House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

Hunt asked, “Does it scare you? Calling me your mate?”

Her gaze dipped to the space between them, and she said quietly, “You’re the one who’s been defined by other people’s terms for centuries.” Fallen. Slave. Umbra Mortis. “I just want to make sure it’s a title you’re cool with having. Forever.”

He kissed her temple, breathing in her scent. “Of everything I’ve ever been called, Quinlan, your mate will be the one I truly cherish.”

Her lips curved. “Did you hear the forever part?”

“I thought that’s what this thing between us is.”

“We’ve known each other for, like, five months.”

“So?”

“My mom will throw a fit. She’ll say we should date for at least two years before calling ourselves mates.”

“Who cares what other people think? None of their rules have ever applied to us anyway. And if we’re some sort of predestined mates, then it doesn’t make a difference at all.”

She smiled again, and it lit up his entire chest. No, that was the star between her breasts. He laid a hand over the glowing scar, light shining through his fingers. “Why does it do that?”

“Maybe it likes you.”

“It glowed for Cormac and Ruhn.”

“I didn’t say it was smart.”

Hunt laughed and leaned to kiss the scar. “All right, my lovely mate. No sex tonight.”

His mate. His.

And he was hers. It wouldn’t have surprised him if her name were stamped on his heart. He wondered if his own were stamped on the glowing star in her chest.

“Tomorrow night. We’ll get a hotel room.”

He brushed another kiss against her scar. “Deal.”





28

I’m glad to see you alive.

Ruhn stood on a familiar mental bridge, the lines of his body once more filled in with night and stars and planets. At the other end of the bridge waited that burning female figure. Long hair of pure flame floated around her as if underwater, and what he could make out of her mouth was curved upward in a half smile.

“So am I,” he said. He must have passed out on the couch in Bryce’s apartment. He’d still been there at two in the morning, watching old game highlights with Ithan. Dec had long since gone to spend the night at Marc’s place. Neither had turned up any solid footage of Emile at the docks—or concrete proof of the Reapers being sent from the Under-King or Apollion. The search for Danika at the gallery would take days, Dec had said before leaving, and he did have other work to do. Ithan had instantly volunteered to keep combing through it.

The wolf pup wasn’t bad. Ruhn could see them being friends, if their people weren’t constantly at each other’s throats. Literally.

Ruhn said to Agent Daybright, “Thanks for trying to wake me up.”

“What happened?”

“Reapers.”

Her flame guttered to a violet blue. “They attacked you?”

“Long story.” He angled his head. “So I don’t need the crystal to reach you? I can just be unconscious? Sleeping?”

“Perhaps the crystal was only needed to initiate contact between our minds—a beacon for your talents,” she said. “Now that your mind—and mine—knows where to go, you don’t require the crystal anymore, and can contact me even in … inopportune moments.”

A pinprick of guilt poked at him. She was embedded in the higher ranks of the empire—had he endangered her when he’d been unconscious earlier, his mind blindly reaching for hers?

But Daybright said, “I have information for you to pass on.”

“Yeah?”

She straightened. “Is that how Ophion agents speak these days? Yeah?”

She had to be old, then. One of the Vanir who’d lived for so long that modern lingo was like a foreign language. Or, gods, if she was an Asteri …

Ruhn wished he had a wall or a doorway or a counter to lean against as he crossed his arms. “So you’re old-school Pangeran.”

“Your position here isn’t to learn about me. It’s to pass along information. Who I am, who you are, is of no consequence.” She gestured to her flames. “This should tell you enough.”

“About what?”

Her flames pushed closer to her body, turning a vibrant orange—like the hottest embers. The kind that would burn to the bone. “About what shall happen if you ask too many prying questions.”

He smiled slightly. “So what’s the intel?”

“The hit on the Spine is a go.”

Ruhn’s smile faded. “When’s the shipment?”

“Three days from now. It leaves from the Eternal City at six in the morning their time. No planned stops, no refueling. They’ll travel swiftly northward, all the way to Forvos.”

“The mech-suit prototype will be on the train?”

“Yes. And along with it, Imperial Transport is moving fifty crates of brimstone missiles to the northern front, along with a hundred and twelve crates of guns and about five hundred crates of ammunition.”

Burning Solas. “You’re going to stage a heist?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Agent Daybright said. “Ophion will be responsible. I’d recommend destroying it all, though. Especially that new mech-suit. Don’t waste time trying to unload anything from the trains or you’ll be caught.”