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

“I have no idea where the Horn is, Governor?”

He braced his powerful forearms on the table. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway?” Her heart raced and raced.

Micah chuckled. “I think you figured it out. Likely at the same moment I did a few days ago.”

“I’m flattered you think I’m that smart.”

“Not you.” Another cold laugh. “Danika Fendyr was the smart one. She stole the Horn from the temple, and you knew her well enough to finally realize what she did with it.”

“Why would Danika have ever wanted the Horn?” Bryce asked innocently. “It’s broken.”

“It was cleaved. And I’m guessing you already learned what could repair it at last.” Her heart thundered as Micah growled, “Synth.”

She got to her feet, her knees shaking only slightly. “Governor or not, this is private property. If you want to burn me at the stake with all these books, you’ll need a warrant.”

Bryce reached the steps. Syrinx and Lehabah hadn’t moved, though.

“Hand over the Horn.”

“I told you, I don’t know where it is.”

She put one foot on the steps, and then Micah was there, his hand at the collar of her shirt. He hissed, “Do not lie.”

Hunt staggered all of one step down the stairs before Sandriel stopped him, her wind shoving him back against the wall. It snaked down his throat, clamping on to his vocal cords. Rendering him silent to watch what unfolded on the screens.

Micah growled in Bryce’s ear, more animal than angel, “Do you want to know how I figured it out?”

She trembled as the Governor ran a possessive hand down the curve of her spine.

Hunt saw red at that touch, the entitlement in it, the sheer dread that widened her eyes.

Bryce wasn’t stupid enough to try to run as Micah ran his fingers back up her spine, intent in every stroke.

Hunt’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his breath coming out in great, bellowing pants. He’d kill him. He’d find a way to get free of Sandriel, and fucking kill Micah for that touch—

Micah trailed his fingers over the delicate chain of her necklace. A new one, Hunt realized.

Micah purred, unaware of the camera mere feet away, “I saw the footage of you in the Comitium lobby. You gave your Archesian amulet to Sandriel. And she destroyed it.” His broad hand clamped around her neck, and Bryce squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s how I realized. How you realized the truth, too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bryce whispered.

Micah’s hand tightened, and it might as well have been his hand on Hunt’s throat for all the difficulty he had breathing. “For three years, you wore that amulet. Every single day, every single hour. Danika knew that. Knew you were without ambition, too, and would never have the drive to leave this job. And thus never take off the amulet.”

“You’re insane,” Bryce managed to say.

“Am I? Then explain to me why, within an hour after you took off the amulet, that kristallos demon attacked you.”

Hunt stilled. A demon had attacked her that day? He found Ruhn’s stare, and the prince nodded, his face deathly pale. We got to her in time was all Danaan said to him, mind-to-mind.

“Bad luck?” Bryce tried.

Micah didn’t so much as smile, his hand still clamped on her neck. “You don’t just have the Horn. You are the Horn.” His hand again ran down her back. “You became its bearer the night Danika had it ground into a fine powder, mixed it with witch-ink, and then got you so drunk you didn’t ask questions when she had it tattooed onto your back.”

“What?” Fury Axtar barked.

Holy fucking gods. Hunt bared his teeth, still forbidden from speaking.

But Bryce said, “Cool as that sounds, Governor, this tattoo says—”

“The language is beyond that of this world. It is the language of universes. And it spells out a direct command to activate the Horn through a blast of raw power upon the tattoo itself. Just as it once did for the Starborn Prince. You may not possess his gifts like your brother, but I believe your bloodline and the synth shall compensate for it when I use my power upon you. To fill the tattoo—to fill you—with power is, in essence, to blow the Horn.”

Bryce’s nostrils flared. “Blow me, asshole.” She snapped her head back, fast enough that even Micah couldn’t stop the collision of her skull with his nose. He stumbled, buying her time to twist and flee—

His hand didn’t let go, though.

And with a shove, her shirt ripping down the back, Micah hurled her to the floor.

Hunt’s shout was lodged in his throat, but Ruhn’s echoed through the conference room as Bryce skidded across the carpet.

Lehabah screamed as Syrinx roared, and Bryce managed to snap, “Hide.”

But the Archangel halted, surveying the woman sprawled on the floor before him.

The tattoo down her back. Luna’s Horn contained within its dark ink.

Bryce scrambled to her feet, as if there were anywhere to go, anywhere to hide from the Governor and his terrible power. She made it across the room, to the steps up to the mezzanine—

Micah moved fast as the wind. He wrapped a hand around her ankle and tossed her across the room.