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

“I’m with Bryce,” he said.

The other bouncer said, “Tough shit. Line’s on the right.”

The line, despite the early hour, was already down the block. “I’m here on legion business,” Hunt said, fishing for his badge, wherever the fuck he’d put it—

The door cracked open, and a stunning Fae waitress peeked out. “Riso says he’s in, Crucius.”

The bouncer who’d first spoken just held Hunt’s stare.

Hunt smirked. “Some other time.” Then he followed the female inside.

The scent of sex and booze and sweat that hit him had every instinct rising with dizzying speed as they crossed the glass-framed courtyard and ascended the steps. The half-crumbled pillars were uplit by purple lights.

He’d never set foot in the club—always made Isaiah or one of the others do it. Mostly because he knew it was no better than the palaces and country villas of the Pangeran Archangels, where feasts turned to orgies that lasted for days. All while people starved mere steps from those villas—humans and Vanir alike rooting through garbage piles for anything to fill their children’s bellies. He knew his temper and triggers well enough to stay the fuck away.

Some people whispered as he walked by. He just kept his eyes on Bryce, who was already in a booth between two carved pillars, sipping at a glass of something clear—either vodka or gin. With all the scents in here, he couldn’t make it out.

Her eyes lifted to him from the rim of her glass as she sipped. “How’d you get in?”

“It’s a public place, isn’t it?”

She said nothing. Hunt sighed, and was about to sit down to make that apology when he scented jasmine and vanilla, and—

“Excuse me, sir—oh. Um. Erm.” He found himself looking at a lovely faun, dressed in a white tank top and skirt short enough to show off her long, striped legs and delicate hooves. Her gently arcing horns were nearly hidden in curly hair that was pulled back into a coiled bun, her brown skin dusted with gold that flickered in the club lights. Gods, she was beautiful.

Juniper Andromeda: Bryce’s friend in the ballet. He’d read her file, too. The dancer glanced between Hunt and Quinlan. “I—I hope I’m not interrupting anything—”

“He was just leaving,” Bryce said, draining her glass.

He finally slid into the booth. “I was just arriving.” He extended a hand to the faun. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hunt.”

“I know who you are,” the faun said, her voice husky.

Juniper’s grip was light but solid. Bryce refilled her glass from a decanter of clear liquid and drank deep. Juniper asked her, “Did you order food? Rehearsal just let out and I’m starving.” Though the faun was thin, she was leanly muscled, strong as Hel beneath that graceful exterior.

Bryce held up her drink. “I’m having a liquid dinner.”

Juniper frowned. But she asked Hunt, “You want food?”

“Hel yes.”

“You can order whatever you want—they’ll get it for you.” She raised a hand, signaling a waitress. “I’ll have a veggie burger, no cheese, with a side of fries, vegetable oil only to cook them, and two pieces of pizza—plant-based cheese on it, please.” She bit her lip, then explained to Hunt, “I don’t eat animal products.”

As a faun, meat and dairy were abhorrent. Milk was only for nursing babies.

“Got it,” he said. “You mind if I do?” He’d fought alongside fauns over the centuries. Some hadn’t been able to stand the sight of meat. Some hadn’t cared. It was always worth asking.

Juniper blinked, but shook her head.

He offered the waitress a smile as he said, “I’ll have … a bone-in rib eye and roasted green beans.” What the Hel. He glanced at Bryce, who was guzzling her booze like it was a protein shake.

She hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and even though he’d been distracted this morning when she’d emerged from her bedroom in nothing but a lacy hot-pink bra and matching underwear, he’d noted through the living room window that she’d also forgone breakfast, and since she hadn’t brought lunch with her or ordered in, he was willing to bet she hadn’t eaten that, either.

So Hunt said, “She’ll have lamb kofta with rice, roasted chickpeas, and pickles on the side. Thanks.” He’d watched her go for lunch a few times now, and had scented precisely what was inside her takeaway bags. Bryce opened her mouth, but the waitress was already gone. Juniper surveyed them nervously. Like she knew precisely what Bryce was about to—

“Are you going to cut my food, too?”

“What?”

“Just because you’re some big, tough asshole doesn’t mean you get the right to decide when I should eat—or when I’m not taking care of my body. I’m the one who lives in it, I know when I fucking want to eat. So keep your possessive and aggressive bullshit to yourself.”

Juniper’s swallow was audible over the music. “Long day at work, Bryce?”

Bryce reached for her drink again. But Hunt moved faster, his hand wrapping around her wrist and pinning it to the table before she could guzzle down more booze.

“Get your fucking hand off me,” she snarled.

Hunt threw her a half smile. “Don’t be such a cliché.” Her eyes simmered. “You have a rough day and you come to drown yourself in vodka?” He snorted, letting go of her wrist and grabbing her glass. He lifted it to his lips, holding her stare over the rim as he said, “At least tell me you have good taste in—” He sniffed the liquor. Tasted it. “This is water.”