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

The Archangel, clad in dawn-soft pink, gold at her wrists and ears, threw him a sad, What can you do? kind of smile.

Hunt, despite himself, added, “But you do look beautiful.”

Her smile gentled, light brown eyes with them. “Thank you. And thank you for coming in on your day off.” She squeezed his hand, her fingers surprisingly clammy. She was truly nervous.

Down the hall, the elevator doors pinged. Celestina’s fingers tightened on Hunt’s before letting go. He could have sworn hers were shaking.

So Hunt said, “It’s no problem at all. I’ll be right here all night. You need to bail, just give me a signal—tug on your earring, maybe—and I’ll make up some excuse.”

Celestina smiled up at him, squaring her shoulders. “You’re a good male, Hunt.”

He wasn’t so sure of that. Wasn’t so sure he hadn’t offered only to make her like him so that when shit hit the fan, if Baxian or the Hind or anyone suggested he and Quinlan were up to anything shady, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. But he thanked her all the same.

The meeting between Ephraim and Celestina was as stiff and awkward as Hunt had expected.

Ephraim was handsome, as so many of the Archangels were: black hair cut close to his head in a warrior-like fashion, light brown skin that radiated health and vitality, and dark eyes that noted every person in the room, like a soldier assessing a battlefield.

But his smile was genuine as he looked upon Celestina, who strode toward him with outstretched hands.

“My friend,” she said, peering up into his face. As if seeing it for the first time.

Ephraim smiled, white teeth straight and perfect. “My mate.”

She ducked her head right at the moment he went in to kiss her cheek, and Hunt reined in his cringe as Ephraim’s lips met the side of her head. Celestina jolted back, realizing the miscommunication, that people were witnessing this, and—

Isaiah, gods bless him, stepped forward, a fist on his heart. “Your Grace. I welcome you and your triarii.” Ephraim had only brought Sandriel’s triarii with him, Hunt realized. Had left his original members back in Pangera with the Hawk.

Ephraim recovered from the awkward kiss and tucked his blindingly white wings close to his toned, powerful body. “I thank you for your welcome, Commander Tiberian. And hope that your triarii will welcome mine as you so warmly did.”

Hunt at last glanced at the Hind, standing a few feet behind Ephraim, and then at Pollux, staring at her with wolfish intensity from across the room. The Hind’s golden eyes simmered, focused wholly on her lover. As if she were waiting for the go-ahead to jump his bones.

“Yuck,” Naomi muttered, and Hunt suppressed his smile.

Celestina seemed to be searching for something to say, so Hunt spared her and said, “We shall treat your triarii as our brothers and sisters.” The Harpy sneered at the last word. Hunt’s lightning sparked in answer. “For however long they remain here.” For however long I let you live, you fucking psychopath.

Celestina recovered enough to say, “Their alliance shall be only one of the many successes for our mating.”

Ephraim voiced his agreement, even as he raked his stare over his mate once more. Approval shone there, but Celestina … Her throat bobbed.

She’d … been with a male, hadn’t she? Come to think of it, Hunt didn’t even know if she preferred males. Had the Asteri considered that? Would they care what her preferences were, what her experience was, before throwing her into bed with Ephraim?

Baxian’s eyes remained on the Harpy and the Hind, cold and watchful. He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see them.

“I have some refreshments prepared,” Celestina said, gesturing to the tables against the wall of windows. “Come, let us drink to this happy occasion.”

Bryce had just finished telling Ruhn and Ithan what had gone down in the Bone Quarter—both of them looking as sick as Tharion had to hear about the real fate of the dead—when someone knocked on the door.

“So Connor,” Ithan was saying, rubbing his face. “He’s … They fed his soul into the Gate to become firstlight? Secondlight? Whatever.”

Bryce wrung her hands. “It seems like they’d wait until we’re all dust, and even our descendants have forgotten him, but considering how much we pissed off the Under-King, I feel like there’s a chance he might … move Connor up the list.”

“I need to know,” Ithan said. “I need to fucking know.”

Bryce’s throat ached. “I do, too. We’ll try to find out.”

Tharion asked, “But what can be done to help him—any of them?”

Silence fell. The knock on the door came again, and Bryce sighed. “We’ll figure that out, too.”

Ruhn toyed with one of the hoops through his left ear. “Is there someone we should … tell?”

Bryce unlocked the door. “The Asteri undoubtedly know about it and don’t care. They’ll say it’s our civic duty to give back whatever power we can.”

Ithan shook his head, looking toward the window.

Ruhn said, “We have to think carefully about this. Was the Prince of the Pit pushing you and Athalar to go there by sending those Reapers? Or by having his Reapers hint that Emile and Sofie might be hiding there? Why? To—activate your combined powers with that Gate trick? He couldn’t have known that would happen. We have to think about how the Asteri would retaliate if this is something they want kept under wraps. And what they’d do if we do indeed find and harbor Emile and Sofie.”