She’d taken care of him. Washed and clothed and soothed him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that.

Hunt carefully peeled his face from her lap, realizing that her legs were bare. That she wasn’t wearing anything beneath his T-shirt. And his face had been mere inches away.

His muscles protested only slightly as he rose upward. Bryce didn’t so much as stir.

She’d put him in his underwear, for fuck’s sake.

His cheeks warmed, but he eased from the bed, Syrinx opening an eye to see what the commotion was about. He waved the beastie off and padded to Bryce’s side of the mattress.

She stirred only slightly as he scooped her into his arms and carried her to her own room. He laid her on her bed, and she grumbled, protesting at the cool sheets, but he swiftly tossed the down comforter over her and left before she could awaken.

He was halfway across the living area when her phone, discarded on the kitchen counter, glared with light. Hunt looked at it, unable to help himself.

A chain of messages from Ruhn filled the screen, all from the past few hours.

Is Athalar all right? Later, Are you all right?

Then, an hour ago, I called the front desk of your building, and the doorman reassured me that you’re both up there, so I’m assuming you two are fine. But call me in the morning.

And then from thirty seconds ago, as if it were an afterthought, I’m glad you called me tonight. I know things are fucked up between us, and I know a lot of that is my fault, but if you ever need me, I’m here. Anytime at all, Bryce.

Hunt glanced toward her bedroom hallway. She’d called Ruhn—that’s who she’d been on the phone with when he got back. He rubbed at his chest.

He fell back asleep in his own bed, where the scent of her still lingered, like a phantom, warming touch.

55

The golden rays of dawn coaxed Bryce awake. The blankets were warm, and the bed soft, and Syrinx was still snoring—

Her room. Her bed.

She sat up, jostling Syrinx awake. He yowled in annoyance and slithered deeper under the covers, kicking her in the ribs with his hind legs for good measure.

Bryce left him to it, sliding from bed and leaving her room within seconds. Hunt must have moved her at some point. He’d been in no shape to do anything like that, and if he’d somehow been forced to go back out again—

She sighed as she glimpsed a gray wing draped over the guest room bed. The golden-brown skin of a muscled back. Rising and falling. Still asleep.

Thank the gods. Rubbing her hands over her face, sleep a lost cause, she padded for the kitchen and began to make coffee. She needed a strong cup of it, then a quick run. She let muscle memory take over, and as the coffee maker buzzed and rattled away, she scooped up her phone from the counter.

Ruhn’s messages occupied most of her alerts. She read through them twice.

He would have dropped everything to come over. Put his friends on the task of finding Hunt. Would have done it without question. She knew that—had made herself forget it.

She knew why, too. Had been well aware that her reaction to their argument years ago had been justified, but overblown. He’d tried to apologize, and she had only used it against him. And he must have felt guilty enough that he’d never questioned why she’d cut him out of her life. That he’d never realized that it hadn’t just been some slight hurt that had forced her to shut him off from her life, but fear. Absolute terror.

He’d wounded her, and it had scared the Hel out of her that he held such power. That she had wanted so many things from him, imagined so many things with her brother—adventures and holidays and ordinary moments—and he had the ability to rip it all away.

Bryce’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard on her phone, as if searching for the right words. Thank you would be good. Or even I’ll call you later would suffice, since maybe she should actually say those words aloud.

But her thumbs remained aloft, the words slipping and tumbling past.

So she let them fall by, and turned to the other message she’d received—from Juniper.

Madame Kyrah told me that you never showed up to her class. What the Hel, Bryce? I had to beg her to hold that spot for you. She was really mad.

Bryce ground her teeth. She wrote back, Sorry. Tell her I’m in the middle of working on something for the Governor and got called away.

Bryce set down the phone and turned to the coffee machine. Her phone buzzed a second later. Juniper had to be on her way to morning practice, then.

This woman does not peddle in excuses. I worked hard to get her to like me, Bryce.

June was definitely pissed if she was calling her Bryce instead of B.

Bryce wrote back, I’m sorry, okay? I told you I was a maybe. You shouldn’t have let her think I’d be there.

Juniper sniped back, Whatever. I gotta go.

Bryce blew out a breath, forcing herself to unclench her fingers from around her phone. She cradled her mug of hot coffee.

“Hey.”

She whirled to find Hunt leaning a hip against the marble island. For someone heavily muscled and winged, the angel was stealthy, she had to admit. He’d put on a shirt and pants, but his hair was still sleep-mussed.

She rasped, her knees wobbling only slightly, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” The word held no bite, only a quiet resignation and a request not to push. So Bryce fished out another mug, set it in the coffee machine, and hit a few buttons that had it brewing.

His gaze brushed over every part of her like a physical touch. She peered down at herself and realized why. “Sorry I took one of your shirts,” she said, bunching the white fabric in a hand. Gods, she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Did he know?

His eyes dipped toward her bare legs and went a shade darker. He definitely knew.

Hunt pushed off the island, stalking toward her, and Bryce braced herself. For what, she didn’t know, but—

He just strode past. Right to the fridge, where he pulled out eggs and the slab of bacon. “At the risk of sounding like an alphahole cliché,” he said without looking at her as he set the skillet on the stove, “I like seeing you in my shirt.”

“Total alphahole cliché,” she said, even as her toes curled on the pale wood floor.

Hunt cracked the eggs into a bowl. “We always seem to end up in the kitchen.”

“I don’t mind,” Bryce said, sipping her coffee, “as long as you’re cooking.”

Hunt snorted, then stilled. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “For what you did.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, taking another sip of coffee. Remembering the one she’d brewed for him, she reached for the now-full mug.

Hunt turned from the stove as she extended the coffee to him. Glanced between the outstretched mug and her face.

And as his large hand wrapped around the mug, he leaned in, closing the space between them. His mouth brushed over her cheek. Brief and light and sweet.

“Thank you,” he said again, pulling back and returning to the stove. As if he didn’t notice that she couldn’t move a single muscle, couldn’t find a single word to utter.

The urge to grab him, to pull his face down to hers and taste every part of him practically blinded her. Her fingers twitched at her sides, nearly able to feel those hard muscles beneath them.