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

Just in time to see Bryce strut across the street. To Hunt fucking Athalar.

“What the actual Hel,” Declan breathed, halting beside Ruhn on the porch.

The Umbra Mortis looked pissed, his arms crossed and wings flaring slightly, but Bryce just breezed past him without so much as a glance. Causing Athalar to slowly turn, arms slackening at his sides, as if such a thing had never happened in his long, miserable life.

And wasn’t that enough to put Ruhn in a killing sort of mood.

Ruhn cleared the porch and front lawn and stepped into the street, holding out a hand to the car that skidded to a screeching halt. His hand hit the hood, fingers curving. Metal dented beneath it.

The driver, wisely, didn’t scream.

Ruhn strode between two parked sedans, Declan and Flynn close behind, just as Hunt turned to see what the fuss was about.

Understanding flashed in Hunt’s eyes, quickly replaced by a half smile. “Prince.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Hunt jerked his chin toward Bryce, already disappearing down the street. “Protection duty.”

“Like Hel you’re watching her.” Isaiah Tiberian had failed to mention this, too.

A shrug. “Not my call.” The halo across his brow seemed to darken as he sized up Declan and Flynn. Athalar’s mouth twitched upward, onyx eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.

Flynn’s gathering power had the earth beneath the pavement rumbling. Hunt’s shit-eating grin only spread.

Ruhn said, “Tell the Governor to put someone else on the case.”

Hunt’s grin sharpened. “Not an option. Not when it plays to my expertise.”

Ruhn bristled at the arrogance. Sure, Athalar was one of the best demon-hunters out there, but fuck, he’d even take Tiberian on this case over the Umbra Mortis.

A year ago, the Commander of the 33rd hadn’t been dumb enough to get between them when Ruhn had launched himself at Athalar, having had enough of his snide remarks at the fancy-ass Spring Equinox party Micah threw every March. He’d broken a few of Athalar’s ribs, but the asshole had gotten in a punch that had left Ruhn’s nose shattered and gushing blood all over the marble floors of the Comitium’s penthouse ballroom. Neither of them had been pissed enough to unleash their power in the middle of a crowded room, but fists had done just fine.

Ruhn calculated how much trouble he’d be in if he punched the Governor’s personal assassin again. Maybe it’d be enough to get Hypaxia Enador to refuse to consider marrying him.

Ruhn demanded, “Did you figure out what kind of demon did it?”

“Something that eats little princes for breakfast,” Hunt crooned.

Ruhn bared his teeth. “Blow me, Athalar.”

Lightning danced over the angel’s fingers. “Must be easy to run your mouth when you’re bankrolled by your father.” Hunt pointed to the white house. “He buy that for you, too?”

Ruhn’s shadows rose to meet the lightning wreathing Athalar’s fists, setting the parked cars behind him shuddering. He’d learned from his cousins in Avallen how to make the shadows solidify—how to wield them as whips and shields and pure torment. Physical and mental.

But mixing magic and drugs was never a good idea. Fists it would have to be, then. And all it would take was one swing, right into Athalar’s face—

Declan growled, “This isn’t the time or place.”

No, it wasn’t. Even Athalar seemed to remember the gawking people, the upraised phones recording everything. And the red-haired female nearing the end of the block. Hunt smirked. “Bye, assholes.” He followed Bryce, lightning skittering over the pavement in his wake.

Ruhn growled at the angel’s back, “Do not fucking let her go to the Viper Queen.”

Athalar glanced over a shoulder, his gray wings tucking in. His blink told Ruhn that he hadn’t been aware of Bryce’s agenda. A shiver of satisfaction ran through Ruhn. But Athalar continued down the street, people pressing themselves against buildings to give him a wide berth. The warrior’s focus remained on Bryce’s exposed neck.

Flynn shook his head like a wet dog. “I literally can’t tell if I’m hallucinating right now.”

“I wish I were,” Ruhn muttered. He’d need to smoke another mountain of mirthroot to mellow the Hel out again. But if Hunt Athalar was watching Bryce … He’d heard enough rumors to know what Hunt could do to an opponent. That he, in addition to being a prime bastard, was relentless, single-minded, and utterly brutal when it came to eliminating threats.

Hunt had to obey the order to protect her. No matter what.

Ruhn studied them as they walked away. Bryce would speed up; Hunt would match her pace. She’d drop back; he’d do the same. She’d edge him to the right, right, right—off the curb and into oncoming traffic; he’d narrowly avoid a swerving car and step back onto the sidewalk.

Ruhn was half-tempted to trail them, just to watch the battle of wills.

“I need a drink,” Declan muttered. Flynn agreed and the two of them headed back toward the house, leaving Ruhn alone on the street.

Could it really be a coincidence that the murders were starting again at the same time his father had given the order to find an object that had gone missing a week before Danika’s death?

It felt … odd. Like Urd was whispering, nudging them all.