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

The demon leapt for her, and Bryce rallied her power.

Stepped from her place beside Ithan’s body to the open walkway behind the charging creature.

It hit the ground and spun, claws gouging deep. Bryce fired again, and the demon used those preternatural senses to veer left at the last millisecond, taking the bullet in the shoulder. The shot did nothing to slow it.

The demon jumped for her again, and Bryce moved. Slower this time—Hypaxia’s power was already funneling out of her.

“Thirty feet behind you!” Hypaxia ordered from above, pointing, and Bryce gritted her teeth, mapping out how to get there. The dance she had to lead the creature into.

It leapt, claws out, and Bryce teleported back ten feet. It leapt again and she moved, body shaking against the strain. Another ten feet back. She could make the last jump. Had to make the last jump as the demon sprang—

Roaring, Bryce flung all of herself, all that remained of the spark of Hypaxia’s power, into her desire to step, to move—

She appeared ten feet back, and the creature, sensing her pattern, jumped.

It didn’t look up. Didn’t see the witch-queen plunging to the earth, dagger aloft.

Bryce hit the ground as Hypaxia jumped from her broom and landed atop the beast, slamming her blade into its skull. Witch and demon went down, the former astride it like a horse from Hel. But the demon didn’t so much as twitch.

Scraped palms and knees already healing, Bryce panted, shaking. She’d done it. She’d—

Ithan. Oh gods, Ithan.

On wobbling legs, she scrambled to her feet and rushed for him. His throat was healing—slowly. He stared unseeingly at the night sky.

“Move back,” Hypaxia said, breathing heavily, broom discarded beside her. “Let me see him.”

“He needs a medwitch!”

“I am a medwitch,” Hypaxia said, and knelt.

Wings filled the skies, sirens blaring from the streets. Then Isaiah was there, hands on Bryce’s shoulders. “Are you all right? Is that Holstrom? Where’s Athalar?” The rapid-fire questions pelted her.

“I’m here,” Hunt said from the darkness, landing with enough force that the ground shook. Lightning skittered over the concrete. He assessed Bryce, then Ithan, the wolf’s body glowing under Hypaxia’s hands. Then he registered the two demons and went pale. “Those …” He scanned Bryce again.

“You know what they are?” Isaiah asked.

Hunt rushed to Bryce and tucked her into him. She leaned into his warmth, his strength. He said quietly, “Deathstalkers. Personal pets of the Prince of the Pit. They were seen in Nena four days ago. They somehow crossed the border.”

Bryce’s stomach hollowed out.

Isaiah held up a hand to keep the other advancing angels and Aux at bay. “You think these two came here all the way from Nena? And why attack Bryce?”

Bryce wrapped her arms around Hunt’s waist, not caring that she was clinging. If she let go, her knees might very well give out. Hunt lied smoothly, “Isn’t it obvious? Hel’s got a score to settle with her after this spring. They sent their best assassins to kill her.”

Isaiah seemed to buy that theory, because he said to Bryce, “How did you even bring them down?”

“Ithan had a gun. I got a lucky shot on the first. Queen Hypaxia took care of the second.”

It was mostly true.

“There,” Hypaxia announced, stepping back from Ithan’s healed, limp body. “He’ll wake when he’s ready.” She gathered her broom and, with a touch—or some of her witch-power—it shrank back into the golden brooch of Cthona. She pinned it onto her gray jacket as she pivoted to Isaiah. “Can your soldiers transport him to the witches’ embassy? I’d like to tend to him personally until he’s conscious.”

Bryce couldn’t argue with that. But … there was no one to call for Ithan. No family, no friends, no pack. No one except—

She dialed Ruhn.

Deathstalkers. He should have sent out a warning the moment he’d IDed the tail of one in that photo from Nena. Should have had every soldier in this city on alert.

But Bryce … by some miracle, she didn’t have a scratch on her.

It wasn’t possible. Hunt knew how fast the deathstalkers were. Even Fae couldn’t outrun them. They’d been bred that way by Apollion himself.

Hunt waited to speak until he and Bryce stood in the golden hall of the witches’ embassy. Ithan had already been handed over from the two angels who’d flown him here to Ruhn and Declan, who’d gently carried the wolf into a small room to recover. “So, let’s hear the real story.”

Bryce turned to him, eyes bright with fear—and excitement. “I did it. Teleported.” She explained what Hypaxia had done—what she had done.

“That was one Hel of a risk.” He wasn’t sure whether to kiss her or shake her for it.

“My options were limited,” Bryce said, crossing her arms. Through the open doorway, Ruhn and Dec set Ithan on the cot, Hypaxia instructing them to position his body in a certain way. “Where the Hel was the dragon?”

“Fucking coward told Holstrom she’d climb up to the rooftops to provide a second set of eyes, and then bailed,” Flynn said, face dark as he stepped into the hall.

“Do you blame her?” Bryce said.