She’d asked him weeks ago what he’d do if she removed it. Whom he’d kill.

His first target was in this room with them. His eyes darted toward Sandriel, and Hypaxia’s chin dipped, as if in confirmation.

Still Bryce sat against the Gate. As if trying to rally herself. As if wondering how she could possibly do this six more times.

Demons in adjacent streets beheld the starlight still glowing from the Old Square Gate and stayed back. Yes, they remembered the Starborn. Or knew the myths.

Aidas had known. Had watched her all these years, waiting for her to reveal herself.

Hypaxia’s power flowed silently and unnoticed into Hunt.

Sandriel slid her phone into her pocket. As if she’d been using it under the table.

Ruhn saw it, too. The Crown Prince of the Fae asked with savage quiet, “What did you do?”

Sandriel smiled. “I took care of a problem.”

Hunt’s power growled within him. She’d have told the Asteri all she’d seen. Not only what glowed in Bryce’s veins—but about the Horn, too.

They were likely already moving on the information. Quickly. Before anyone else could ponder Bryce’s gifts. What it might mean to the people of the world if they knew a half-human female, heir to the Starborn line, now bore the Horn in her very body. Able to be used only by her—

The truth clicked into place.

It was why Danika had inked it on Bryce. Only the Starborn line could use the Horn.

Micah had believed the synth and Bryce’s bloodline would be enough to let him use the Horn, overriding the need for the true Starborn power. The Horn had indeed been healed—but it only worked because Bryce was heir to the Starborn line. Object and wielder had become one.

If Bryce willed it, the Horn could open a portal to any world, any realm. Just as Micah had wanted to do. But that kind of power—belonging to a half-human, no less—could endanger the sovereignty of the Asteri. And the Asteri would take out any threat to their authority.

A roar began building in Hunt’s bones.

Ruhn snarled, “They can’t kill her. She’s the only one who can shut those fucking Gates.”

Sandriel leaned back in her chair. “She hasn’t made the Drop yet, Prince. So they most certainly can.” She added, “And it looks like she’s wholly drained anyway. I doubt she’ll be able to close a second Gate, let alone six more.”

Hunt’s fingers curled.

Hypaxia met his stare again and smiled slightly. An invitation and challenge. Her magic shimmered through him, over his forehead.

Sandriel had informed the Asteri—so they’d kill Bryce.

His Bryce. Hunt’s attention narrowed on the back of Sandriel’s neck.

And he rose to his feet as Hypaxia’s magic dissolved the halo from his brow.

89

The conference room shook.

Ruhn had kept Sandriel distracted, kept her talking while Queen Hypaxia had freed Hunt from the halo’s grip. He’d sensed the ripple of her power down the table, then seen Athalar’s halo begin to glow, and had understood what the witch, her hand on Hunt’s, was doing.

There was nothing but cold death in Hunt’s eyes as the halo tattoo flaked away from his brow. The true face of the Umbra Mortis.

Sandriel whirled, realizing too late who now stood at her back. No mark across his brow. Something like pure terror crossed the Archangel’s face as Hunt bared his teeth.

Lightning gathered around his hands. The walls cracked. Debris rained from the ceiling.

Sandriel was too slow.

Ruhn knew Sandriel had signed her own death warrant when she didn’t bring her triarii back with her. And stamped the official seal on it the moment she’d revealed that she’d put Bryce in the Asteri’s line of fire.

Even her Archangel’s might couldn’t protect her from Athalar. From what he felt for Bryce.

Athalar’s lightning skittered over the floors. Sandriel barely had time to lift her arms and summon a gale-force wind before Hunt was upon her.

Lightning erupted, the entire room cracking with it.

Ruhn threw himself under a table, grabbing Hypaxia with him. Slabs of stone slammed onto the surface above them. Flynn swore up a storm beside him, and Declan crouched low, curled around a laptop. A cloud of debris filled the space, choking them. Ether coated Ruhn’s tongue.

Lightning flared, licking and crackling through the room.

Then time shifted and slowed, sliding by, by, by—

“Fuck,” Flynn was saying between pants, each word an eternity and a flash, the world tipping over again, slowing and dragging. “Fuck.”

Then the lightning stopped. The cloud of debris pulsed and hummed.

Time began its normal pace, and Ruhn crawled out from under the table. He knew what he’d find within the whirling, electrified cloud everyone gaped at. Fury Axtar had a gun pointed at where the Archangel and Hunt had stood, debris whitening her dark hair.

Hypaxia helped Ruhn to his feet. Her eyes were wide as they scanned the cloud. The witch-queen had undoubtedly known that Sandriel would kill her for freeing Hunt. She’d taken a gamble that the Umbra Mortis would be the one to walk away.

The cloud of debris cleared, lightning fading into the dust-choked air. Her gamble had paid off. Blood splattered Hunt’s face as his feathers fluttered on a phantom wind.

And from his hand, gripped by the hair, dangled Sandriel’s severed head.

Her mouth was still open in a scream, smoke rippling from her lips, the skin of her neck so damaged Ruhn knew Hunt had torn it off with his bare hands.

Hunt slowly lifted the head before him, as if he were one of the ancient heroes of the Rhagan Sea surveying a slain creature. A monster.

He let the Archangel’s head drop. It thumped and lolled to the side, smoke still trickling from the mouth, the nostrils. He’d flayed her with his lightning from the inside out.

The angels in the room all knelt on one knee. Bowed. Even a wide-eyed Isaiah Tiberian. No one on the planet had that sort of power. No one had seen it fully unleashed in centuries.

Two Governors dead in one day. Slain by his sister and his sister’s … whatever Hunt was. From the awe and fear on his father’s face, Ruhn knew the Autumn King was wondering about it. Wondering if Hunt would kill him next, for how he’d treated Bryce.

Bryce, his Starborn sister.

Ruhn didn’t know what to think about it. That she’d thought he valued the Chosen One bullshit more than her. And when that fight had happened, had she let things rupture between them to keep him from ever learning what she was? She’d walked away from the privilege and honor and glory—for him.

And all those warnings she’d given him about the Autumn King, about their father killing the last Starborn … She’d lived with that fear, too.

Hunt threw the Autumn King a feral grin.

Ruhn felt a sick amount of satisfaction as his father went pale.

But then Hunt looked to Fury, who was pulling debris from her dark hair, and growled, “Fuck the Asteri. Get your gods-damned helicopter over here.”

Every decision, every order flowed from a long-quiet place within Hunt.

He sizzled with power, the lightning in his veins roaring to crack free into the world, to burn and sunder. He suppressed it, promised it he’d allow it to flow unchecked as soon as they reached the city—but they had to reach the city first.