House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) by Sarah J. Maas

“You wound me, Bryce,” Flynn drawled.

Declan Emmet snickered. “You up to do some more hacking shit?” Quinlan asked him.

“Call it shit again, Bryce, and see if I help you,” Declan said coolly.

“Sorry, sorry. Your technology … stuff.” She waved a hand. “We need analysis of some footage from Luna’s Temple the night the Horn was stolen.”

Ruhn went still, his blue eyes flaring as he said to Hunt, “You’ve got a lead on the Horn?”

Hunt said, “Just laying out the puzzle pieces.”

Declan rubbed his neck. “All right. What are you looking for exactly?”

“Everything,” Hunt said. “Anything that might come up on the audio or thermal, or if there’s a way to make the video any clearer despite the blackout.”

Declan set down his rifle beside Ruhn’s. “I might have some software that can help, but no promises. If the investigators didn’t find anything two years ago, the odds are slim I’ll find any anomalies now.”

“We know,” Bryce said. “How long would it take you to look?”

He seemed to do some mental calculations. “Give me a few days. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.”

Flynn let out an exaggerated gasp. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to us, B.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She surveyed them again with that cool, mocking indifference that made Hunt’s pulse begin to pound as drivingly as the beat of the music playing through the chamber’s speakers. “Why are you three even here?”

“We do actually work for the Aux, Bryce. That requires the occasional bit of training.”

“So where’s the rest of your unit?” She made a show of looking around. Hunt didn’t bother to hide his mirth. “Or was this a roomies-only kind of thing?”

Declan chuckled. “This was an invite-only session.”

Bryce rolled her eyes and said to Ruhn, “I’m sure the Autumn King told you he wants reports on our movements.” She crossed her arms. “Keep this”—she gestured to all of them—“quiet for a few days.”

“You’re asking me to lie to my king,” Ruhn said, frowning.

“I’m asking you not to tell him about this for the moment,” Bryce said.

Flynn lifted a brow. “Are you saying the Autumn King is one of your suspects?”

“I’m saying I want shit kept quiet.” She grinned at Ruhn, showing all her white teeth, the expression more savage than amused. “I’m saying if you three morons leak any of this to your Aux buddies or drunken hookups, I am going to be very unhappy.”

Honestly, Hunt would have liked nothing more than to grab some popcorn and a beer, kick back in a chair, and watch her verbally fillet these assholes.

“Sounds like a whole lot of big talk,” Ruhn said, then indicated the target at the back of the room. “Why don’t you put on a little demonstration for Athalar, Bryce?”

She smirked. “I don’t need to prove I can handle a big gun to run with the boys’ club.” Hunt’s skin tightened at the feral delight in her eyes as she said big gun. Other parts of him tightened, too.

Tristan Flynn said, “Twenty gold marks says we outshoot you.”

“Only rich-ass pieces of shit have twenty gold marks to blow on bullshit contests,” Bryce said, amber eyes dancing with amusement as she winked at Hunt. His blood thrummed, his body tensing as surely as if she’d gripped his cock. But her gaze already drifted to the distant target.

She snapped the earmuffs over her arched ears.

Flynn rubbed his hands together. “Here we fuckin’ go.”

Bryce popped on the glasses, adjusted her ponytail, and hefted Ruhn’s rifle into her hands. She weighed it in her arms, and Hunt couldn’t drag his eyes away from the way her fingers brushed over the chassis, stroking all the way down to the butt plate.

He swallowed hard, but she merely fitted the gun to her shoulder, each movement as comfortable as he’d expect from someone raised by a legendary sharpshooter. She clicked off the safety and didn’t bother to use the scope as she said to none of them in particular, “Allow me to demonstrate why you all can kiss my fucking ass.”

Three shots cracked over the music, one after another, her body absorbing the kickback of the gun like a champ. Hunt’s mouth dried out entirely.

They all peered up at the screen with the feed of the target.

“You only landed one,” Flynn snorted, eyeing the hole through the heart of the target.

“No, she didn’t,” Emmet murmured, just as Hunt saw it, too: the circle wasn’t perfect. No, two of its edges bulged outward—barely noticeable.

Three shots, so precise that they’d passed through the same small space.

A chill skittered down Hunt’s body that had nothing to do with fear as Bryce merely reset the safety, placed the rifle on the table, and removed the earmuffs and glasses.

She turned, and her eyes met Hunt’s again—a new sort of vulnerability shining beneath the self-satisfied narrowing. A challenge thrown down. Waiting to see how he’d react.

How many males had run from this part of her, their alphahole egos threatened by it? Hunt hated them all merely for putting the question in her eyes.