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

“I’m going to numb you first,” the witch said, and then a needle was in her gloved hands.

Bryce shook harder.

“Deep breaths,” the witch said, tapping the air bubbles from the needle.

A chair scraped, and then a warm, calloused hand wrapped around Bryce’s.

Hunt’s eyes locked on hers. “Deep breath, Bryce.”

She sucked one in. The needle sank into her thigh, its prick drawing tears. She squeezed Hunt’s hand hard enough to feel bones grinding. He didn’t so much as flinch.

The pain swiftly faded, numbness tingling over her leg. Deep inside it.

“Do you feel this?” the witch asked.

“Feel what?”

“Good,” the witch declared. “I’m starting now. I can put up a little curtain if you—”

“No,” Bryce gritted out. “Just do it.”

No delays. No waiting.

She saw the witch lift the scalpel, and then a slight, firm pressure pushed against her leg. Bryce shook again, blasting a breath through her clenched teeth.

“Steady now,” the witch said. “I’m cutting through the scar tissue.”

Hunt’s dark eyes held hers, and she forced herself to think of him instead of her leg. He had been there that night. In the alley.

The memory surfaced, the fog of pain and terror and grief clearing slightly. Strong, warm hands gripping her. Just as he held her hand now. A voice speaking to her. Then utter stillness, as if his voice had been a bell. And then those strong, warm hands on her thigh, holding her as she sobbed and screamed.

I’ve got you, he’d said over and over. I’ve got you.

“I believe I can remove most of this scar tissue,” the witch observed. “But …” She swore softly. “Luna above, look at this.”

Bryce refused to look, but Hunt’s eyes slid to the screen behind her, where her bloody wound was on display. A muscle ticked in his jaw. It said enough about what was inside the wound.

“I don’t understand how you’re walking,” the witch murmured. “You said you weren’t taking painkillers to manage it?”

“Only during flare-ups,” Bryce whispered.

“Bryce …” The witch hesitated. “I’m going to need you to hold very still. And to breathe as deeply as you can.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded small.

Hunt’s hand clasped hers. Bryce took a steadying breath—

Someone poured acid into her leg, and her skin was sizzling, bones melting away—

In and out, out and in, her breath sliced through her teeth. Oh gods, oh gods—

Hunt interlaced their fingers, squeezing.

It burned and burned and burned and burned—

“When I got to the alley that night,” he said above the rush of her frantic breathing, “you were bleeding everywhere. Yet you tried to protect him first. You wouldn’t let us get near until we showed you our badges and proved we were from the legion.”

She whimpered, her breathing unable to outrun the razor-sharp digging, digging, digging—

Hunt’s fingers stroked over her brow. “I thought to myself, There’s someone I want guarding my back. There’s a friend I’d like to have. I think I gave you such a hard time when we met up again because … because some part of me knew that, and was afraid of what it’d mean.”

She couldn’t stop the tears sliding down her face.

His eyes didn’t waver from hers. “I was there in the interrogation room, too.” His fingers drifted through her hair, gentle and calming. “I was there for all of it.”

The pain struck deep, and she couldn’t help the scream that worked its way out of her.

Hunt leaned forward, putting his cool brow against hers. “I’ve known who you were this whole time. I never forgot you.”

“I’m beginning extraction and stabilization of the venom,” the witch said. “It will worsen, but it’s almost over.”

Bryce couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think beyond Hunt and his words and the pain in her leg, the scar across her very soul.

Hunt whispered, “You’ve got this. You’ve got this, Bryce.”

She didn’t. And the Hel that erupted in her leg had her arching against the restraints, her vocal cords straining as her screaming filled the room.

Hunt’s grip never wavered.

“It’s almost out,” the witch hissed, grunting with effort. “Hang on, Bryce.”

She did. To Hunt, to his hand, to that softness in his eyes, she held on. With all she had.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

He’d never said it like that before—that word. It had always been mocking, teasing. She’d always found it just this side of annoying.

Not this time. Not when he held her hand and her gaze and everything she was. Riding out the pain with her.

“Breathe,” he ordered her. “You can do it. We can get through this.”

Get through it—together. Get through this mess of a life together. Through this mess of a world. Bryce sobbed, not entirely from pain this time.

And Hunt, as if he sensed it, too, leaned forward again. Brushed his mouth against hers.

Just a hint of a kiss—a feather-soft glancing of his lips over hers.