House of Earth and Blood
Considering how her firstlight had healed him, he’d most definitely say he was cleared for sex. Aching for it—for her.
Bryce groaned. “You’re a pervert, Mom. You know that?” She growled. “Well, if you’re so fucking invested in it, why did you call me? Didn’t you think I might be busy?”
Hunt smiled, going half-hard again at the sass in her tone. He could listen to her snark all fucking day. He wondered how much of it would make an appearance when he got her naked again. Got her moaning.
The first time, she’d come on his hand. This time … This time, he had plans for all the other ways he’d get her to make that beautiful, breathless sound as she’d orgasmed.
Leaving Bryce to deal with her mother, willing his cock to calm the fuck down, Hunt grabbed a burner phone from his underwear drawer and dialed Isaiah, one of the few numbers he’d memorized.
“Thank the fucking gods,” Isaiah said when he heard Hunt’s voice.
Hunt smiled at the male’s uncharacteristic relief. “What’s happening on your end?”
“My end?” Isaiah barked a laugh. “What the fuck is happening on your end?”
Too much to say. “Are you at the Comitium?”
“Yeah, and it’s a gods-damned madhouse. I just realized I’m in charge now.”
With Micah a bunch of ashes in a vacuum and Sandriel not much better, Isaiah, as Micah’s Commander of the 33rd, was indeed in charge.
“Congrats on the promotion, man.”
“Promotion my ass. I’m not an Archangel. And these assholes know it.” Isaiah snapped at someone in the background, “Then call fucking maintenance to clean it up.” He sighed.
Hunt asked, “What happened to the Asterian fuckheads who sent their brimstone over the walls?” He had half a mind to fly out there and start unleashing his lightning on those tanks.
“Gone. Already moved off.” Isaiah’s dark tone told Hunt he’d be down for some good old-fashioned retribution, too.
Hunt asked, bracing himself, “Naomi?”
“Alive.” Hunt uttered a silent prayer of thanks to Cthona for that mercy. Then Isaiah said, “Look, I know you’re exhausted, but can you get over here? I could use your help to sort this shit out. All these pissing contests will end pretty damn fast if they see us both in charge.”
Hunt tried not to bristle. Bryce and him getting naked, it seemed, would have to wait.
Because the slave tattoo on his wrist meant he still had to obey the Republic, still belonged to someone other than himself. The list of possibilities wasn’t good. He’d be lucky if he got to stay in Lunathion as the possession of whoever took Micah’s spot, and maybe see Bryce in stolen moments. If he was even allowed outside the Comitium.
Fuck, if they even allowed him to live after what he’d done to Sandriel.
Hunt’s hands began to shake. Any trace of arousal vanished.
But he shrugged a shirt over his head. He’d find some way to survive—some way back to this life with Quinlan he’d barely begun to savor. Unable to help himself, he glanced at his wrist.
He blinked once. Twice.
Bryce was just saying goodbye to her deviant mother when the phone beeped with another call. It was from an unknown number, which meant it was probably Jesiba, so Bryce promised Ember they’d talk tomorrow and switched over. “Hey.”
A young, male voice asked, “Is that how you greet all your callers, Bryce Quinlan?”
She knew that voice. Knew the lanky teenage body it belonged to, a shell to house an ancient behemoth. To house an Asteri. She’d seen and heard it on TV so many times she’d lost count.
“Hello, Your Brilliance,” she whispered.
96
Rigelus, the Bright Hand of the Asteri, had called her house. Bryce’s hands shook so badly she could barely keep the phone to her ear.
“We beheld your actions today and wished to extend our gratitude,” the lilting voice said.
She swallowed, wondering if the mightiest of the Asteri somehow knew she was standing in a towel, hair dripping onto the carpet. “You’re … welcome?”
Rigelus laughed softly. “You have had quite a day, Miss Quinlan.”
“Yes, Your Brilliance.”
“It was a day full of many surprises, for all of us.”
We know what you are, what you did.
Bryce forced her legs to move, to head to the great room. To where Hunt was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, his face pale. His arms slack at his sides.
“To show you how deep our gratitude goes, we would like to grant you a favor.”
She wondered if the brimstone had been a favor, too. But she said, “That’s not necessary—”
“It is already done. We trust you will find it satisfactory.”
She knew Hunt could hear the voice on the line as he walked over.
But he just held out his wrist. His tattooed wrist, with a C stamped over the slave’s mark.
Freed.
“I …” Bryce gripped Hunt’s wrist, then scanned his face. But it was not joy she saw there—not as he heard the voice on the line and understood who had gifted him his freedom.
“We also trust that this favor will serve as a reminder for you and Hunt Athalar. It is our deepest wish that you remain in the city, and live out your days in peace and contentment. That you use your ancestors’ gift to bring yourself joy. And refrain from using the other gift inked upon you.”
Use your starlight as a party trick and never, ever use the Horn.
It made her the biggest idiot in Midgard, but she said, “What about Micah and Sandriel?”
“Governor Micah went rogue and threatened to destroy innocent citizens of this empire with his high-handed approach to the rebel conflict. Governor Sandriel got what she deserved in being so lax with her control over her slaves.”
Fear gleamed in Hunt’s eyes. In her own, too, Bryce was sure. Nothing was ever this easy—this simple. There had to be a catch.
“These are, of course, sensitive issues, Miss Quinlan. Ones that, were they publicly announced, would result in a great deal of trouble for all involved.”
For you. We will destroy you.
“All the witnesses to both events have been notified of the potential fallout.”
“Okay,” Bryce whispered.
“And as for the unfortunate destruction of Lunathion, we do accept full responsibility. We were informed by Sandriel that the city had been evacuated, and sent the Asterian Guard to wipe away the demon infestation. The brimstone missiles were a last resort, intended to save us all. It was incredibly fortunate that you found a solution.”
Liar. Ancient, awful liar. He’d picked the perfect scapegoat: a dead one. The rage that flickered over Hunt’s face told her he shared her opinion.
“I was truly lucky,” Bryce managed to say.
“Yes, perhaps because of the power in your veins. Such a gift can have tremendous consequences, if not handled wisely.” A pause, as if he were smiling. “I trust you shall learn to wield both your unexpected strength and the light within you with … discretion.”
Stay in your lane.
“I will,” Bryce murmured.
“Good,” Rigelus said. “And do you believe it necessary that I contact your mother, Ember Quinlan, to ask for her discretion, too?” The threat gleamed, sharp as a knife. One step out of line, and they knew where to strike first. Hunt’s hands curled into fists.