House of Earth and Blood

Hunt drank from his water. Watched her for a long moment before he said, “Look, I’ll sit here while you get stupid drunk if that’s what you want, but I’ll just say this first: there are better ways to deal with everything.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I mean it.”

The bartender set another whiskey before her, but Bryce didn’t drink.

Hunt said carefully, “You’re not the only person to have lost someone you love.”

She propped her head on a hand. “Tell me all about her, Hunt. Let’s hear the full, unabridged sob story at last.”

He held her gaze. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I’m trying to drink,” she said, lifting her glass to do so.

Her phone buzzed, and both of them glanced at it. Juniper had finally written back.

Can’t, sorry. Practice. Then another buzz from Juniper. Wait—why are you drinking at Lethe? Are you drinking again? What happened?

Hunt said quietly, “Maybe your friend is trying to tell you something, too.”

Bryce’s fingers curled into fists, but she set her phone facedown on the glowing, fogged glass. “Weren’t you going to tell me your heartbreaking story about your amazing girlfriend? What would she think about the way you manhandled me and practically devoured my neck the other night?”

She regretted the words the moment they were out. For so many reasons, she regretted them, the least of which being that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that moment of insanity on the roof, when his mouth had been on her neck and she’d started to completely unravel.

How good it had felt—he had felt.

Hunt stared her down for a long moment. Heat rose to her face.

But all he said was “I’ll see you at home.” The word echoed between them as he set another purple tonic on the counter. “Drink that one in thirty minutes.”

Then he was gone, prowling through the empty bar and onto the street beyond.

Hunt had just settled onto the couch to watch the sunball game when Bryce walked into the apartment, two bags of groceries in her hands. About fucking time.

Syrinx flung himself off the couch and bounded to her, rising onto his back legs to demand kisses. She obliged him, ruffling his golden fur before looking up at where Hunt sat on the couch. He just sipped from his beer and gave her a terse nod.

She nodded back, not quite meeting his eyes, and strode for the kitchen. The limp was better, but not wholly gone.

He’d sent Naomi to monitor the street outside that fancy whiskey bar while he hit the gym to work off his temper.

Manhandled. The word had lingered. Along with the truth: he hadn’t thought about Shahar for a second while they’d been on the roof. Or in the days following. And when he’d had his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower that night, and every night since, it hadn’t been the Archangel he’d thought of. Not even close.

Quinlan had to know that. She had to know what wound she’d hit.

So the options had been to yell at her, or to exercise. He’d picked the latter.

That had been two hours ago. He’d cleaned up all the obsidian salt, walked and fed Syrinx, and then sat on the couch to wait.

Bryce set her bags onto the counter, Syrinx lingering at her feet to inspect every purchase. In between plays, Hunt stole glances at what she unpacked. Vegetables, fruits, meat, oat milk, cow’s milk, rice, a loaf of brown bread—

“Are we having company?” he asked.

She yanked out a skillet and plunked it on the burner. “I figured I’d make a late dinner.”

Her back was stiff, her shoulders straight. He might have thought she was pissed, but the fact that she was making dinner for them suggested otherwise. “Is it wise to cook when you’ve been pounding whiskey?”

She shot him a glare over a shoulder. “I’m trying to do something nice, and you’re not making it easy.”

Hunt held up his hands. “All right. Sorry.”

She went back to the stove, adjusted the heat, and opened a package of some sort of ground meat. “I wasn’t pounding whiskey,” she said. “I left Lethe soon after you did.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Out to a storage unit near Moonwood.” She began gathering spices. “I stashed a lot of Danika’s stuff there. Sabine was going to chuck it, but I took it before she did.” She dumped some ground meat in the skillet and gestured to a third bag she’d left by the door. “I just wanted to make sure there was no hint of the Horn there, anything I might not have noticed at the time. And to grab some of Danika’s clothes—ones that were in my bedroom that night that Evidence didn’t take. I know they already have clothes from before, but I thought … Maybe there’s something on these, too.”

Hunt opened his mouth to say something—what, exactly, he didn’t know—but Bryce went on. “After that, I went to the market. Since condiments aren’t food, apparently.”

Hunt brought his beer with him as he padded to the kitchen. “Want help?”

“No. This is an apology meal. Go watch your game.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I acted like an asshole. Let me cook something for you to make up for it.”

“Based on how much chili powder you just dumped into that pan, I’m not sure I want to accept this particular apology.”

“Fuck, I forgot to add the cumin!” She whirled toward the skillet, turning down the heat and adding the spice, stirring it into what smelled like ground turkey. She sighed. “I’m a mess.”

He waited, letting her gather her words.

She began cutting an onion, her motions easy and smooth.

“Honestly, I was a bit of a mess before what happened to Danika, and …” She sliced the onion into neat rings. “It didn’t get any better.”

“Why were you a mess before she died?”

Bryce slid the onion into the skillet. “I’m a half-human with a near-useless college degree. All my friends were going somewhere, doing something with themselves.” Her mouth quirked to the side. “I’m a glorified secretary. With no long-term plan for anything.” She stirred the onion around. “The partying and stuff—it was the only time when the four of us were on equal footing. When it didn’t matter that Fury’s some kind of merc or Juniper’s so amazingly talented or Danika would one day be this all-powerful wolf.”

“They ever hold that against you?”

“No.” Her amber eyes scanned his face. “No, they would never have done that. But I couldn’t ever forget it.”

“Your cousin said you used to dance. That you stopped after Danika died. You never wanted to follow that road?”

She pointed to the sweep of her hips. “I was told my half-human body was too clunky. I was also told that my boobs were too big, and my ass could be used as an aerialport landing pad.”

“Your ass is perfect.” The words slipped out. He refrained from commenting on just how much he liked the other parts of her, too. How much he wanted to worship them. Starting with that ass of hers.

Color bloomed on her cheeks. “Well, thank you.” She stirred the contents of the skillet.