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

She added, Just write back y/n.

Ithan stared at the message for a long moment.

Wolves were social creatures. A wolf without a pack … it was a soul-wound. One that would cripple most wolves. But he’d been struck a soul-wound two years ago and had survived.

Even though he knew he couldn’t endure taking his wolf form again anytime soon.

Ithan took in the bathroom, the various crap Bryce had left lying around. She’d been a wolf without a pack for those two years, too. Yeah, she had Fury and Juniper, but it wasn’t the same as Danika and Connor and the Pack of Devils. Nothing would ever be the same as that.

Ithan typed back Yes, then slid his phone into his pocket. Bryce would be home soon. And she’d mentioned something about pizza.

Ithan padded out into the airy apartment, Syrinx lifting his head from the couch to inspect him. The chimera lay back down with a puff of approval, lion’s tail waggling.

The silence of the apartment pressed on Ithan. He’d never lived on his own. He’d always had the constant chaos and closeness of the Den, the insanity of his college dorm, or the hotels he’d stayed at with the CCU sunball team. This place might as well have been another planet.

He rubbed at his chest, as if it’d erase the tightness.

He’d known precisely why he’d disobeyed Sabine’s order this spring when Bryce had screamed for help. The sound of her pleading had been unbearable. And when she’d mentioned children at risk, something had exploded in his brain. He had no regrets about what he’d done.

But could he endure its consequences? Not the beating—he could weather that shit any day. But being here, alone, adrift … He hadn’t felt like this since Connor and the others had died. Since he’d walked away from his sunball team and stopped answering their calls.

He had no idea what the Hel he’d do now. Perhaps the answer wasn’t some big, life-altering thing. Maybe it could be as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.

That’s how you wound up following someone like Amelie, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Connor’s growled. Make better choices this time, pup. Assess. Decide what you want.

But for now … one foot in front of the other. He could do that. If just for today.

Ithan walked to the door and pulled the leash off the hook on the wall beside it. “Want a walk?” he asked Syrinx. The beast rolled onto his side, as if saying, Belly rub, please.

Ithan slung the leash back onto its hook. “You got it, bud.”

“Approachable Asshole, huh?”

Bryce leaned against the bars of the immaculate cell beneath the Comitium, frowning at where Hunt sat on a steel-framed cot, head hanging. He straightened at her words, gray wings tucking in. His face— Bryce stiffened. “What the fuck, Hunt?”

Black eye, swollen lip, cuts along his temple, his hairline … “I’m fine,” he grumbled, even though he looked as bad as Ithan. “Who called you?”

“Your new boss—she filled me in. She sounds nice, by the way.” Bryce pressed her face through the bars. “Definitely nice, since she hasn’t kicked your ass to the curb yet.”

“She did put me in this cell.”

“Isaiah put you in the cell.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t whatever me.” Gods, she sounded like her mother.

His voice sharpened. “I’ll see you at home. You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t have gotten into a stupid fight, but here you are.”

Lightning forked down his wings. “Go home.”

Was he—was he really pissed she was here? She snorted. “Were you intentionally trying to sabotage yourself today?”

Hunt shot to his feet, then winced at whatever pain it summoned in his battered body. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

A deep male voice answered, “Because you’re a stupid bastard.”

Bryce grimaced. She’d forgotten about Pollux.

Hunt snarled, “I don’t want to hear your fucking voice.”

“Get used to it,” said another male voice from the elevator bay at the end of the white hall.

Bryce found a tall, lean angel approaching with a natural elegance. Not beautiful, not in the way that Hunt and Pollux and Isaiah were, but … striking. Intense and focused.

Baxian Argos, the Helhound. An angel with the rare ability to shift into the form that had given him his nickname.

Hunt had told her about him, too. Baxian hadn’t ever tortured Hunt or others, as far as she knew—but he’d done plenty of awful things in Sandriel’s name. He’d been her chief spy-master and tracker.

Baxian bared his teeth in a fierce smile. Hunt bristled.

Like Hel would these males make her back down.

Pollux crooned from his cell, his pretty-boy face as battered as Hunt’s, “Why don’t you come a little closer, Bryce Quinlan?”

Hunt growled. “Don’t talk to her.”

Bryce snapped, “Spare me the protective alphahole act.” Before Hunt could reply, she’d stalked over to Pollux’s cell.

Pollux made a show of looking her over from head to stilettos. “I thought your kind usually worked the night shift.”

Bryce snickered. “Any other outdated jabs to throw my way?” At Pollux’s silence, Bryce said, “Sex work is a respectable profession in Crescent City. It’s not my fault Pangera hasn’t caught up with modern times.”