House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (11 page)

Her daughter, as capricious as her mother—and as jealous. If she was a bit of a possessive monster, it was because her mother had taught her well.

He’d been a fool not to see it before he’d taken her maidenhead and sworn himself to her a decade ago. Before he’d ever made himself her betrothed. Beloved of the River Queen’s daughter. A prince-in-training.

A fucking nightmare.

Judging by the fact that he had kept his job these ten years, and even been promoted, her mother apparently still had no idea what to do with him. Unless her daughter had intervened on his behalf,
to keep him safe. The thought of that alone—that he had to stay on her good side—had made him keep his hands to himself and his cock in his pants. Fins. Whatever.

And he’d accepted the punishments, however unfair and undeserved and dangerous, that were thrown his way.

“I’m not seeing anything.” The captain adjusted the control toggle on the dash.

“Keep moving. Do a complete scan within a one-mile perimeter.” He wouldn’t return to his queen empty-handed if he could help it.

“We’ll be here for hours,” the captain countered, frowning.

Tharion just settled into the chair, glancing to the first mate sheltering against the side of the vestibule.

They knew what they were getting into by coming here. Knew what kind of storms stalked these seas at this point in the year. If the shifter got tired of the wind and rain, he could jump beneath the waves.

Even if a shark in these waters was the least of the terrors.

Three and a half hours later, Tharion lifted a hand. “Go back to the right. No—yeah. There. Can you get closer?”

The remote submersible had floated past boiling-hot sea vents, past muck and rock and all manner of strange creatures. But there, tucked among a cluster of red-and-white tuber worms … a square rock.

Only Vanir or human hands could have made it.

“I’ll be damned,” the captain murmured, leaning toward the screen, the light illuminating her angular face. “Those are lead blocks.”

He suppressed a shiver. The River Queen had been right. Down to the last detail. “Circle them.”

But … Chains draped from the block onto the seafloor. They were empty.

The captain observed, “Whoever those chains held is long gone. They either got eaten or they exploded from the pressure.”

Tharion marked the chains, nodding. But his gaze snagged on something.

He glanced at the captain to see if she’d noticed the anomaly, but her face revealed no sign of surprise. So Tharion kept silent, letting her bring the small submersible back up to the surface, where the first mate hauled it onto the deck.

Two hours later, back on land—soggy and muddy from the rain—Tharion calmed his chattering teeth long enough to call his queen.

The River Queen answered after the first ring. “Talk.”

Used to the curt, yet ethereal voice, Tharion said, “I found the lead blocks. The chains were still attached.”

“So?”

“There was no body.” A sigh of disappointment. He shivered yet again—not entirely from the cold. “But the shackles had been unlocked.”

The sigh paused. He’d learn to read her pauses, as varied as the life in her river. “You’re sure of this?”

He refrained from asking why the currents hadn’t told her about this particularly vital detail. Maybe they were as capricious as she. Tharion said mildly, “No signs of damage. At least as far as I could tell on the crappy screen.”

“You think Sofie Renast freed herself?”

“I don’t know.” Tharion climbed into the black SUV that he’d drive to the private heliport in the north of Pangera, and turned the heat to full blast. It’d probably take the entire hour’s drive inland to warm his frozen body. “But I sure as Hel don’t think she ever made it to the seafloor.”

Tharion drove down the rough road, mud spraying, windshield wipers swishing faintly.

His queen said, “Then either someone got there before us … or Sofie is alive. Interesting, that the water did not whisper of that. As if it were silenced.” Tharion had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Find her,” she ordered. “I’d bet my court that she’s looking for her brother. She went to great lengths to free him from Kavalla. The sea whispered that he is as gifted as she. Find him,
and we find her. And vice versa. But even if we only find the boy … he will be valuable indeed.”

Tharion didn’t dare ask why she wanted either of them. He could invent reasons for wanting the rebel, but the boy … Emile Renast had his sister’s gift, and that was it. A powerful one, but he was a kid. Hadn’t even made the Drop. And as far as Tharion knew, his queen wasn’t in the habit of using child soldiers. But Tharion couldn’t say anything other than: “I’ll begin the search immediately.”

6

Bryce tore through the cabinet beneath her sink. Bottles of hair products, old makeup palettes, dead blow-dryers flew out and scattered behind her. Where the
fuck
had she put it—

There. Bryce yanked out the white first aid kit, Syrinx doing a little dance next to her. As if the golden-furred chimera had found it himself. Cheeky pup.

Leaping to her feet as she opened the lid, she rifled through the antiseptic ointment, bandages, and vial of pain-relieving potion. She frowned down at Syrinx. “This stuff never goes bad, right?”

Syrinx scrunched his snout, huffing as if to say,
Beats me!

Bryce scratched under his chin and returned to the great room to find Hunt crouching beside Ithan, whom they’d laid out on the coffee table. Ithan’s face … Burning Solas.

Well, he was awake. And talking. She hoped he hadn’t heard her and Hunt bickering over where to put his barely conscious form a moment ago. Hunt had wanted to set Ithan on the couch, and Bryce hadn’t been able to stop herself from shrieking about ruining the white cushions. So the coffee table it was.

Hunt and Ithan were murmuring too low for Bryce to understand, and they halted as she approached. Though she could detect no outward sign of it, Hunt’s lightning seemed to crackle in the air around him. Or maybe that was Hunt’s presence, once
again doing funny things to her senses. Bryce lifted the first aid kit. “Found it.”

Ithan grunted. “It’s … it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Your mouth literally started bleeding again saying that,” Bryce said, dropping the kit on the table next to Ithan before fishing inside for sterile wipes. She hadn’t seen him since the attack last spring. Hadn’t spoken to him.

Bryce waved a hand over the bruised and swollen face that held no resemblance to the handsome, charming features she’d once known so well. “I don’t even know where to start with this … mess.” She didn’t just mean his face.

“You and me both,” Ithan mumbled, and hissed as Bryce dabbed at a slice across his brow. He pulled his head from her reach. “It’ll heal. That one’s already smaller.”

“I’d guess claws made that,” Hunt said, arms crossed. Syrinx hopped onto the sectional, turned in a circle three times, then curled up in a ball.

Ithan said nothing. Bryce reached for the wound again, but he pulled his head farther back, wincing in pain.

“Why the fuck are you here, Ithan?” Hunt’s voice was like gravel.

Ithan’s brown eyes, one half-swollen, met Bryce’s. Ire glowed in them. “I didn’t tell them to bring me here. Perry … my pack’s Omega … She arranged it.”

A fuzzy memory of a brown-haired female emerged. Perry … Ravenscroft. Amelie’s younger sister. “
She
did this to you?”

Ithan huffed a raw laugh, then winced. His ribs must be—

Bryce lifted Ithan’s bloody gray T-shirt, revealing disgustingly carved abs and—“Holy shit, Ithan.”

He yanked the shirt back over the extensive bruising. “It’s fine.”

“Those look like broken ribs,” Hunt said wryly.

“Definitely broken ribs, Athalar,” Bryce replied, sitting back on her heels. “And a broken arm, from the way he’s cradling it.”

“Skull fracture’s healed,” Hunt observed with equal distance, as
if they were on one of his favorite Vanir crime procedurals. Ithan’s eyes flashed again.

“I’m sensing hostility and a good dose of male pride,” Bryce said.

“Throw in some stubbornness and I’d say we’ve got ourselves a classic case of stupidity,” Hunt answered.

“What
the fuck
is wrong with you two?” Ithan demanded.

Bryce smiled at Hunt, all thoughts of the betrothal and her father and the Asteri vanishing at the amusement glittering in the angel’s eyes. But she stopped smiling as she faced Ithan again.

“I promise to clean you up as quickly as possible, and you’ll be on your way,” she said.

“Take your time. It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

Hunt stilled. “Amelie kicked you out?”

“Sabine kicked me out,” Ithan growled. “She, Amelie, and the others did … this.”

“Why?” Bryce managed to say.

Ithan met her stare. “Why do you think?” Bryce shook her head, disgust creeping through her. Ithan said, “You know how Sabine operates. Some reporter cornered me at a bar a few weeks ago about the attack last spring, and I talked about … what happened. How I helped you. The article came out this morning. Sabine apparently wasn’t a fan.”

“Oh?” Hunt lifted a brow.

Ithan’s bruised throat bobbed. “I might have also defended you,” he said to Bryce. “Against a nasty quote from Sabine.”

Bryce resisted the urge to pull out her phone to search for the article. Nothing in there would make her feel better about this. So she said, “Sabine’s a City Head. This is really what she wants to waste her time on?”

“Wolves don’t talk shit about other wolves.”

“But you did,” Hunt countered.

“So did Sabine.” He said sadly, wearily to Bryce, “The Prime called you a wolf. That’s good enough for me. I, ah … It didn’t sit
well, what Sabine said. But I guess the article didn’t sit well with her, either. So I’m out.”

Bryce exhaled a long, long breath.

“Why bring you here?” Hunt asked.

Ithan grimaced with pain. “Perry remembered that we were friends, once upon a time.” He tried and failed to rise. “But give me a few minutes, then I’ll be gone.”

“You’re staying here,” Bryce said. Honestly, after the night she’d had, it was the last thing she wanted. Especially when she still had to call her mom and convince her to get out of town. Gods, if Ember found out Ithan was here, she’d never leave. She’d loved him like a son. Bryce shook off the thought. “You’re lucky Sabine didn’t kill you.”

“Trust me, she wanted to,” Ithan said bitterly. “But I wasn’t worth the legal headache that would cause.”

Bryce swallowed. Connor’s little brother had once been her best friend, after Danika. Fury and June had come after that. Gods, how many messages had she and Ithan swapped over the years? How many juvenile jokes had they shared? How many times had she bounced in the stands at one of his sunball games, screaming her lungs out for him?

The male before her was a stranger.

“I should go,” Ithan said thickly. Like he remembered their history, too. Read it on her face.

“Sit the fuck down,” Hunt said. “You can’t even walk.”

“Fine,” Ithan conceded. “One night.”

He had to be desperate, then.

Fighting the tightness in her chest, Bryce pulled out her phone. “Good.” She noted the time. Almost midnight. Her parents were likely about to go to bed. “I have to make a call.”

Hunt fixed a cup of decaf just to give himself something to do as Ithan lay bleeding on the coffee table behind him. Bryce’s voice as she spoke to her parents filtered down the hall in bits and pieces.

We’ll plan a long weekend next time. Maybe Hunt and I can come up to you guys. I think he’d love to finally see Nidaros.

Hunt’s lips quirked upward. Bringing him home to her parents, huh? No matter that she was lying through her teeth.

The coffee machine finished a heartbeat before Bryce said, “All right. I’ll meet you at your hotel at six. Yep. Bright and early. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

Hunt blew on the steaming-hot coffee as Bryce padded back down the hall. “Everything good?” he asked her.

“Aside from the fact that I have to be up in a few hours, sure.” Bryce slid her phone onto the kitchen counter. “Tickets are switched.” She peered at Ithan, whose eyes were closed. But Hunt had no doubt the wolf was listening.

“Right,” Bryce said. “Beds.”

“I’m good on the couch,” Ithan croaked.

Hunt was inclined to agree, but Bryce said, “Oh no. You’re in my room. I won’t have you bleeding all over my white couch.”

Hunt said roughly, “I’ll sleep on the couch. Holstrom, you can have my room.”

“Nope,” Bryce countered. “It’s fine. My bed is big.”

Hunt shot back, “Then
you
sleep on the couch and give Holstrom the bed.”

“With my back problems?” Before Hunt could ask what the Hel she was talking about, she said, “I’m tired, and I don’t want to argue. Conversation over.”

Ithan cracked open an eye. Hunt reined in his growl of frustration.

Fifteen minutes later, Hunt lay in his own bed, teeth gritted as he stared at the ceiling, with only a snoring Syrinx for company.

It was fine. Totally fucking fine that Ithan Holstrom was sharing Bryce’s bed.

Totally. Fucking. Fine.

His bed
, his blood roared. Even if he hadn’t been near it in months. His bed,
his
Bryce, who’d emerged from the bathroom in her sleep shorts and a faded, threadbare T-shirt that did nothing
to hide the shadow of her nipples behind the purple fabric. Thankfully, Holstrom’s eyes were too swollen for Hunt to notice if the male looked. Not that it really mattered. He trusted Bryce. Knew precisely what—and who—she wanted.

But … it didn’t matter that Holstrom had come to Bryce’s defense during the attack, or in some stupid article. He’d been a nasty fuck to her in the two years before that. And had let Amelie run rampant, tormenting Bryce over the death of his brother.

And fine—trust aside, maybe he was slightly on edge. Holstrom was good-looking, when he wasn’t beaten to Hel and back. He’d been a star sunball player at CCU. Hunt remembered watching a few of the games in the 33rd’s lounge in the Comitium, marveling at Holstrom’s speed and agility. The male hadn’t played the sport for two years now, but he was still built.