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

Hunt landed on a balcony of the Governor’s spire—the central of the Comitium’s five. The usually bustling hall of his public office was hushed. Bad sign. He carried Bryce toward the chamber. If people had run, or Micah ordered them out …

If he saw Sandriel right now, if she realized Bryce was injured …

Hunt’s temper became a living, deadly thing. His lightning pushed against his skin, coiling through him, a cobra readying to strike.

He gently set Bryce down before the shut fogged-glass office doors. Made sure she was steady on her feet before he let go, stepping back to study every inch of her face.

Worry shone in her eyes, enough of it that he leaned in, brushing a kiss over her temple. “Chin up, Quinlan,” he murmured against her soft skin. “Let’s see you do that fancy trick where you somehow look down your nose at people a foot taller than you.”

She chuckled, smacking him lightly on the arm. Hunt pulled away with a half smile of his own before opening the doors and guiding Bryce through with a hand on her back. He knew it would likely be his last smile for a long while. But he’d be damned if he let Quinlan know it. Even as they beheld who stood in Micah’s office.

To the left of the Governor’s desk stood Sabine, arms crossed and spine rigid, the portrait of cold fury. A tight-faced Amelie lingered at her side.

He knew precisely what this meeting was about.

Micah stood at the window, his face glacial with distaste. Isaiah and Viktoria flanked his desk. The former’s eyes flashed with warning.

Bryce glanced between them all and hesitated.

Hunt said quietly to Micah, to Sabine, “Quinlan doesn’t need to be here for this.”

Sabine’s silvery blond hair shimmered in the firstlight lamps as she said, “Oh, she does. I want her here for every second.”

“I won’t bother asking if it’s true,” Micah said to Hunt as he and Bryce stopped in the center of the room. The doors shut behind them. Locking.

Hunt braced himself.

Micah said, “There were six cameras in the bar. They all captured what you did and said to Amelie Ravenscroft. She reported your behavior to Sabine, and Sabine brought it directly to me.”

Amelie flushed. “I just mentioned it to her,” she amended. “I didn’t howl like a pup about it.”

“It is unacceptable,” Sabine hissed to Micah. “You think you can set your assassin on a member of one of my packs? My heir?”

“I will tell you again, Sabine,” Micah said, bored, “I did not set Hunt Athalar upon her. He acted of his own free will.” A glance at Bryce. “He acted on behalf of his companion.”

Hunt said quickly, “Bryce had nothing to do with this. Amelie pulled a bullshit prank and I decided to pay her a visit.” He bared his teeth at the young Alpha, who swallowed hard.

Sabine snapped, “You assaulted my captain.”

“I told Amelie to stay the fuck away,” Hunt bit out. “To leave her alone.” He angled his head, unable to stop the words. “Or are you unaware that Amelie has been gunning for Bryce since your daughter died? Taunting her about it? Calling her trash?”

Sabine’s face didn’t so much as flinch. “What does it matter, if it’s true?”

Hunt’s head filled with roaring. But Bryce just stood there. And lowered her eyes.

Sabine said to Micah, “This cannot go unpunished. You fumbled the investigation of my daughter’s murder. You allowed these two to poke their noses into it, to accuse me of killing her. And now this. I’m one breath away from telling this city how your slaves cannot even stay in line. I’m sure your current guest will be highly interested in that little fact.”

Micah’s power rumbled at the mention of Sandriel. “Athalar will be punished.”

“Now. Here.” Sabine’s face was positively lupine. “Where I can see it.”

“Sabine,” Amelie murmured. Sabine growled at her young captain.

Sabine had been hoping for this moment—had used Amelie as an excuse. No doubt dragged the wolf here. Sabine had sworn they’d pay for accusing her of murdering Danika. And Sabine was, Hunt supposed, a female of her word.

“Your position among the wolves,” Micah said with terrifying calm, “does not entitle you to tell a Governor of the Republic what to do.”

Sabine didn’t back down. Not an inch.

Micah just loosed a long breath. He met Hunt’s eyes, disappointed. “You acted foolishly. I’d have thought you, at least, would know better.”

Bryce was shaking. But Hunt didn’t dare touch her.

“History indicates that a slave assaulting a free citizen should automatically forfeit their life.”

Hunt suppressed a bitter laugh at her words. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing for the Archangels for centuries now?

“Please,” Bryce whispered.

And perhaps it was sympathy that softened the Archangel’s face as Micah said, “Those are old traditions. For Pangera, not Valbara.” Sabine opened her mouth, objecting, but Micah lifted a hand. “Hunt Athalar will be punished. And he shall die—in the way that angels die.”

Bryce lurched a limping step toward Micah. Hunt grabbed her by the shoulder, halting her.

Micah said, “The Living Death.”

Hunt’s blood chilled. But he bowed his head. He had been ready to face the consequences since he’d shot into the skies yesterday, pastry box in his hands.