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

Her mom’s sobbing threatened to make her start again, so she kept moving, aiming for her bathroom. She was filthy—her pink sneakers were near-black, her pants torn and bloody, her shirt almost in ruins. Apparently, the firstlight had only gone so far in fixing everything.

“Are you all right? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine,” Bryce said, turning on the shower. Leaving it on cold. She peeled off her clothes. “I’m doing fine.”

“What’s that water?”

“My shower.”

“You save a city and make the Drop and can’t even give me your full attention?”

Bryce chuckled and put the phone on speaker before setting it on the sink. “How much do you know?” She hissed at the icy blast as she stepped into the spray. But it shocked away any lingering heat between her legs and the heady desire clouding her mind.

“Your biological father had Declan Emmet call to fill me in on everything. I guess the bastard finally realized he owed me that much, at least.”

Bryce turned up the heat at last as she shampooed her hair. “How pissed is he?”

“Furious, I’m sure.” She added, “The news also just broke a story about—about who your father is.” Bryce could practically hear her mother grinding her teeth. “They know the exact amount of power you got. As much as he has, Bryce. More than him. That’s a big deal.”

Bryce tried not to reel at it—where her power had landed her. She tucked away that factoid for later. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair, reaching for the conditioner. “I know.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Open a chain of beach-themed restaurants.”

“It was too much to hope that achieving that much power would give you a sense of dignity.”

Bryce stuck out her tongue even though her mom couldn’t see it, and plopped conditioner into her palm. “Look, can we shelve the whole mighty power, mighty burdens discussion until tomorrow?”

“Yes, except tomorrow in your vocabulary means never.” Her mother sighed. “You closed those portals, Bryce. And I can’t even talk about what Danika did for you without …” Her voice broke. “We can talk about that tomorrow, too.”

Bryce rinsed out the conditioner. And realized that her mother didn’t know—about Micah. What she’d done to him. Or what Micah had done to Danika.

Ember kept talking, and Bryce kept listening, while dread grew like ivy inside her, creeping through her veins, wrapping around her bones and squeezing tight.

Hunt took a swift, icy shower of his own and changed into different clothes, smiling slightly to himself as Bryce’s shower shut off and she kept talking to her mother.

“Yeah, Hunt’s here.” Her words floated down the hall, through the great room, and into his own room. “No, I didn’t, Mom. And no, he didn’t, either.” A drawer slammed. “That is none of your business, and please never ask me anything like that again.”

Hunt had a good idea of what Ember had asked her daughter. And wouldn’t you know, he’d been about to do just that with Bryce when she’d called.

He hadn’t cared that an entire city was looking on: he’d wanted to kiss her when the light of her power had faded, when Hunt had lowered his wings to find her in his arms, looking up at him like he was worth something. Like he was all she needed. End of story.

No one had ever looked at him like that.

And when they’d come back here, and he’d had her on his lap on her bed and seen the way her cheeks became pink as she looked at his mouth, he’d been ready to cross that final bridge with her. To spend all day and night doing so.

Considering how her firstlight had healed him, he’d most definitely say he was cleared for sex. Aching for it—for her.

Bryce groaned. “You’re a pervert, Mom. You know that?” She growled. “Well, if you’re so fucking invested in it, why did you call me? Didn’t you think I might be busy?”

Hunt smiled, going half-hard again at the sass in her tone. He could listen to her snark all fucking day. He wondered how much of it would make an appearance when he got her naked again. Got her moaning.

The first time, she’d come on his hand. This time … This time, he had plans for all the other ways he’d get her to make that beautiful, breathless sound as she’d orgasmed.

Leaving Bryce to deal with her mother, willing his cock to calm the fuck down, Hunt grabbed a burner phone from his underwear drawer and dialed Isaiah, one of the few numbers he’d memorized.

“Thank the fucking gods,” Isaiah said when he heard Hunt’s voice.

Hunt smiled at the male’s uncharacteristic relief. “What’s happening on your end?”

“My end?” Isaiah barked a laugh. “What the fuck is happening on your end?”

Too much to say. “Are you at the Comitium?”

“Yeah, and it’s a gods-damned madhouse. I just realized I’m in charge now.”

With Micah a bunch of ashes in a vacuum and Sandriel not much better, Isaiah, as Micah’s Commander of the 33rd, was indeed in charge.

“Congrats on the promotion, man.”

“Promotion my ass. I’m not an Archangel. And these assholes know it.” Isaiah snapped at someone in the background, “Then call fucking maintenance to clean it up.” He sighed.