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

“This isn’t some crime-scene investigative drama, Quinlan. It’s not that easy.”

“No one likes a condescending asshole, Athalar.”

His mouth curved upward. Bryce studied the gloom below, mouth tightening as if she’d will the kristallos or Sabine to appear. He’d already sent a message to Isaiah and Vik to get extra cameras on the Gate and the sewer grate, along with any others in the vicinity. If one so much as shifted an inch, they’d know. He didn’t dare ask them to follow Sabine. Not yet.

“We should go down there,” Bryce declared. “Maybe we can pick up her scent.”

He said carefully, “You haven’t made the Drop.”

“Spare me the protective bullshit.”

Dark Hel, this woman. “I’m not going down there unless we have a fuck-ton more weapons.” He only had two guns and a knife. “Demon aside, if Sabine’s down there …” He might outrank Sabine in terms of power, but with the witches’ spells hobbling most of his might through the halo’s ink, he had his proverbial hands tied.

So it’d come down to brute strength, and while he had the advantage there, too, Sabine was lethal. Motivated. And mean as an adder.

Bryce scowled. “I can handle myself.” After the shooting range, he certainly knew that.

“It’s not about you, sweetheart. It’s about me not wanting to wind up dead.”

“Can’t you use your lightning-thing to protect us?”

He suppressed another smile at lightning-thing, but he said, “There’s water down there. Adding lightning to the mix doesn’t seem wise.”

She cut him a glare. Hunt gave one right back.

Hunt had the feeling he’d passed some test when she smiled slightly.

Avoiding that little smile, Hunt scanned the river of filth running below. “All sewers lead to the Istros. Maybe the Many Waters folk have seen something.”

Bryce’s brows rose. “Why would they?”

“A river’s a good place to dump a corpse.”

“The demon left remains, though. It—or Sabine—doesn’t seem to be interested in hiding them. Not if she wants to do this as part of some scheme to jeopardize Micah’s image.”

“That’s only a theory right now,” Hunt countered. “I have a Many Waters contact who might have intel.”

“Let’s head to the docks, then. We’ll be less likely to be noticed at night anyway.”

“But twice as likely to encounter a predator searching for a meal. We’ll wait until daylight.” The gods knew they’d already risked enough in coming down here. Hunt placed the metal lid back on the sewer with a thud. He got one look at her annoyed, dirty face and chuckled. Before he could reconsider, he said, “I have fun with you, Quinlan. Despite how terrible this case is, despite all of it, I haven’t had fun like this in a while.” In ever.

He could have sworn she blushed. “Hang with me, Athalar,” she said, trying to wipe the grime off her legs and hands from kneeling at the grate entrance, “and you might get rid of that stick up your ass after all.”

He didn’t answer. There was just a click.

She whirled toward him to find his phone out. Snapping a photo of her.

Hunt’s grin was a slash of white in the rainy gloom. “I’d rather have a stick up my ass than look like a drowned rat.”

Bryce used the spigot on the roof to wash off her shoes, her hands. She had no desire to track the filth of the street into her house. She went so far as to make Hunt take off his boots in the hallway, and didn’t look to see if he was planning on taking a shower before she ran for her own room and had the water going in seconds.

She left her clothes in a pile in the corner, turned the heat as high as she could tolerate, and began a process of scrubbing and foaming and scrubbing some more. Remembering how she’d knelt on the filthy city street and breathed in a face full of sewer air, she scrubbed herself again.

Hunt knocked twenty minutes later. “Don’t forget to clean between your toes.”

Even with the shut door, she covered herself. “Fuck off.”

His chuckle rumbled to her over the sound of the water. He said, “The soap in the guest room is out. Do you have another bar?”

“There’s some in the hall linen closet. Just take whatever.”

He grunted his thanks, and was gone a heartbeat later. Bryce washed and lathered herself again. Gross. This city was so gross. The rain only made it worse.

Then Hunt knocked again. “Quinlan.”

His grave tone had her shutting off the water. “What’s wrong?”

She whipped a towel around herself, sliding across the marble tiles as she reached the door. Hunt was shirtless, leaning against the doorjamb to her bedroom. She might have ogled the muscles the guy was sporting if his face hadn’t been serious as Hel. “You want to tell me something?”

She gulped, scanning him from head to toe. “About what?”

“About what the fuck this is?” He extended his hand. Opened up his big fist.

A purple glittery unicorn lay in it.

She snatched the toy from his hand. His dark eyes lit with amusement as Bryce demanded, “Why are you snooping through my things?”

“Why do you have a box of unicorns in your linen closet?”