she could, “You all right?”

Danika shrugged, inhaling again. “Sabine. As usual.”

There was something in the way Danika didn’t look at her, didn’t meet her eyes… Bryce wasn’t entirely sure she bought it, even though Sabine was always nipping at Danika’s heels. But what else could it be? Maybe something with Thorne, but Thorne’s panting after Danika had never seemed to bother her before.

If Danika didn’t want to talk about it, though, Bryce wouldn’t push. She’d be there when Danika was ready. Bryce took another drag of the mirthroot herself, free-falling into the serene calmness, and said, “One-I want to be back here and in bed by one.”

Her best friend, the sister of her soul, winked. But some of that tightness, that distant worry remained- just a glimmer. Even as Danika said, eyes glowing with wolfish delight through the cloud of mirthroot smoke, “I’ll get you a fresh bra.”

“There’s a thousand-mark fine and a permanent citation for public drunkenness,” a male voice lectured Bryce and Danika two hours later, right as the clock neared midnight.

One in the morning loomed, but maybe she could push it to two. It was such a warm, beautiful night, the wind sighing through the palms. the kind of summer night that would linger in Bryce’s memory for years. The mirthroot still wrapped around her senses, heightening and yet soothing them, making her savor every perfect detail of this night.

Sitting on the rim of a fountain in a market square near Archer Street, Danika swigged from her bottle of beer. They’d gotten a six-pack from the nearby grocery store-and then another. This was their third. They had only the who cares effect of the mirthroot to blame for it, Bryce supposed. “No one likes a nare.”

Bryce snickered up at the trio of wolves standing around them: Connor, Zach, and Thorne. It was Zach who had spoken. and though his tone had been perfectly dry, his dark eyes glittered with amusement.

He made up half of the twin duo everyone called the Ghosts. If Zach was here, Zelda couldn’t be far away. But it was Connor who Bryce really looked at-and promptly tried to ignore. Especially as he said, “A little public drunkenness never hurt anyone.”

His tone was the opposite of Zach’s, though. He sounded amused, but she could have sworn something disapproving shone in Connor’s eyes as he looked at her Bryce glazed up at him as if to say, What? Danika needed a drink. And some mirthroot. A lot of it.

She could have sworn Connor’s frown said, There are better ways of helping her deal with Sabine.

Bryce shook her head. He saw too much-noticed too much. She changed the subject. “Where’s my bestie?”

Danika laughed. “I’m right here. You must have stoked more than I realized.”

“I meant Ithan,” Bryce said innocently “Hey!” Danika objected.

“Second-best friend,” Bryce amended.

Thorne chuckled. “Sleeping Big game in a few days”

Connor cautioned, “Do not invite him out. He needs rest.”

“Of course,” Danika said. “It’s a big, fancy, important sunball game. Why, the fate of the world rests upon it! We’d never interfere with that.”

Bryce and Danika swapped a glance. As soon as the trio left, they were totally messaging Ithan – the fun Holstrom, as she often teased Connor.

But Connor didn’t look like he’d appreciate being teased at the moment. Gods, did everyone have something smoldering inside them right now? Was it the summer heat? The way he was staring at her…

Bryce became keenly aware of how high her dress had ridden up her thighs, how much bare leg she had exposed, the drunken angle of her feet in her high heels.

“Look,” Thorne said, ever the voice of reason, “Amelie and the Black Rose Pack are on patrol tonight. Just… be careful.”

“Let them try something.” Danika snarled, and even Bryce tensed at that. Danika was spoiling for a fight.

“Don’t even think about it,” Connor warned, teeth bared in a way that reminded Bryce he might have been an Alpha in his own right if he hadn’t chosen to serve Danika instead. “A confrontation with Amelie is the last thing you need right now.”

“Oh?” Danika rose gracefully to her feet, only swaying a bit. “Why?”

Thorne stepped between them, the Omega flashing a disarming smile. “Because I don’t want to have to drag you into jail for murder.”

That seemed to appease Danika, who gently patted Thorne’s face. He held her gaze, and Bryce was surprised to see that Danika was the first to look away- like she couldn’t stand whatever she found in Thorne’s expression. Bryce could have sworn pure pain and longing filled Thorne’s stare.

But Zach nodded to Bryce as she stood, heels wobbling on the cobblestones. “Keep an eye on her, B,” he said.

Bryce saluted sloppily. “Will do.”

Danika snickered, slipping an arm around Bryce’s shoulders.

“We’ll go take our public drunkenness inside.” She tugged Bryce from the fountain, from the square. “We’ll be drinking ourselves into oblivion at Lethe should anyone need us.”

Bryce glanced over a shoulder to find Connor still frowning after her. She didn’t like that look, or all she read in it, so she just winked at him and let Danika lead her to Lethe’s forgetful embrace.

The whiskey bar was fairly busy for a weeknight. People still in work clothes sipped the expensive stuff from crystal glasses at the array of high tables, while drunk assholes like Bryce and Danika perched at the bar, downing straight shots of the cheap nail polish remover Lethe claimed was their house whiskey.

If they could have afforded the good stuff, they would have bought it gladly, but Bryce had zero money, and though Danika technically had the funds, Sabine was the one who signed off on the credit payments.

Bryce didn’t usually mind the cheap crap, but Danika was put- ting away an inordinate amount of it tonight. What was going on with her?

Bryce sifted through all that had happened in the past few days. Or tried to. With all the booze in her system – why had they started with beer? – she could barely think at all.

There was only one moment that stood out amid the drunken blur. “What’s up with you and Thorne?” Bryce asked Danika with no warning whatsoever.

“Huh?” Danika knocked back another whiskey. Gods, what number was that? Bryce herself had had… She tried to count on her fingers, but they multiplied and blurred.

Down the bar, an angel in the uniform of the 33rd was checking them out. She couldn’t tell if he wanted to try to arrest thei or try to fuck them. The red-haired male wasn’t bad-looking, actually. Tempting enough that if she hadn’t been seeing Reid Redner, maybe-

“There’s nothing up with me and Thorne,” Danika said shortly, signaling for another whiskey. “You gonna talk to that angel or what?”

“Not my type,” Bryce sniffed.

“Liar.” Danika teased. “He’s hot as shit.” Bryce laughed. “You go talk to him, then.” Danika winked. “Not my type.”

Bryce considered. “When was the last time you even went on a date with someone?”

Danika nodded her thanks to the bartender and sighed for a long moment. Like she was about to say something-

Gods, Bryce’s head was spinning. Maybe she should stop drinking.

“You’re Danika Fendyr,” a male growled from down the bar. They looked, and the male - a great, hulking brute of a draki with greenish scales running down his muscular arms under his gray T-shirt - tipped his glass toward them.

“What about it?” Danika asked, the words slurring only slightly.

The male downed his whiskey in one gulp, steam puffing from his nostrils. “Heard a lot about you.”

Bryce leaned forward on the bar, peering down its shining length at him. “All good things, I hope,” she said with saccharine sweetness. It was definitely the mirthroot prompting her to sass a draki.

The draki spared her a glance, his reptilian eyes sweeping over her, then back to Danika. Bryce was dismissed. Invisible, unworthy of more than a look. Maybe a quick fuck in the alley, if he’d condescend to that. Bryce’s fingers clenched around her glass.

“Heard you’re a handful,” the draki said to Danika. “Who the Hel are you?” No drunkenness fogged

Danika’s words now. They were crisp and sharp. “Just a guy from the north,” the male answered, twisting his glass in his clawed hands. “Passing through. Didn’t think I’d see local celebrity.” He bit out every syllable of celebrity, his pointed white teeth glinting.

“Happy to make your night,” Danika said, her smile all teeth as well.

“Your mom’s a hateful bitch, you know.” The bar quieted.

But Danika remained utterly unruffled. “Oh, I know. What’d she do to you?”

The male’s pupils narrowed to the finest of slits. “Not to me. To my cousins. They’re just kids. Came down to the city for a fun weekend and never made it back home. Last we heard, Sabine Fendyr was having a little fox hunting them through the streets.” Bryce put a warning hand on Danika’s arm, but said nothing. Danika, however, said, “That doesn’t surprise me.” She nod ded toward the male. “You come down here to settle the score?” The wood bar smoldered beneath the male’s clawed, scaled hand. “You gonna try to stop me?”

Danika flashed a crooked grin. “Hel no. I’ll wish you luck, if anything.”

“Danika,” Bryce said. There was defying Sabine, and then there was outright mutiny. If Danika went too far over the line, she’d pay.

Smoke curled from the draki’s nostrils. “I did hear you weren’t like her.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” But Bryce didn’t miss the gleam in Danika’s eyes.

The male nodded to her, then slid off his stool, aiming for the door. He had almost reached it when he turned back and said to Danika, “You tip her off and I’ll come back to find you first.”

With that, he was gone.

“Solas,” Bryce breathed after the bar resumed its usual low-key murmur of activity.

Danika drained her whiskey. “The poor bastard doesn’t realize that he’s not going to walk away at all, whether Sabine knows he’s coming or not.”

“You should be careful,” Bryce said, fear clearing her mind for a moment. “You don’t know who the fuck that is-“

“If he wants to take out Sabine, he’s my new best friend.”

Bryce squeezed Danika’s arm, hard. “That’s a dumb fucking thing to say.”

Danika didn’t answer; she only ordered yet another drink. And Bryce didn’t object when another slid in front of her, too. After that encounter, she needed it.

And the next one. And the next.

Music began, and Bryce was dancing to it, even though Lethe didn’t have a dance floor. She made the whole bar her dance floor, and Danika was dancing beside her, and they were laughing and laughing, all thoughts of Sabine melting away, the rest of Midgard with her.

Minutes or an hour passed, and all Bryce knew was that she was sweating, and back at the bar once more, downing yet another whiskey. The hot angel had vanished, though she’d made a decent attempt at trying to lure him with sex-eyes to her side as she danced.

But the snobbery of angels ran deep. He might have given her sex-eyes right back, but he’d no doubt flown directly up into the lofty towers of the CBD and laughed with his friends about the half-human-

“Come on,” Danika said suddenly, pulling her off the barstool. “Let’s get tattoos.”

“Tattoos!” Bryce burst out laughing. “No fucking way.”

“Pleeeeeeaaaaase,” Danika whined. “Best friend tattoos.”

“Absolutely not.”

Danika then unleashed her ultimate weapon: the puppy eyes. And damn if they weren’t effective. “I’m sad and lonely and I want to get a tattoo with my best friend.”

“My mom will kill me,” Bryce protested. “We’ll get it in a place where she won’t see.” “It’ll hurt.”

“You’re so drunk you won’t even feel it.” Danika squeezed her hand. “Please? Pleasepleaseplease-“

Bryce sighed. What was some ink in her skin? Right now, just about any idea sounded good. Granted, what Danika had said - sad and lonely - lingered, but Bryce would press her on that tomorrow.

For right now, the night was still young, and they were young, and would one day be nearly immortal. The whole world lay at their feet.

So Bryce sighed again and said, “Sure. Why not?”

They weren’t the only drunk assholes in the tattoo parlor at two in the morning. No, they’d actually had to it, but now here they were. Gods, time was bending and slowing, then shivering and speeding up.

Danika had told the tattoo artist that she had a design and specific text in mind - Through love, all is possible - and wanted it done in a certain way. She’d said something about bringing an additive for the ink, a special wolf thing… No, that couldn’t be right. This had been spontaneous, and what the fuck did Danika know about tattoos? She had her pack tattoo, but nothing more.

Bryce lay face down on the plastic-wrapped leather of the tattoo table, the room spinning, spinning, spinning, Danika was spinning, too…

Literally sitting on the tattoo artist’s stool and spinning, like all that mirthroot and booze wasn’t impacting her at all.

“Why am I going first?” Bryce asked.

“Because you’re about an hour away from puking and passing out. I’ve got at least two hours until that point.” Danika halted her spinning, fixing her bright eyes on Bryce. “Cold feet?”

Bryce snorted. “No. But again: my mom is going to freak.”

“Ember’s got tattoos. And you’re way past the legal age.”

“You already have Through love, all is possible on your jacket. Why do we need it on our skin?“

The traced lettering - in some strange alphabet that Bryce had never seen but Danika had insisted on using - was drying on Bryce’s back while the tattoo artist prepared her supplies and ink in an adjacent room.

Danika winked at Bryce. “Best friends and all.”

Bryce smiled drunkenly, resting her chin on her hands. “Best best, best friends.”

Danika kissed her brow. “Always.”

“No matter what.” Bryce closed her eyes, humming to herself.

Danika’s voice was soft. “No matter what.”

Bryce opened her eyes at that softness. “Hey - what’s that all about?”

Were those tears in Danika’s gaze? Danika just winked again, though. “I love you, B. You know that? There’s no one else who would put up with me, or go along with me on all this… craziness.”

“I believe the term Thorne would use is bad influence.”

Danika grinned crookedly. “Nah. You’re the good in my life.”

Bryce’s heart squeezed. “Right back at you.”

The door groaned open, and a moment later, the tattoo artist reappeared, little pots of ink in hand. “This stuff you gave me is some weird shit,” she said, snapping on her gloves. “Took a while to dissolve.”

“But it mixed in?” Danika asked a bit sharply. “Yeah,” the artist said, fixing a mask over her mouth. “No guarantees that it won’t fuck with the healing or the longevity of the ink, though.”

“It’ll be fine,” Danika assured her. “The Prime gave it to me. Sacred wolf tattoo crap.”

“Sure,” the artist said, clearly not caring one bit where it came from or what it was. She probably only wanted to get through the night’s endless parade of assholes.

Danika waggled her brows at Bryce, drawing a laugh from her. “Don’t move,” the artist said, fingers testing along the knobs of Bryce’s spine, the expanse of her upper back. “I’m starting.”

“Here goes,” Danika said to Bryce, and reached for Bryce’s hand, their fingers interlocking.

“Light it up,” Bryce whispered to Danika as the artist stepped on the power pedal and the tattoo gun buzzed to life.

Danika just squeezed Bryce’s hand gently. And as the tip of the needle bit into Bryce’s flesh, piercing even through the drunken, stoned numbness, she whispered, “Light it up, Bryce.”

Bryce had barely settled in to work at her desk when her phone rang. She saw who was calling and grimaced.

“Cormac. To what do I owe this pleasure?” “I need you to attend a luncheon with me.”

“Here in the real world, we say, Let’s do lunch.”

A pause, and Bryce smiled. The Avallen Prince said tightly, “It’s a formal luncheon at Lord Hawthorne’s house. I’ve just been informed that you must attend with me.”

Bryce straightened. “Informed by whom?” “My father.”

It was her turn to pause. “What did my father have to say about it?”

“Nothing. He’s not invited.” A small mercy. “The Hawthornes and the Donnalls go back generations. This is between our families only. And since you are supposedly about to become part of mine…” She could hear the sneer in his voice. “You are expected to be there.”

She debated objecting, but… she surveyed her desk, her tiny office. So at odds with the stirring forces around them. With her entire life. She’d take any distraction that was offered, even if it meant mingling with the Fae. “Do I need to look fancy?”

Thirty minutes later, Bryce found herself beside Cormac as entered the opulent villa in the heart of FiRo. A mere two block from her father’s house, and nearly identical: pale marble, olive and orange trees, beds of lavender swaying beneath them, aquamarine fountains sparkling in the sunlight… everything screamed money.

It was hard to believe Flynn had grown up here. A stiff-backed butler ushered them through the shining halls, as immaculate and impersonal as a museum. No TVs hung on the walls, no sound systems, nothing beyond the occasional firstlight to indicate that this place existed in the current century.

But Cormac’s brows were high. Impressed.

As the butler strode ahead, Bryce muttered to the prince, “I should have known this would be up your alley. Anti-tech living at its finest.” She gestured to a closed wooden door as they passed. “Dungeon’s down there. If you go now, you can probably beat the crowd for the two o’clock peasant flogging.”

Cormac gave her a sidelong, withering look and said with equal quiet, “I suggest you curb that irreverent humor before we enter the dining room. You are here as a representative of your bloodlineand our people.”

Bryce lifted her eyes to the ornately carved cornices, silently beseeching Cthona for strength.

Soft voices flitted down the hallway before the butler passed through the open doors of the dining room.

Bryce tensed for a heartbeat at the voices. Not just Fae awaited her in that room. They were Fae nobility. She glanced down at her lacy white dress and golden sandals. Clean. No wrinkles or dirt. She’d changed, grateful she’d left the outfit in her office closet in case of an important meeting.

“You look fine,” Cormac murmured without shifting his gaze to her.

“I don’t give a shit,” she hissed back. But… these were her father’s people. Who had never known she was her father’s daughter before last spring, but… she’d seen their stares in the streets since then. Would never forget that they locked down their villas — this villa – when the in the demons attacked, shutting out anyone fleeing in sets. How many had died on the sidewalk just be these cates, begging for mercy?

As the butler ing room, listing extracted her pl butler announced their arrival to the crowd in the dinsom listing all ten of Cormac’s royal names and titles, Bryce ted her phone from her purse and pulled up Hunt’s contact es and info.

Or it had said Hunt this morning. Now his contact was listed under: Hunt, Whose Bones I Want to Jump Immediately.

She swallowed her laugh. When had he changed that? Though, after that kiss in the alley yesterday, she couldn’t disagree. She quickly typed out a message.

You’ll never guess where I am. Nice contact name, btw. Totally accurate.

“Put that away,” Cormac ordered under his breath as the butler finished the grand announcement. “It’s rude.”

Bryce checked her phone one more time-Hunt had answered, In a meeting. Call you in an hour.

She sent him an answering Ok! before silencing her phone and slipping it into her bag with a glare at Cormac.

The butler stepped aside, bowing low and motioning for them to come forward. Bryce took a steeling breath and stepped into the long, bright space that opened into the rear garden. Cormac put a hand on her lower back, guiding her in, and she debated shoving that hand off her.

A room full of people stared. No one smiled at her. Fine. She didn’t bother to smile back.

Cormac nudged her along, approaching a tall, handsome Fae male who was the spitting image of Flynn. A little older, but nearly identical, from the brown hair to the green eyes. Lord Hawthorne. She couldn’t help but admire his slim-fitting charcoal suit, though she loathed herself for it. A slim, blond Fae female in a white sheath dress stood beside him, narrow-faced and cold-eyed. Lady Hawthorne.

Flynn, gods bless him, loitered by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the beds of lavender, knocking back a glass of champagne. She’d never seen him in a suit, but… Well, should it surprise her, given how many crazy things seemed to be happen. ing lately?

She and Cormac halted before their hosts. Lord and Lady Hawthorne bowed their heads.

Bryce tried not to blink. Right. She was… a princess. Or at least an unofficial one, engaged to a real prince.

Solas roast her alive.

Lord Hawthorne assessed Bryce, distaste filling his gaze, but he said nothing. The crowd still stared. She didn’t look to confirm how many were smirking at her cold reception.

“I believe the term you’re looking for is Your Highness,” the younger Flynn drawled, swaggering toward them, handing his empty champagne flute to a waiting server. The words and motion set the crowd of about two dozen people chatting and mingling again, and though they appeared to be distracted, Bryce knew all eyes and ears remained fixed on them. Flynn didn’t seem to give a shit as he came up to

Bryce’s other side and kissed her cheek. “Hey, B.”

His mother’s nostrils flared. Either at the brazen show of affection or at her precious son deigning to touch a piece of trash.

Perhaps Flynn had done so for both reasons. It wasn’t every day that her heart softened a bit toward her brother’s friend, but she couldn’t help the rush of gratitude she felt.

Cormac, however, made a good show of exposing his teeth. “Lord Tristan.” The greeting was a warning. Back the fuck off.

Flynn did no such thing. They were allies in this room full of snakes.

So Bryce said to Flynn’s parents, offering them a close-lipped smile, “Good to see you.”

Flynn’s mother merely looked Bryce over with that cool disdain. His father frowned deeply.

Cormac cut into the stiff silence. “Thank you for hosting this luncheon. I’m honored.”

“Of course.” Flynn’s mother shifted from icy aloofness to all smiles as she faced the prince. “It was our lovely Sathia’s idea. She is so thoughtful.” Flynn snorted at the mention of his younger sister a warning glare from his father.

They might have looked alike in body and face, but the two males have been more different. Rumor had it the house’s spectacular gardens were the result of the elder Lord Hawthorne’s earth magic, but how a male so hard-hearted could produce such lovely things was beyond Bryce.

Cormac inclined his head, scanning the room until he found the petite, dark-haired Fae female holding court amid a cluster of fae males. And enjoying every second of it, from the coy smile on her pretty, heart- shaped face.

“Sathia never turns down a chance to trawl for suitors,” Flynn id cheerfully, and his mother glared again, bristling. “Maybe she’ll get lucky this time and actually snare some poor bastard.”

“You are to be on your best behavior, boy,” his father growled. Bryce had picked up enough over the years to know that while Lord Hawthorne had never been in the Aux, he was a highly trained warrior. From his broad shoulders and the menace in that growl, Bryce didn’t doubt it.

Bryce threw Flynn a sympathetic look.

But it was Cormac who replied with bland politeness, “I shall go make my greetings to her. It’s been too long since we last saw each other.”

Flynn’s mother smiled broadly, practically foaming at the mouth, but when she caught Bryce smirking, cold reproach shone in her eyes. All right, then.

Bryce looped her arm through Flynn’s and announced to Cormac, “You go say hi. I have some things to discuss with Flynn.”

Cormac gave her a warning look that told her she was here to further their ruse. not be antisocial, but she’d already made a quick retreat with Flynn toward the windows.

Flynn swiped two flutes of champagne off a passing server, handing one of them to Bryce. She sipped from it. Damn, they’d brought out the good stuff for this. Bryce halted at the floor-to-ceiling windows and surveyed the room before saying to Flynn, “Your mom’s a real charmer. The other guests eyed them from across the room, but kept Bryce ignored them all.

Flynn swigged from his glass. “She’s pissy that you snatched Cormac before my sister could get her claws in him. She’s alwave thought Sathia would be a princess. So has Sathia.”

“What about Ruhn?”

Flynn gave her a glare that nearly matched his mother’s.

“Friends don’t let friends marry assholes.” Bryce laughed. “Your sister’s that bad, huh?”

“I’ve made sure Ruhn is well aware of what Sathia wants.” Flynn shrugged. “To be honest, Sathia’s fine. She survives in whatever way she can, I guess. And I can’t fault her ambition. At least she knows what she wants from life.”

Bryce decided against asking Flynn if he knew what he wanted from his own. “Why does Sathia even want to be a princess? She has plenty of power and money.” Adding a title would be a step up, yes — but it would also come with far more work and responsibilities.

“I don’t know. I never asked. Maybe she likes the sparkly crowns.” Flynn drank again. “I’m surprised you allowed the Prince of Assholes to drag you here.” “Part of the deal. Keeping up appearances and whatnot.”

Flynn snorted. “Yeah, same.” Flynn might act the playboy, but there were some duties even he couldn’t shirk. She watched his carefully neutral face, the boredom he plastered there. Who was the male beneath all that? Beneath the partying and irreverence?

She arched a brow. “You really hate all this, don’t you?”

His brows lifted. “Why are you so surprised?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like I owe you an apology for not realizing it earlier.”

He winked. But his amusement faded as he said a shade quietly, “That’s why Ruhn and I became friends, you know. Because we both hate this crap. We have ever since we were kids.

“What about Dec?”

“His family’s rich, but they’re not nobility. They don’t run in these circles. And Dec got to have a normal childhood because of it.” A soft laugh. ” Why do you think he’s the most well-adjusted of all of us? His parents actually give a shit about him.”

It was as personal as they’d ever gotten. Flynn continued, “So Ruhn and I – and Dec – we made our own family.” Another wink. It was as personal Ruhn and and D. “And now you’re in it.”

“I’m touched. Really.”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, champagne on his breath, “You ever want to know how the Fae measure up to the angels, come me, B. I don’t bite. Unless you ask real nice.”

She yanked back. “Take your self-destructive bullshit elsewhere.”

He laughed — but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. She knew he hadn’t meant a word of it. Knew he was feeling trapped and pissed at having to be here and was acting out in any way he could.

Indeed, his mother was beckoning him over to where she spoke to a pale, meek-looking Fae female. Flynn groaned under his breath. “Duty calls.” He drained his champagne and didn’t say goodbye before sauntering to his mother’s side. The Fae girl blushed at whatever he said with that charming, boyish smile of his, ducking her head and mumbling an answer.

Bryce snorted. Good luck to her. And to Flynn.

“Rough day, huh?” Hunt asked her two hours later as he slid onto the barstool beside her at the gastropub off Archer Street.

Bryce held up a shot of espresso in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other. “I couldn’t decide what I needed more: stuff to numb my soul, or stuff to wake me up from that funeral of a luncheon.”

Hunt laughed, wing brushing over her bare arm in a casual, warming touch. She couldn’t help the shiver that went down her skin in answer. “It was that bad?” She knocked back the espresso as Hunt signaled the bartender for a coffee of his own. “Spending time in a room full of people who hate me isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

He rested his arms on the black marble bar. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said.

He did. If anyone got it, it was Hunt. Bryce leaned into shoulder, sighing deeply. “Am I pathetic for still letting them m get to me?”

Hunt pulled back to survey her. She didn’t balk from searching expression on his face. “You’re talking to the guy who recently got tossed in the Comitium dungeon for beating up some one who still gets to me after centuries of telling myself to ignore him. So if you’re pathetic, I’m a sad fucking loser.”

She huffed a laugh, leaning back into him. “You’re my favorite person.”

“Likewise, Quinlan.” He slid an arm around her, and Bryce savored the unfailing strength of him. Not a strength to overpower her, but a strength that complemented her own-that bolstered it and helped it thrive. It was hard not to thank Urd every single day for sending Hunt her way.

They sat like that until the bartender brought over Hunt’s coffee, and Hunt removed his arm to sip from the hot drink. Bryce watched him, noting the slight tension in his shoulders, his wings. She asked carefully, “What sort of meeting were you in?”

Yeah, his wings shifted at that. “Sad fucking loser, remember?”

“Pollux, then?”

“Yeah.” A muscle ticked in Hunt’s cheek. “Staff meeting with Celestina. Pollux was… being Pollux. Trying to rile me. And Isaiah and Naomi. But mostly me.”

“No wonder you flew over here so fast when I asked you to meet me.”

Hunt threw her a half grin. “Oh, not at all. I was just hoping you were down for a bathroom hookup.”

Bryce laughed. “I’d be game for that, too, Athalar.”

Heat sparked in his dark eyes. “Yeah?” He set down his coffee.

Something low in her belly tightened in answer. She traced her finger over the countertop. “After that lunch, I need to do a little… venting.”

He tracked the sweep of her finger over the marble, his voice dropping an octave as he said, “I’ve only got ten minutes before I need to head back to the Comitium.”

“I’m sure we can find we can find something to keep us occupied,” she purred, basking in the raw desire of his gaze.

“Then head to the bathroom, Quinlan,” he said in that low growly voice that raked fingers down her skin. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She hopped off her stool, already slickening between her and whispered in Hunt’s ear, “That’s exactly where I want That’s thighs, and whisp you, Athalar.”

A soft snarl of pure need answered her, but Bryce was already o for the bathroom at the back of the pub. Knowing his gaze son her, she might have swished her

hips a bit. She could have worn lightning skimmed over her body in answer — and a sensual promise.

The single-stall bathroom had a working lock, which was all she needed, Bryce decided as she shut the door behind her, heart racing.

She washed her hands to give herself something to do, glancing in the mirror to see her eyes dark with desire, cheeks flushed. A woman ready to get what she needed.

The door opened and shut, and the sound of rustling wings filled the room. Bryce watched in the mirror as Hunt slowly slid the lock into place, eyes on her ass as he said, “That dress should be illegal.”

She looked over a shoulder, hands braced on the sink. “Why don’t you come confiscate it?”

A dark smile graced his lips, and he prowled closer. She didn’t fail to note the hardness pushing against the front of his battle-suit. Just the sight of it had her slickening further.

Hunt stopped just behind her, mouth dropping to her neck. “Ready so soon?” he murmured against her skin, sniffing delicately. Scenting her arousal.

Bryce pushed her ass into his front, drawing a hiss from him as she said, “I could ask the same of you.”

“Hmmm,” he said, kissing just below her ear. “I think I need some confirmation.” His hands slid down her thighs. “Shall I?”

Bryce widened her stance. “Confirm away.”

His teeth grazed her earlobe, tugging lightly before he slid hand under the hem of her dress.

Yes, fuck yes. His fingers skimmed over her bare thighs, working upward, and she arched slightly against him, breath tight.

He nibbled on her ear, biting down again just as his fingers reached the front of her underwear. He hissed again at the wet ness he found. “Solas, Quinlan.”

Bryce could only manage a breathy moan. Hunt obliged her by gently pressing down, tracing over the shape of her sex. She bit her lip, halting just short of pleading with him to rip aside the lace thong

“I’m going to need more than ten minutes,” Hunt said darkly, fingers tracing and circling. “I’m gonna need fucking days to explore you.” He kissed her neck again. “Weeks.” Another kiss. “Months.”

She moaned again at that, and he pressed down right on her clit. Even like this, even over her underwear, he had her mere strokes from coming. The bastard knew it, too, and said against the hot skin of her neck, “Wound a little tight?”

She pushed back against him once more, grinding into his considerable hardness. His answering groan sent her closer to the edge.

He toyed with the band of her underwear, a cat playing with its dinner. He likely wouldn’t go any further until she told him, begged him, and-

The door rattled.

Bryce froze, processing the heady desire coursing through her and what that rattling door meant. Someone was trying to get in. Someone who might very well take photos and report that she and Hunt had walked out of a bathroom together. When she was supposed to be engaged to Cormac - when she had just been at a luncheon with Cormac as his fiancée.

“Shit,” Hunt murmured, hands sliding off her. Bryce just called out, “Occupied!”

Hunt grunted in amusement.

Of course there were no windows in here for one of them to climb out of. “What do we do?” Bryce paced a few steps.

“Watch and learn, Quinlan.”

He opened a small pocket in his battle-suit and pulled out a length of bandage. “Arm,” he said, and she extended her hand toward him.

He wrapped her forearm with the bandage, pinning it in place. Then opened a packet of antiseptic ointment and a small healing potion. He dumped both down the sink, their sweet and sterile smells filling the air. Then he threw the remnants into the trash atop the array of paper towels.

By the time Hunt opened the door, Bryce was playing along, cradling her “injured” arm to her chest.

“Just don’t remove the bandage for at least an hour,” Hunt was telling her as he stepped into the hall and nodded to the satyr male waiting for the bathroom. “The potion should have healed the cut by then.”

Bryce met the satyr’s stare and offered a glum smile. “Clumsy me. I’m never going to hear the end of this from him.”

The satyr just smiled weakly back before walking into the bathroom, his inhaling sniff informing her that he’d scented the strong odors of the antiseptic ointment and healing potion. Which were not only “proof” of the medical emergency, but had also wiped away any lingering scents of their arousal.

When the satyr had locked the door, Bryce glanced up at Hunt to find him watching her, desire still a dark flame in his eyes. “I’ll see you at home tonight,” he said quietly. Then he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Maybe I’ll play medwitch and tend to your injury.”

She bit her lower lip. But before she could reply, Hunt had stalked out of the pub, people giving him a wide berth before he leapt into the skies.

It was only when she was walking up the steps of the archives that she realized she was still smiling. That all thoughts of the luncheon had faded away.

Hunt had done that for her. She’d never stop being grateful for it — for him. Bryce’s heart tightened and something brighter than starlight filled her veins.

It remained, shimmering and secret, glowing inside her for the rest of the day.

Drip. Drip-drip-drip. Drip.

Eyes closed, head resting against the damp, uneven stone of the cave wall, Bryce listened to the stone and water talk.

Drip-drip. Drop. Drip-drip-drop.

It was more conversation than either Nesta or Azriel had offered up in the two hours that they’d all been taking a breather. Technically, Bryce was supposed to be sleeping. But without day or night to dictate her body’s rhythms, she just sat in a semi- stupor, not really asleep, not really awake.

Drip-drop-drop. Drip.

Bryce cracked open an eye, surveying her two companions. Nesta sat against the opposite wall, head down, breathing lightly.

But Azriel was staring right at Bryce. She started, whacking her head against the rock. White pain splintered across her vision. By the time it cleared, Nesta was awake.

“What is it?” Nesta peered down the tunnel to one side, then the other. Dripping darkness filled both directions, interrupted only by the silvery, watery glow of Bryce’s star through her shirt. A steady shine that hadn’t flared or dimmed. As if it was saying, You’re on the right track. Keep going.

Bryce rubbed the back of her aching head and sat up. “Oh, nothing. Just your usual predator-in-the-night warrior, staring at me while I sleep.”

“You weren’t sleeping,” Azriel said, faint amusement in his voice.

“How do you know?” Bryce countered, but her lips quirked upward.

Nesta yawned, stretching her arms over her head and rolling her neck from side to side. “It’s his job to be vigilant.” She lowered her arms, frowning slightly at Azriel. “Were you really watching her sleep?”

Azriel glowered. “When you say it like that, it sounds… unsavory.”

“It’s creepy,” Bryce grumbled.

“You are a stranger to us,” Nesta pointed out. “We’d be fools to take our attention off you for one second. Even while sleeping.”

Bryce crossed her legs, sighing. There was no hope of sleep- ing now. “Well, let’s not be strangers anymore,” she suggested. A survival tactic Randall had taught her: endear herself to any captor. Make them see her heart and soul so they might consider not killing her.

Because even though they’d left that interrogation cell, even though Nesta had given her back her phone, Bryce had little doubt that the killing option was still on the table.

“What is it you want to know?” Nesta asked carefully.

Bryce glanced between them. “How’d you two meet?”

She could have sworn Azriel tensed, like he was weighing how dangerous any answer might be, assessing why Bryce might want to know.

“There was a war,” Nesta said shortly. “Between who?” Bryce asked.

Again, that assessing silence. Azriel answered this time.

“Between an evil Fae King and us.” “You two, or, like… everyone?”

Nesta gave her a withering look. “Yes, the King of Hybern declared war on just me and Azriel.”

“I don’t want to discuss this,” Azriel cut her off coldly.

Bryce didn’t miss the wounded gleam in Nesta’s eyes. Attempting to salvage the conversation, she said, “Well, for what it’s worth, my best friend, Danika, had a shitty mom, too.”

“I don’t have a monopoly on that,” Nesta said flatly, still mas- tering herself after Azriel’s outburst.

Bryce offered a smile. “Danika said it built character.” And at Nesta’s shuttered expression, she found herself saying, “I think she was right – in a way. I think her mother’s cruelty made her a kinder, more thoughtful person. She saw how Sabine treated others, and was so disgusted by it that she wanted to become the opposite. Danika lived in terror of turning into her mother.”

Nesta didn’t say anything, but – there. A shallow nod. Like she understood. Like she lived with that fear every day. The water drip-drip-dripped again in the heavy silence.

“So that… phone of yours,” Nesta said suddenly, as if eager to change the subject for all their sakes. “You said earlier it has music inside it?”

Bryce fished the phone from her back pocket, its answering glare harsh against the softness of her starlight. “Yeah. I’ve got my entire music library on here.”

The clock on her phone read 3:56 in the morning. Her head spun. Was that the time here? Or at home? What day was it here - or there? How long had Hunt and Ruhn been-

She pushed the thoughts from her mind.

“Can I… hear some of your music?” Nesta’s question was ten- tative, as if she was uncomfortable making such a personal request. Bryce flashed her a half smile. “Sure. What kind of music do you like?”

At their confused silence, Bryce pushed, “Classical, dance, jazz… okay, those words clearly mean nothing to you.” “Put on the music that represents your world best,” Nesta said. “I think Midgard could descend into another war over that,” Bryce said. “But I’ll play you my favorite, at least.”

She grimaced at the dwindling battery, well aware that playing music would drain it, but the yearning for a taste of home overcame her apprehension.

Bryce scrolled through her music until she pulled up the folk duo that immediately leapt to mind: Josie and Laurel. Her hand shook a little with the sheer magnitude of picking which od their many songs to play, which sing to be the first ot theirs heard on this planet. Her favourites always shifted depending on her mood, her current phase of life. In the end, she went with her gut.

“Stone Mother” began playing, its rolling, thumping drums offsetting the wild, yet mellow, guitars. And then Josie’s voice filled the tunnel, sharp and yet soaring, accented by Laurel’s sweet, clear backups. The sound was foreign, earthy – haunting. In the span of a few notes, Bryce was back in her childhood bedroom in Nidaros, sprawled on the carpet, letting the sound of the music run over her for the first time.

Then she was in the dry hills of Valbara, surrounded by olive trees. Then the palm-lined quay along the Istros. Then with Danika. Then alone.

Then with Hunt.

This song had carried her through it all – through the years of pain and emptiness and rebuilding. It had carried her from light into darkness and then back to light.

The wraith-like harmonies echoed off the stones, until the rock sounded as if it was singing.

And when it was done, silence resumed. Nesta’s eyes were wide. “That was beautiful,” she said eventually. “I couldn’t understand a word of it, but I felt it.”

Bryce nodded, aching with thoughts of home, of the faces the song had brought to mind. “That’s a kind of folksy, coun- try sound. But this is what we call classical music-the stuff performed in grand halls. My friend Juniper dances to this kind of thing in the Crescent City Ballet. I used to dance, too, but… long story. This was one of my favorite dances. It’s from a bal- let called The Glass Coffin.” Bryce hit play again, and the violins began.

Again, Nesta was silent, knees now clutched to her chest, staring into the darkness. As if she was dedicating every inch of herself to

“This sounds like some of our music,” Azriel murmured. Nesta shushed him.

Bryce tapped her foot along to the melody, reading the expres sions stealing across Nesta’s face as the music played. Wonder and curiosity, joy and longing. Nesta seemed to be thrumming with the music, though she didn’t move at all. Like she was coming alive merely listening to the sound.

When the piece finished, its thunderous finale crashing through the cavern, Nesta met Bryce’s stare and said, “I like to dance, too.” It was a small piece of herself, but willingly given. Bryce felt her heart warm toward the warrior, just a bit.

“Yeah?”

But Nesta pointed to the phone again. “Play more, please.” So Bryce did.

Two hours later, they were walking again. Maybe Azriel had been interested enough in the music that he’d let them linger. Bryce had played them a sample of every genre she could think of. Nesta had clapped her hands over her ears at the screaming, wailing death metal, but Azriel had chuckled.

He’d probably get along with Ruhn and his idiot friends.

Nesta had loved the classical stuff the best, and both of them had been intrigued by the pulsing, thumping club music. “That is what you dance to in your world?” Nesta asked. Bryce hadn’t been able to tell if she was intrigued or dismayed. Azriel, at least, had seemed on board.

But now they were silent again, walking past carving after carving. They had to be getting close to… whatever waited at the end of this tunnel.

What if they walked and walked and found nothing, though? At what point would they decide to give up? Bryce’s star still blazed, pointing the way ahead, but what if they weren’t reading it correctly? Maybe her instincts had been wrong.

Maybe she hadn’t really been sent here by Urd.

Maybe it was all one big cosmic fuckup.

A giant accident.

Bryce’s throat tightened. She’d tried not to think about what was happening to Hunt and Ruhn, but in the ongoing gloom of the tunnels, her fear crept in again. Were they safe? Were they even alive?

“The music in your world,” Nesta said suddenly, interrupting Bryce’s doom spiral. “It’s all simply available to anyone?”

“In a way? There’s a sort of… nonphysical library made by machines that can store all the information in the world. Music, art, books-anything. So yeah, you can find any song, any piece of music, and listen to it whenever you want.”

“You have wonders in your world,” Nesta said.

Azriel added from a few steps behind them, “And terrors.”

Bryce grunted her agreement. “I’m sure you do, too.”

“We do,” Azriel said quietly.

Bryce filled in the gap of what he wouldn’t reveal. “But you’ve never seen things like guns or bombs, right?” She assumed they hadn’t, since they’d seemed so shocked when she’d shown them her memories in the Veritas orb.

“Did the Asteri invent those weapons?” Azriel asked darkly. “No. Some other sick fuck did,” Bryce muttered. “But they’re everywhere now.”

“They should all be destroyed.”

“Yes. They bring nothing good into the world.” Bryce angled her head to the side. “So you guys have swords and stuff?”

“Something like that,” Azriel hedged. He clearly wasn’t going to enlighten her about their defenses.

“And your magic is…”

“Don’t push it,” Azriel said, a hint of that earlier chill entering his voice.

Nesta’s lips thinned at the tone, like she was remembering it, too. Like it didn’t sit right with her.

“Okay, okay,” Bryce said. “But it’d be cool to know something about your world. Or about you.”

They were both silent.

Bryce asked Nesta, “You have a mate, right?” She nodded to Azriel. “Do you?”

“No,” Azriel said quickly, flatly. “A partner or spouse?”

“No.”

Bryce sighed. “Okay, then.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “You’re incurably nosy.” “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me.” Bryce winked at him. “Look, I just… I’m curious. Aren’t you?”

Azriel didn’t answer, but Nesta said, “Yes. We are.” Bryce ran a hand over one of the carvings-a young girl sitting on a toadstool, a hound sprawled on the ground beside her. “It’s crazy to me that in fifteen thousand years, we’ve developed all sorts of tech and your world is still, you know, like this.” She motioned to their clothes, the cave. At Nesta’s narrowed eyes, Bryce quickly added, “I’m simply wondering why similar changes didn’t happen here. I mean, we had the Asteri, but a lot of our inventions didn’t come from them.”

“Maybe it was the result of so many different worlds blending together in Midgard,” Nesta mused. “Each brought all of its learn- ing. United, they figured it out. Separate, perhaps they wouldn’t have.”

“Maybe. But we also had firstlight-a communal source of power. You don’t have that here. Just individual power.” Granted, Midgard’s communal power was thanks to the Asteri. Was it a good or a bad thing? Bryce didn’t know where to even begin sort- ing that out. Her feelings about it were a messy tangle of gratitude and rage.

Nesta asked, “Without firstlight, would your world become like ours, do you think?”

Bryce considered. “I don’t see another way to power our cars or phones, so… probably.”

Azriel asked, “Do the guns need firstlight?”

“No,” Bryce said. “And some of the bombs don’t need it, either.” The weight of the darkness pressed in. “Those evils will remain in Midgard forever, even without firstlight.”

“And people would still kill each other, even without those weapons,” Nesta said gravely. “The wicked will always find a way to hurt and harm.”

“Is this the part where you remind me that you guys will always find a way to hurt and harm me if I step out of line?”

“Yes,” Azriel said softly. “But this is also the part where I tell you that we’re the ones who usually try to find a way to stop those wicked people.”

“Isn’t that a little revealing?” Bryce teased. “You’re supposed to maintain the image of the big, bad assholes. Not tell me you’re a bunch of crime-fighting do-gooders.”

“You can do good,” Azriel warned, “while still being bad.”

Bryce whistled. “I know a number of males back home who could only dream of delivering that sentence with such cool.”

Nesta chuckled. “I know a good number, too.”

Azriel threw Nesta an incredulous look. But Nesta was grinning at Bryce.

Bryce grinned back. “Male egos: a universal constant.”

Nesta laughed again. “If you weren’t our captive,” she said, shaking her head, “I think I might like to call you a friend, Bryce Quinlan.”

Bryce didn’t know why the words hit something deep in her.

“Yeah,” Bryce said hoarsely. “Likewise.”

They walked in silence again, but it was no longer tense. There was something…lighter in it. If only for the moment. Like they weren’t her captors, but rather her companions.

Fine. In this world, at least, the Fae weren’t so bad. They clearly had their share of Fae assholes here, too, but Nesta… Bryce didn’t mind her.

It was uncomfortable, really. Bryce had always prided herself on resenting any and all Fae, her brother and his idiot friends being the rare exceptions, but these two strangers, and what she’d pieced together about the people around them…

They seemed like decent, caring people who loved each other.

She wasn’t even sure the Fae of Midgard knew what the word love meant. The Autumn King’s definition of it had left a small scar on her mom’s face.

But these Fae were different.

Did it matter? The Fae in Midgard weren’t her problem, and she didn’t want them to be, but what if they could be more? Was such a change possible?

“Do you like it?” Bryce asked Nesta suddenly. “Being Fae?”

“I didn’t at first,” Nesta said plainly. “But now I do.”

Azriel seemed to be listening closely.

Nesta went on, “I’m stronger, faster. Harder to kill.

I don’t see a downside to that.”

“And the near-immortal life span isn’t so bad, huh?” Bryce teased.

“I’m still adjusting to the idea of that,” Nesta said, eyes on the tunnel ahead. “That time is so… vast. The day-to-day versus the sprawl of centuries.” She slid her attention to Azriel. “How do you deal with it?”

He was quiet for a moment before saying, “Find people you love-they make the time pass quickly.” He caught Nesta’s eye, and said a shade apologetically, “Especially if they’ll forgive your occasional snapping at them over things that aren’t their fault.”

Something seemed to soften in Nesta’s eyes-relief, perhaps, at the extended olive branch. She said quietly, tentatively, “Nothing to forgive, Az.”

But his words had lightened some of the remaining tension. And his next ones finished the job entirely as he winked at Nesta. “And I’ve been told having children makes the time fly, too.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but Bryce didn’t miss the gleam in them. Nesta was willing to play – to get back to their normal dynamic. She admitted, “I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to raise a child.” She pointed to herself. “Raised by a terrible mother, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean you’ll be one,” Azriel said gently. Nesta was quiet for a heartbeat, then acknowledged.

“My mother was even worse to Feyre – and my sister has turned out to be…” She searched for the word. “A perfect mother.”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect mother,” Bryce cut in. “Just so you know.”

“Your own mother sounds pretty perfect,” Nesta said dryly.

“Gods, no,” Bryce said, laughing. “But she’d be the first to say so. Perfect is an unfair ideal to hold anyone to. My mom taught me that, actually.”

Bryce swallowed hard, thinking of Ember. Had the Asteri hunted her down and killed her? If Bryce ever got home… would her mother be there?

Nesta laid a hand on Bryce’s shoulder-it seemed consoling, somehow. Like she sensed all that coursed through Bryce’s mind, the panic now thudding in her heart.

“What is it?” Bryce asked, glancing at the female.

Nesta nodded to Bryce’s pocket. “Could we hear some more of your music?”

It was a friendly offer – definitely intended to pull Bryce out of her brooding. A kindness from a female clearly not accustomed to such displays. Bryce fished out her phone again.

The battery was inching toward the red zone. It would be dead soon. But for this… she could spare it. “What do you want to hear?” Bryce asked, opening her music library.

Nesta and Azriel swapped glances, and the male answered a bit sheepishly, “The music you play at your pleasure halls.”

Bryce laughed. “Are you a club rat, Azriel?”

He glowered at her, earning a smirk from Nesta, but Bryce played one of her favorite dance tunes-a zippy blend of thump- ing bass and saxophones, of all things. And as the three of them walked into the endless dark, she could have sworn she caught Azriel nodding along to the beat.

She hid her smile and played song after song, until the battery on her phone drained to the dregs. Until that last, beautiful link to Midgard went dark and died.

No more music. No more pictures of Hunt.

But the music seemed to linger, like a ghostly echo through the caves.

And with each mile onward, she could hear Azriel humming to himself. The rolling, wild melody of “Stone Mother” softly flowed off his lips, and she could have sworn even the shadows danced at the sound.

There’s no way your mom will let us do this.”

“What my mom doesn’t know won’t kill her.” 

“Bryce.”

It was Hunt’s warning tone that had Bryce turning from the evergreen garland she’d spread across the kitchen table of her parents’ house, half of the pine needles blanketing the linoleum floor at her feet.

Her mate lounged against the pink plastic counter that hadn’t been updated since it was installed in the house a century ago. Bryce was sure any interior designer worth their salt would keel over dead at the sight of it-and the matching cabinets-but Bryce loved it. Loved every inch of this house, tucked among towering conifers on a hill just outside of Nidaros. Close enough to walk into the small town, but far enough away to avoid the snooping eyes and ears of any passing neighbors.

Which was pretty much everybody in this town. Bryce had no idea how her mother had survived it - the local gossips had lost their minds when she’d shown up - twenty old years ago - a half Fae toddler in tow, under Randall’s protection.

Well, she knew how her mom had survived it: by picking a house on the outskirts of town, shielded by those centuries-old pines.

“What?” Bryce frowned at Hunt. She motioned to the garland snaking across the chipped wood table - another thing that had come with the house. “She’ll love this.”

“You’re using her… babies” - Hunt choked on the word “to adorn a decoration for the temple.”

“So?” Bryce grabbed the hot-glue gun. “It’s free advertising for her.”

Hunt pushed off the counter, wings rustling, and picked up one of the offending objects. “It’s sacrilege.” “Is it, though?” Bryce surveyed the tray of tiny ceramic infants lolling in beds of lettuce or flower petals or little birds’ nests. “The Winter Solstice is all about the death and rebirth of Solas and his final embrace with Cthona before dying. Hence the baby.”

“Yeah, but that offspring is meant to be Midgard. Not… lettuce-babies.” Hunt eyed the figurine in his hand, a bald infant with arms and legs like overstuffed sausage links. “Some people might get offended.”

“Some people might also think it’s funny.”

At his pointed silence, Bryce sighed, setting down the glue gun. Hunt slid into the chair across from her. He wore his favorite white sunball hat backward and a thick green sweater that did wonders for his broad shoulders, but his face was stony, dark eyes wary.

Bryce angled her head to the side. “Don’t we all need something to laugh about?” She pointed to the brass-plated light fixture above the table. “We’re quickly approaching Firstlight Zero.”

In Nidaros - on all of Midgard - firstlight was used sparingly these days. Most people only turned on what lights they needed, in the room they were currently in. Charging phones: limited to a quarter power max. No TV. Unless it was absolutely, one hundred percent necessary, the majority of people on the planet were doing their best to conserve what firstlight remained while the scientists and engineers and magic-wielders raced around the clock to find an alternate energy source. And some way to retrofit all their tech to use it.

Bryce didn’t want to think about it. Not for the three days she’d be here with her family. So she tucked it away, along with all the other thoughts that plagued her about what had gone down this fall, about what they’d been dealing with since she’d shoved the Asteri into a black hole.

These three days were for her and Hunt, for Cooper and her parents.

And Syrinx, lounging at her feet, snoring lightly, wearing a little red solstice vest that Randall had knitted for the chimera.

“Where’d you go?” Hunt asked, and Bryce blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re glaring at those… things.”

Bryce snorted and lifted a baby - one bawling from inside a peapod - and dangled it in front of Hunt’s face. “These things? Do they creep you out?”

Hunt winced away from the figurine. “Yes. Partly because they’re weird, and partly because your mom, of all people, makes them.”

Bryce dropped her voice to an eerie whisper. “They sing at night, if you listen closely.”

Hunt grimaced. “Don’t even start.”

Bryce chuckled, setting the figurine down again and surveying the garland. She’d only glued one baby on it before Hunt had intervened. “So you really think we should just bring this to the temple with no extra pizzazz?”

“Yes. I think you should do exactly what your mother asked you to do before she left.”

He was dead serious. Hunt had faced down the Asteri, jumped into space and careened toward a black hole, and yet he was still scared of Ember Quinlan.

Bryce supposed that made her mate a very wise male. And she’d be wise to listen to his warning, too. So she began placing the figurines back in the tray she’d grabbed from her mother’s workshop-more of an attached shed, really-the ceramics clinking delicately against each other. “We’ll leave that terror on there, and see if anyone notices tonight.”

Hunt rolled his eyes. “I’ll pray to Cthona that you don’t get us chased out of town.”

“The pitchfork cabinet’s right next to the temple altar, you know.”

“Hilarious.”

“No, it really is,” she said, standing with the tray in hand, trying her best not to joggle it too much. If she destroyed the figurines, her mom might actually kill her.

Granted, her mom would have killed her for taking the dozen or so figurines from her workshop and gluing them to a garland, too, but Bryce had been willing to pay that price for her mom’s last-minute demand that she help with the temple decorations for the solstice ceremony.

After teleporting in late the previous night, Bryce and Hunt had awoken this morning to find her mom and Randall already out of the house, with only a note from Ember on the kitchen table.

We’re in town, helping set up for the ceremony tonight. Take Cooper to lunch-I know he wants to spend some time with you, and this holiday is a big deal for him.

That, of course, was no burden. At lunch, the teen had been a little quieter than the boy she’d come to know and love over the last few months, but she didn’t blame him. He’d lost his entire family, and though he’d been welcomed into a new one, the holi- day was sure to bring up painful memories.

So Bryce and Hunt had let Cooper be as quiet as he wanted while they grabbed sandwiches at the local diner. And pretended every patron and passerby on the street wasn’t gawking at them.

Save the world, get stared at for the rest of their lives. That seemed to be the deal.

But it had been the second part of her mom’s note that had prompted Bryce to see red.

Also, I volunteered you and Athalar for the temple- decorating committee, so send that mate of yours to cut down some branches and tie them together into a garland. The temple will expect you there around three to hang it up.

Randall walked Syrinx and gave him his breakfast.

And his second breakfast.

You’re welcome.

Hunt checked his watch - an analog one, since he didn’t want to waste phone battery. “We gotta head out. Done throwing your temper tantrum?”

Bryce glared at him over a shoulder and lifted the tray of figurines as she continued toward the pottery studio. “Keep it up, Athalar, and I’ll put one of these under your pillow tonight.”

His eyes flared with alarm. “You wouldn’t dare.” Bryce crooned in a baby’s singsong voice, “Come play with us, Hunt.”

Hunt flipped her off, but she noted his pale face with satisfaction.

“It was just a little surprise for the eagle-eyed,” Bryce hedged as she and her family walked down the snowy road to her parents’ house under a crisp, starry sky. Her breath curled in front of her, and even with a heavy coat and gloves, the cold seeped into her.

Ember stomped through the icy snow at Bryce’s side, clad in a red peacoat. “You’re lucky the High Priestess and Priest didn’t call upon Cthona and Solas to damn you.” Randall, Hunt, and Cooper, the cowards, kept a few paces back. Ember hissed, “I’ll never hear the end of this from Milly Garkunos.”

“Then finally tell Milly to shut the fuck up and leave you alone,” Bryce said, teeth chattering.

Ember’s eyes flashed. “Bryce Adelaide Quinlan. That woman has been very kind to you. When we moved to this town-“

“I know, I know,” Bryce said, slowing her pace to try to slip into the protective wall of males walking behind them. She could have sworn the three of them all slowed further. When she glowered at Hunt, her mate only stared at the night sky like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. So Bryce recited to Ember, “When we got here, Milly was the only person who would check in on us, bring us food, supplies-“

“What about me?” Randall cried with false outrage.

Ember waved dismissively at her husband. “You didn’t count.”

Hunt clapped a consoling hand on Randall’s shoulder. Cooper just snickered.

Ember sniffed. “Well, what’s done is done, and we’re lucky the High Priestess and Priest thought it was amusing.”

Bryce threw Hunt a Told you so look. He stuck out his tongue.

Umbra Mortis, folks.

A small house with white siding and a half-sagging front porch appeared between the trees, a lone candle-  the sacred candle of the solstice - burning in the window to light the home. way The tradition wasn’t particularly fire-safe, but most families scraped together enough money to buy a protection spell from a sprite so they wouldn’t come home from the temple to find their home in cinders.

Solas’s light had been extinguished with the setting sun, and that lone candle stood for the one kernel of him that survived. A kernel of hope, to be fully rekindled with the rising of the sun at dawn - with Solas’s rebirth from Cthona’s dark embrace through the long night of her mourning vigil.

The symbol of that embrace was prominent all over the town at this time of year: the circle sinking-or rising-between two mountain peaks. Also known as Solas’s face between Cthona’s tits. Though Ember hadn’t been too pleased when Bryce had phrased it that way as a teen when describing the Embrace amulet her mother always wore.

Bryce glanced at Hunt and found his attention now on the candle in the window. The one light in the darkness. His face was tight, eyes haunted.

She dropped back a few steps, and Randall and Cooper walked to Ember’s side, giving them privacy. When the others were far enough ahead, Bryce asked her mate, “What’s up?”

Hunt’s gray feathers fluttered in the frigid wind. “Just a bad memory.”

“Of what?” Sometimes he’d open up to her about things from his past that still ate at him. Sometimes he wasn’t ready, and she let him know that was absolutely fine. She’d be there to listen when- ever he needed her.

But Hunt slid his gaze to her. “Of you. In space.

Glowing against that black hole.”

Bryce blocked out the surge of memories, of old terror, and reached a gloved hand for his. “We have a lot to be grateful for this solstice,” she said, voice thick.

He squeezed her hand. “We have a lot to be grateful for every single day.”

Bryce paused Hunt with a tug on his hand, turning to face him. She cupped his cheek, his skin warming her fingers even through her gloves. “I’m grateful for you,” she said, rising onto the toes of her snow boots to press a kiss to his mouth. She pulled away just enough so that their clouded breath mingled between them.

Unconditional and unending love softened his eyes. “This is the first solstice I’ve had with a family – with my family – since… my mom.”

Her heart strained. She hadn’t thought of that. That this solstice was a big deal not only for Cooper, but for Hunt, too. And the way he called her and her parents family…

She kissed him again, deeper this time. “I better make it special then.”

He nipped her bottom lip. “I think we’re going to have to fuck out here, though.”

She blinked. “What? Why?”

Hunt kissed her again, a swift, wicked promise. “I can’t fuck you in your bedroom with all those Starlight Fancy ponies staring at me.”

Bryce laughed, and the sound rang out through the trees, bright as the silver bells the priest and priestess had rung at the temple at the ceremony’s end. Tonight, the High Priest and Priestess would have their own joining, to reenact the return of Solas to Cthona’s side. Hunt slid an arm around Bryce’s shoulders, tucking her into his side as they approached the house. Randall was unlocking the front door, Cooper hopping from foot to foot against the cold. Ember was watching Bryce and Hunt, though-and from the smile on her mom’s face, Bryce knew her mom was happy for her, scolding about the lettuce-baby aside.

And with her mate walking beside her, with her family now entering the dark house ahead…

Bryce realized she was happy for herself, too.

“I’m never eating another chocolate croissant,” Hunt groaned at dawn the next morning.

“I didn’t tell you to eat the whole tray,” Bryce said, nudging her mate with an elbow.

“You also didn’t tell me that Randall is a ridiculously good baker,” Hunt grumbled, folding a wing around Bryce. They stood on the front porch with steaming mugs of coffee - fresh from the fancy machine Bryce had shown her parents how to use again this morning-and watched the rising sun.

They’d all been out here fifteen minutes ago, coffee and pastries in hand, to salute the rebirth of Solas. Inside the house, Cooper was busy helping Randall prep a breakfast feast. An obscene amount of food, but Milly Garkunos was coming over, so Ember was in a tizzy.

She was currently vacuuming the living room for the second time that morning.

Bryce huffed a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Hunt asked, peering down at her.

“I’m thinking about Milly Garkunos,” Bryce said, looking around at the snow sparkling in the morning sun. “If my mom is the only person who you’re afraid of in the entirety of the universe”- Hunt didn’t disagree “then what does it mean that my mom is afraid of Milly?”

Hunt chuckled, his laugh rumbling through her. He took a long sip from his coffee. “Maybe we should have sicced Milly on Rigelus and the other Asteri.”

Bryce grinned. “They’d have jumped right into that black hole, just to avoid her.”

Hunt laughed, the sound dancing off the pines, the snow. “Would’ve spared us a lot of trouble.”

Bryce clinked her mug against Hunt’s. The scents of sage, pork, and garlic floated out toward them. Randall had to be cooking sausage. “Maybe I’ll send Milly down to Crescent City to sort out all those shitheads.”

His amusement dimmed, as if he’d remembered what awaited them after this too - short break. “I don’t think those shitheads are ready for the likes of Milly Garkunos.”

Bryce winked at her mate. “I don’t think you are, either.”

“That bad, huh?”

Bryce drained the rest of her coffee, savoring its swift burn down her throat. “She has an angel fetish.”

Hunt stared at her.

Bryce patted Hunt’s arm. “She’s got the 35th’s charity calendar on her kitchen wall. Hunky Angels of the North.”

Hunt’s expression grew more horrified with every word out of her mouth.

Bryce yanked open the front door, releasing an enticing river of smells: sausage, eggs, maple syrup, bread. She drawled, “I promised Milly that for her solstice present, I’d get you to take your shirt off and do push-ups for her.”

“You didn’t.”

Bryce waggled her eyebrows. “Or did I?”

His answering growl sent her racing inside, laughing madly.

It turned out that Milly was so overwhelmed by Hunt’s mere presence that she barely said a word at breakfast, or during the exchange of gifts afterward. The gray- haired human woman only offered a few vague comments about the unusually cold winter and kept her mouth shut, sneaking glances at Hunt now and then.

It had been an absolute delight to watch Hunt squirm, trying to pretend he didn’t know the old lady was drooling over him. Bryce hadn’t dared look across the table at Cooper - it was clear that he’d burst out laughing at the slightest provocation.

Only Ember seemed relieved at Milly’s unusual silence, filling the quiet with chatter about the ceremony last night, the need for a new roof at the school, and wondering how many people would show up for the solstice luncheon at the rec hall that afternoon - an event Bryce was skipping, thank the gods.

Cooper had received no such mercy from Ember, and had given Bryce a pleading look as he, Ember, and Randall had headed off ten minutes ago.

Now, sitting cross-legged on the twin bed in her tiny childhood bedroom, Bryce surveyed the small heap of presents she’d gotten from her family and smiled. “They went all out.”

“A perk of saving the world,” Hunt said from where he lounged on the floor, idly flipping through the coffee table book Ember had gotten him: Human Pottery Through the Ages.

The gift, of course, had come with a note:

So you might have some more appreciation for your mother-in-law’s craft.

Bryce had refrained from telling Ember that craft was a generous way to describe the lettuce-babies. It was solstice morning, after all.

Bryce ran a hand over the album on the bed beside her. Cooper, Randall, and Ember had all gotten her a signed first edition of Josie and Laurel’s debut record, signed by the folk duo themselves.

It must have cost a fortune, and Bryce had been beyond words at the sight of their signatures scrawled there. “I should return this and give them the money back.”

She had more money than she knew what to do with now. Her parents had refused to take a single copper of it. Put it to Cooper’s college fund, Randall had suggested. So Bryce had. It had still barely made a dent in what she’d inherited from the Autumn King, even after what she’d already given away. And then there was everything Jesiba had left her. A total of assets so great that Bryce had needed to sit down upon hearing the lawyer read the amount.

“Your parents would be deeply offended,” Hunt said, shutting the book with a thump. “You’re their child-it brings them joy to give you things like that.”

She frowned doubtfully.

Hunt sat up, peering at her. “Maybe it’s something you have to experience yourself to get.”

“Is that your way of saying you want to start making babies, Hunt Athalar?”

Hunt tipped his head back and laughed, and damn if it wasn’t the sexiest thing she’d seen all day. “I don’t think Midgard is ready for our babies, Quinlan.”

She might have laughed too had a dark, glittering sort of sensuality not entered his eyes. “Are you?” Her heart thundered. They hadn’t discussed it yet-and both of them remained on their respective contraceptives.

He rose with preternatural grace and sat beside her on the bed, which she hadn’t realized was ridiculously small until they’d had to sleep in it these last two nights. She’d nearly shoved him to the floor last night just to get some measure of space to turn over.

And now, sitting beside him… gods, it felt like that first time they’d ever sat close, their thighs brushing, in the library under Griffin Antiquities.

Hunt said a shade hoarsely, “I think we should wait until after the firstlight situation gets sorted out.” He cleared his throat. “And you already have your, uh, flock to tend to.” He nudged her with a knee.

“Is it a flock?” Bryce asked. “Or a herd?”

“Flerd?”

Bryce laughed. Avallen would be their next stop, to visit the six pegasuses who were now its star residents. “Yeah, the flerd is enough for now. They’re a bunch of demanding assholes.”

“Well, I hate to add to the flerd, but…” He strode to his week- end bag and pulled out a shoebox-sized present. He tossed it to her. “Here you go.”

“I was wondering why you didn’t leave anything under the window this morning.” Another solstice fire hazard: placing presents under the candle in the window to open in the morning after the celebratory breakfast.

Bryce tore off the glittery white gift wrapping, and at the first hint of rainbow cardboard beneath-

The sound that came out of her was on the same register as a screeching teakettle.

“You didn’t!” she screamed, ripping away more paper to reveal, in its full glory, a mint-condition Jelly Jubilee-still in her original packaging.

“Where did you find this?” Bryce asked, gawking at the box, at her grinning mate, at the sparkly purple unicorn-pegasus, her glossy lilac mane curled to perfection. Not like the hot mess her original JJ had become, thanks to years of hard play when Bryce was a kid.

Hunt grinned. “Fury. She knows a guy who knows a guy.”

“Who trades in rare dolls?”

“I didn’t ask questions,” Hunt said, his face beautiful, so full of joy at her joy. “I just handed over the money.”

Bryce cuddled the box to her chest, then winced and set it down. She petted the plastic cover gently instead. “This will be an heirloom for our children, and our children’s children’s children.”

Hunt snorted. “Sure. They’ll all fight over who gets the mint-condition JJ.”

“This thing has to be worth-” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Her heart filled to the point of pain. “Thank you. This is…” She kissed his cheek, savoring the warm, soft skin under her lips. “Thank you.”

Hunt just smiled, and with that smile… Bryce bit her lip, scooting back on the bed, away from him. He watched her every movement as she spread out, legs opening slightly.

“And where’s my present?” Hunt’s voice had dropped an octave.

Bryce stretched her arms up, sliding under the pillow above her head, offering the entire length of her body in invitation. “Come and get it.”

Heat flared in his eyes, and her body tightened as he crawled over her. His wings blocked out the sunlight trickling in through the window. “Would you like me to unwrap-“

But Bryce had slid her hand out from under the pillow and was now extending it - what was inside it - to Hunt.

“I told you yesterday to look under your pillow, Hunt,” she purred.

Hunt jumped back so fast, he nearly tumbled off the bed. “What the fuck!”

Bryce laughed, holding out the lettuce-baby figurine she’d had her mother make specially for him. “It’s your present.” She sat up, blinking innocently. “You didn’t think that sex was your only present, did you?”

He looked torn between laughing and running out of the room. Away from the small monstrosity in her hand. “Is that…”

She kissed the head of the figurine. “A little sunball hat. Turned backward.”

He paled. “And are those-“

“Little gray wings, the exact right shade of storm- cloud gray.”

“You turned me into a fucking lettuce-baby?”

Bryce cast her voice into a mocking falsetto, tilting the figurine this way and that as she said: “I’m the Umbra Mortis. Enemies cower before me!”

With that, Bryce tossed the figurine to Hunt. He caught it, but gingerly. Like he was scared it’d bite him. He cringed down at his face, turned into cherubic serenity. “This is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”

She grinned. “A successful solstice present, then.” Hunt gaped at her, then burst out laughing. She had no warning before he leapt onto her, burying his face in her neck. “I love you, you sadistic asshole.”

She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his feathers. “Right back at you.”

His lips found her throat, and he pressed a kiss there. Every muscle and nerve in her body came alert. He noted it — probably the shift in her scent, too-and pressed his hips into hers. Let her feel what was hardening between his legs. “How long’s that luncheon at the rec hall?”

“They’ll be back in two hours,” Bryce said, blood sparking.

“Good,” he said with dark promise, and drove his lengthening cock against her again. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

“I thought you didn’t want to fuck in here,” Bryce said breathlessly.

A storm wind blasted through the room, turning all the Star- light Fancy dolls-none of them good enough to come with her to Crescent City but all still too precious to throw out - toward the wall. The lettuce-baby-Hunt slid under the bed. “Problem solved.”

Hunt’s hand slid up Bryce’s stomach to cup her breast, to knead it through her cream-colored sweater.

“It’s a solstice miracle,” she whispered.

Hunt lifted his head, his gaze finding hers. Only love shone there. “It is,” he said thickly, and Bryce knew he wasn’t talking about the toys.

This - them. Being here, together. That was the miracle.

So Bryce kissed her mate with all the love shining in her heart. No matter what waited ahead, no matter what trials and hardships… they’d face it together. And that was a gift she’d be grateful for every single day for the rest of her existence. “Happy Solstice, Hunt.”