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

“If you did something illegal,” Bryce mused, heart beginning to thunder as he stepped closer, “like …”

“Kill a Crown Prince of the Fae?”

Bryce chewed on her lip. “Celestina needs to set an example of how she plans to rule. And punishing a powerful angel, a notorious angel acting out of line … that’d be the perfect way to demonstrate her power. And thus get you out of the picture for the Autumn King. He knows we’re a team.”

“A team,” Hunt said slowly. As if, out of everything she’d laid out, that was what he chose to dwell on.

“You know what I mean,” Bryce said.

“I’m not sure I do.” Had his voice dropped lower?

“We’re roomies,” she said, her own voice getting breathy.

“Roomies.”

“Occasional Beer Pong Champions?”

Hunt snatched the hat off her head and plunked it back on his own, backward as usual. “Yes, the Autumn King truly fears our unholy beer pong alliance.”

Bryce smiled, letting it chase away the darkness lurking in her soul. But Hunt added, “We can’t forget that Avallen has their own angle. Why’d they agree to the union?”

“You know what?” Bryce said. “Who cares about any of them? My father, the Avallen Fae—screw them.” Only with Hunt could she be dismissive about this. He’d have her back, no matter what. “At least until we get my parents onto that train.”

“You still haven’t given me a convincing plan for how that will happen. For all we know, they’re learning about this on the news.”

“Oh, my phone would already be exploding if my mother had heard.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe I should ask Fury to sneak into their hotel and disable their phones.”

“Is it bad if I think she should go one step further and tie them up, throw them in the trunk of a car, and drive them home so they get there before the news breaks? Because that’s what Fury will likely do if you send her to that hotel.”

Bryce laughed, and the sound sang through her like silver bells. “Okay, no Fury.” She looped her arm through Hunt’s, savoring the muscled mass of him as she steered them toward the low gate and sidewalk beyond. “Let’s watch old episodes of Beach House Hookup and come up with ways to trick my parents.”

One of his wings brushed along her back in the softest of caresses. Every inch it touched lit up like firstlight. “Sounds like a normal Tuesday night.”

They meandered home, and despite Bryce’s flippant words, she found herself slipping into a state of roiling darkness and thoughts like shooting stars. She’d been a fool to think she could lie low forever. She’d been willing to follow the Asteri’s order to lead a boring, normal life, but the rest of the world had different plans for her. And Hunt.

She was bringing her phone to her ear to call her parents with the news that Oh, so sad, but Jesiba needs me to head over to her warehouse tomorrow and I think this might lead to a second chance at a job with her, so do you mind getting on the earlier train? when she and Hunt walked off the elevator and found the door to their apartment ajar.

If her mom and Randall had come over unexpectedly …

Syrinx was barking inside, and Bryce lunged for the door, the memory of another night washing red over her senses. Now, as then, the scent of blood was a coppery tang in the air, in the hallway, on the threshold of her door—

Not again. Not her parents—

Hunt shoved her back as he angled himself at the doorway, gun out and lightning wreathing his other hand, violence written in every taut line of his body, his raised wings.

Surprise flared in his dark eyes, and then he lowered the gun. Bryce beheld what was in the center of the great room and swayed into Hunt with relief and shock.

Yes, the gods had clearly formed a How to Fuck Over Hunt and Bryce task force.

Inside lay Ithan Holstrom, bleeding all over her pale wood floors.





5

Tharion Ketos had royally fucked up.

Literally. The River Queen had been pissed.

Which was why he was now struggling to keep his feet on a small fishing vessel in a sea so stormy it made even his iron stomach churn. Up and down, down and up, the boat bobbed in the rain and swells, wind threatening to flay his skin to the bone, despite his thick black sweater and the tactical vest atop it.

He should be lounging on a rock in the Istros right now, preferably in plain sight of whatever females walked along the quay. He certainly enjoyed finding not-so-covert photos of him on social media, with captions like: So hot it’s a miracle he doesn’t turn the Istros to steam!

That had been a particular favorite. Too bad it had also landed him here. Punished by the River Queen because her daughter had cried over it.

He was accustomed to cold, had explored as deep as his mer’s gifts would allow without his skull cracking like an egg, but this northern stretch of the Haldren Sea was different. It sucked the life from one’s bones, its grayness creeping into the soul.

Though swimming would be a Hel of a lot less nauseating.

Tharion ducked his head against the lashing rain, his dark red hair plastered to his scalp, dripping icy water down his neck. Gods, he wanted to go home. Back to the dry, blistering heat of a Lunathion summer.

“Submersible’s within range,” the captain called. The female dolphin shifter was tucked in the safety of the command vestibule. Lucky asshole. “We’re starting to get a live feed.”