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

“Trust me, she wanted to,” Ithan said bitterly. “But I wasn’t worth the legal headache that would cause.”

Bryce swallowed. Connor’s little brother had once been her best friend, after Danika. Fury and June had come after that. Gods, how many messages had she and Ithan swapped over the years? How many juvenile jokes had they shared? How many times had she bounced in the stands at one of his sunball games, screaming her lungs out for him?

The male before her was a stranger.

“I should go,” Ithan said thickly. Like he remembered their history, too. Read it on her face.

“Sit the fuck down,” Hunt said. “You can’t even walk.”

“Fine,” Ithan conceded. “One night.”

He had to be desperate, then.

Fighting the tightness in her chest, Bryce pulled out her phone. “Good.” She noted the time. Almost midnight. Her parents were likely about to go to bed. “I have to make a call.”

Hunt fixed a cup of decaf just to give himself something to do as Ithan lay bleeding on the coffee table behind him. Bryce’s voice as she spoke to her parents filtered down the hall in bits and pieces.

We’ll plan a long weekend next time. Maybe Hunt and I can come up to you guys. I think he’d love to finally see Nidaros.

Hunt’s lips quirked upward. Bringing him home to her parents, huh? No matter that she was lying through her teeth.

The coffee machine finished a heartbeat before Bryce said, “All right. I’ll meet you at your hotel at six. Yep. Bright and early. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

Hunt blew on the steaming-hot coffee as Bryce padded back down the hall. “Everything good?” he asked her.

“Aside from the fact that I have to be up in a few hours, sure.” Bryce slid her phone onto the kitchen counter. “Tickets are switched.” She peered at Ithan, whose eyes were closed. But Hunt had no doubt the wolf was listening.

“Right,” Bryce said. “Beds.”

“I’m good on the couch,” Ithan croaked.

Hunt was inclined to agree, but Bryce said, “Oh no. You’re in my room. I won’t have you bleeding all over my white couch.”

Hunt said roughly, “I’ll sleep on the couch. Holstrom, you can have my room.”

“Nope,” Bryce countered. “It’s fine. My bed is big.”

Hunt shot back, “Then you sleep on the couch and give Holstrom the bed.”

“With my back problems?” Before Hunt could ask what the Hel she was talking about, she said, “I’m tired, and I don’t want to argue. Conversation over.”

Ithan cracked open an eye. Hunt reined in his growl of frustration.

Fifteen minutes later, Hunt lay in his own bed, teeth gritted as he stared at the ceiling, with only a snoring Syrinx for company.

It was fine. Totally fucking fine that Ithan Holstrom was sharing Bryce’s bed.

Totally. Fucking. Fine.

His bed, his blood roared. Even if he hadn’t been near it in months. His bed, his Bryce, who’d emerged from the bathroom in her sleep shorts and a faded, threadbare T-shirt that did nothing to hide the shadow of her nipples behind the purple fabric. Thankfully, Holstrom’s eyes were too swollen for Hunt to notice if the male looked. Not that it really mattered. He trusted Bryce. Knew precisely what—and who—she wanted.

But … it didn’t matter that Holstrom had come to Bryce’s defense during the attack, or in some stupid article. He’d been a nasty fuck to her in the two years before that. And had let Amelie run rampant, tormenting Bryce over the death of his brother.

And fine—trust aside, maybe he was slightly on edge. Holstrom was good-looking, when he wasn’t beaten to Hel and back. He’d been a star sunball player at CCU. Hunt remembered watching a few of the games in the 33rd’s lounge in the Comitium, marveling at Holstrom’s speed and agility. The male hadn’t played the sport for two years now, but he was still built.

Stupid, jealous idiot. For fuck’s sake, having Holstrom here bothered him more than that asshole Cormac claiming he’d marry Quinlan.

He hated himself just a little bit as he pulled his phone from the nightstand and typed in Ithan Holstrom Sabine Fendyr Bryce Quinlan.

The article popped up immediately.

Hunt skimmed it. Read what Sabine had said and focused on his breathing. On not leaping into the skies and shredding the Prime Apparent into pieces.

“Bryce Quinlan is nothing but a spoiled party girl who was conveniently in the right place during the attack. My wolves saved innocents. She’s a pathetic fame-chaser.”

Hunt ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Toward the bottom, he found Holstrom’s sound bite.

“The wolves only went to Asphodel Meadows because of Bryce. She got the call for help out, and held the line until we could provide backup. She saved this city. She’s a hero, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Especially people who weren’t even in this city during the attack.”

Well, Hunt didn’t blame Sabine for being pissed. The truth hurt.

Hunt sighed and was about to set his phone back onto the nightstand when it buzzed with a message from Isaiah. Thoughts???

He knew Isaiah was asking about Celestina’s appointment. Too early to tell, he wrote back. Too early for hope, too.

Isaiah answered immediately. She’ll be here tomorrow evening at five. Try to play nice, Hunt. She’s not Micah.