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

“I can smell you, Faeling,” Mordoc growled, voice like stones cracking against each other. “I can smell the coffee on your breath.”

Ruhn kept his shadows tight around him, blending into the dimness along the alley’s far wall. He made each step silent, though the dusty ground threatened to betray him.

“What were you doing here, I wonder,” Mordoc said, halting to turn in place. Tracking Ruhn. “I saw your agent go in—the vagabond. He slipped my net, but why did you stay?”

Where the Hel was Cormac? Considering that Bryce and Hunt were currently in the Bone Quarter, Ruhn had expected them to be the ones in major peril today.

He kept moving, slowly and silently. The bright, open street lay beyond. The crowd might hide him, but not his scent. And his shadows would be of no use out in the sunny open.

“Hunting you all down like vermin shall be diverting,” Mordoc said, pivoting in place as if he could see Ruhn through the shadows. “This city has been coddled for far too long.”

Ruhn’s temper unsheathed its talons, but he willed it down.

“Ah, that annoys you. I can smell it.” A savage smile. “I shall remember that smell.”

At the other end of the alley, Ruhn’s magic picked up the flicker of Cormac arriving—only long enough to scuff his shoes in the dirt—and then vanish.

Mordoc whirled toward it, and Ruhn ran, dropping the shadows around himself.

Cormac appeared in a writhing nest of darkness, grabbed his arm, and teleported them out. Ruhn could only pray to Luna that by the time Mordoc had faced the street again, nothing remained of his scent for the bloodhound to detect.





31

Ruhn nursed his glass of whiskey, trying to calm his frayed nerves. Ithan, seated across from him at a quiet bar in FiRo, was watching the sports highlights on the TV above the liquor display. Cormac had dropped them both here before teleporting away, presumably to warn his rebel counterparts about what had happened with Mordoc.

Danika’s father. Bryce would have a fit.

Had her sire’s involvement with the dreadwolves been part of what spurred Danika to work with the rebels? She was rebellious and defiant enough to do such a thing.

And Mordoc knew Ruhn’s scent now. Knew Ithan’s scent had been there. Which was why Cormac had brought them here—so there would be video proof of them far from the Old Square at the time Mordoc would claim Ithan had been in the alley.

Ithan said nothing as the minutes wore on, his whiskey vanishing with them. No matter that it was barely eleven in the morning and only one other person sat at the bar—a hunched female who looked like she’d seen better years. Decades.

Neither of them dared utter a word about what had happened. So Ruhn said to Ithan, “I asked you to join me here so we could chat about something.”

Ithan blinked. “Yeah?”

Ruhn said to him, mind-to-mind, Play along. I have no idea if the cameras have audio, but in case they do, I want our meeting here to seem planned.

Ithan’s face remained casual, intrigued. Got it.

Ruhn made sure his voice was loud enough to be picked up as he said, “How do you feel about moving in with me and the guys?”

Ithan angled his head. “What? Like—live with you?” His surprise seemed genuine.

Ruhn shrugged. “Why not?”

“You’re Fae.”

“Yeah, but we hate the angels more than we hate wolves, so … you’re only our second-worst enemy.”

Ithan chuckled, some color returning to his face. “A winning argument.”

“I mean it,” Ruhn said. “You honestly want to stay at Bryce’s apartment and endure her and Hunt hooking up nonstop?”

Ithan snorted. “Hel no. But … why?” Beyond an excuse for the cameras, Ithan said silently.

Ruhn leaned back in his chair. “You seem like a decent male. You’re helping Dec with the footage stuff. And you need a place to stay. Why not?”

Ithan seemed to weigh his response. “I’ll think about it.”

“Take all the time you need. The offer stands.”

Ithan straightened, his attention darting behind Ruhn. He went wholly still. Ruhn didn’t dare look. Not as light footsteps sounded, followed by a second thudding pair. Before he could ask Ithan mind-to-mind what he saw, Ruhn found himself faced with the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

“Mind if I join?” Her voice was lovely, fair and cool—yet no light shone in her amber eyes.

A step behind her, a dark-haired, pale-faced female malakh grinned with wicked amusement. She was narrow-featured, black-winged, with a wildness like the western wind. “Hello, princeling. Pup.”

Ruhn’s blood chilled as the Harpy slid into the seat to his left. An assortment of knives glinted on the belt at her slim waist. But Ruhn peered up again at the beautiful female, whose face he knew well thanks to the news and TV, though he’d never seen it in person. Her golden hair glinted in the dim lights as she sat on his right and signaled the bartender with an elegant hand.

“I thought we’d play a round of cards,” the Hind said.

Two against one. Those odds were usually laughable for Hunt.

But not when his opponents were demons from Hel. One of the princes’ cast-off experiments, now acting as the Under-King’s enforcers, feeding long-dead souls into the Gate for secondlight energy. Like all they were, would ever be, was food to fuel the empire.