“You’re staying here,” Bryce said. Honestly, after the night she’d had, it was the last thing she wanted. Especially when she still had to call her mom and convince her to get out of town. Gods, if Ember found out Ithan was here, she’d never leave. She’d loved him like a son. Bryce shook off the thought. “You’re lucky Sabine didn’t kill you.”

  “Trust me, she wanted to,” Ithan said bitterly. “But I wasn’t worth the legal headache that would cause.”

  Bryce swallowed. Connor’s little brother had once been her best friend, after Danika. Fury and June had come after that. Gods, how many messages had she and Ithan swapped over the years? How many juvenile jokes had they shared? How many times had she bounced in the stands at one of his sunball games, screaming her lungs out for him?

  The male before her was a stranger.

  “I should go,” Ithan said thickly. Like he remembered their history, too. Read it on her face.

  “Sit the fuck down,” Hunt said. “You can’t even walk.”

  “Fine,” Ithan conceded. “One night.”

  He had to be desperate, then.

  Fighting the tightness in her chest, Bryce pulled out her phone. “Good.” She noted the time. Almost midnight. Her parents were likely about to go to bed. “I have to make a call.”

  Hunt fixed a cup of decaf just to give himself something to do as Ithan lay bleeding on the coffee table behind him. Bryce’s voice as she spoke to her parents filtered down the hall in bits and pieces.

  We’ll plan a long weekend next time. Maybe Hunt and I can come up to you guys. I think he’d love to finally see Nidaros.

  Hunt’s lips quirked upward. Bringing him home to her parents, huh? No matter that she was lying through her teeth.

  The coffee machine finished a heartbeat before Bryce said, “All right. I’ll meet you at your hotel at six. Yep. Bright and early. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

  Hunt blew on the steaming-hot coffee as Bryce padded back down the hall. “Everything good?” he asked her.

  “Aside from the fact that I have to be up in a few hours, sure.” Bryce slid her phone onto the kitchen counter. “Tickets are switched.” She peered at Ithan, whose eyes were closed. But Hunt had no doubt the wolf was listening.

  “Right,” Bryce said. “Beds.”

  “I’m good on the couch,” Ithan croaked.

  Hunt was inclined to agree, but Bryce said, “Oh no. You’re in my room. I won’t have you bleeding all over my white couch.”

  Hunt said roughly, “I’ll sleep on the couch. Holstrom, you can have my room.”

  “Nope,” Bryce countered. “It’s fine. My bed is big.”

  Hunt shot back, “Then you sleep on the couch and give Holstrom the bed.”

  “With my back problems?” Before Hunt could ask what the Hel she was talking about, she said, “I’m tired, and I don’t want to argue. Conversation over.”

  Ithan cracked open an eye. Hunt reined in his growl of frustration.

  Fifteen minutes later, Hunt lay in his own bed, teeth gritted as he stared at the ceiling, with only a snoring Syrinx for company.

  It was fine. Totally fucking fine that Ithan Holstrom was sharing Bryce’s bed.

  Totally. Fucking. Fine.

  His bed, his blood roared. Even if he hadn’t been near it in months. His bed, his Bryce, who’d emerged from the bathroom in her sleep shorts and a faded, threadbare T-shirt that did nothing to hide the shadow of her nipples behind the purple fabric. Thankfully, Holstrom’s eyes were too swollen for Hunt to notice if the male looked. Not that it really mattered. He trusted Bryce. Knew precisely what—and who—she wanted.

  But … it didn’t matter that Holstrom had come to Bryce’s defense during the attack, or in some stupid article. He’d been a nasty fuck to her in the two years before that. And had let Amelie run rampant, tormenting Bryce over the death of his brother.

  And fine—trust aside, maybe he was slightly on edge. Holstrom was good-looking, when he wasn’t beaten to Hel and back. He’d been a star sunball player at CCU. Hunt remembered watching a few of the games in the 33rd’s lounge in the Comitium, marveling at Holstrom’s speed and agility. The male hadn’t played the sport for two years now, but he was still built.

  Stupid, jealous idiot. For fuck’s sake, having Holstrom here bothered him more than that asshole Cormac claiming he’d marry Quinlan.

  He hated himself just a little bit as he pulled his phone from the nightstand and typed in Ithan Holstrom Sabine Fendyr Bryce Quinlan.

  The article popped up immediately.

  Hunt skimmed it. Read what Sabine had said and focused on his breathing. On not leaping into the skies and shredding the Prime Apparent into pieces.

  “Bryce Quinlan is nothing but a spoiled party girl who was conveniently in the right place during the attack. My wolves saved innocents. She’s a pathetic fame-chaser.”

  Hunt ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Toward the bottom, he found Holstrom’s sound bite.

  “The wolves only went to Asphodel Meadows because of Bryce. She got the call for help out, and held the line until we could provide backup. She saved this city. She’s a hero, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Especially people who weren’t even in this city during the attack.”

  Well, Hunt didn’t blame Sabine for being pissed. The truth hurt.

  Hunt sighed and was about to set his phone back onto the nightstand when it buzzed with a message from Isaiah. Thoughts???

  He knew Isaiah was asking about Celestina’s appointment. Too early to tell, he wrote back. Too early for hope, too.

  Isaiah answered immediately. She’ll be here tomorrow evening at five. Try to play nice, Hunt. She’s not Micah.

  Hunt sent back a thumbs-up. But sleep was a long time coming.

  Bryce gazed at her bedroom ceiling, listening to the wet, labored breathing of the male beside her.

  Her mom and dad had bought her lies—hook, line, and sinker. Of course, it meant she’d be getting up in four hours, but it was a price worth paying. No news about her engagement had been leaked yet. She could only pray it wouldn’t until their train was out of the city.

  Ithan shifted slightly, the sound of the blankets loud in the silence. It was strange to have him here, his scent filling her nose. So similar to Connor’s scent—

  “I could have slept on the couch,” Ithan said into the darkness.

  “I don’t trust Athalar not to smother you with a pillow.”

  Ithan huffed a laugh. “He holds a grudge, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Silence fell again, thick and heavy. She’d wanted Ithan right where she could see him. It was as simple as that. Wards on this place or not, she wasn’t about to leave him unguarded when Sabine and Amelie might change their minds about the paperwork being too much trouble. She’d lost one Holstrom already.

  “Danika had me keyed to the locks,” Ithan said. “Right before … everything. She showed me this place—wanted me in on the surprise. That’s how I got in.”

  Bryce’s throat clogged. “Oh.”

  “Is it true that Danika helped you make the Drop?”

  Since her voice had been broadcast through the Gates into every part of the city, it was common knowledge that Danika Fendyr had something to do with Bryce’s Drop, but rumors about exactly what ranged widely.

  “Yeah,” Bryce said. “She, ah … She was my Anchor.”

  “I didn’t know that was possible.”

  “Me neither.”

  His breathing thinned. Bryce said, “I … Ithan, when I saw Danika during the Search, she told me that the others—Connor and Nathalie and the whole Pack of Devils—held off the Reapers to buy her time to be there with me. They saved me, too. Connor saved me.”

  Ithan said nothing for a long moment. When was the last time they’d spoken like this? Calm, quiet. Without hate spewing like acid, burning everything it touched? Then Ithan said, “He loved you more than anyone.”

  Her heart strained. “He loved you more than anyone.”

  “He thought you were his mate.”

  Bryce shut her eyes against the punch that slammed into her gut. “In the wolf sense of the word?”

  “What other sense is there? Yeah, the wolf sense.”

  There were several definitions of the term mate—though Bryce supposed that to Ithan, to a shifter, only one mattered: one’s true lover, predestined by Urd.

  The Fae had a similar concept—a mate was a bond deeper than marriage, and beyond an individual’s control. The angels, she knew, used the term far more lightly: for the malakim, it was akin to a marriage, and matings could be arranged. Like breeding animals in a zoo.

  But for Connor, if he’d thought Bryce was his mate … Her stomach twisted again.

  “Did you love him?” Ithan whispered.

  “You know I did,” Bryce said, voice thick.

  “We waste so much time. Maybe it’s our curse as immortals. To see time as a luxury, a never-ending ocean.” He loosed a long breath. “I wasted a lot of it.”

  Bryce couldn’t tell what he was referring to. “Real poetic of you.” Ithan let out a soft laugh. In the air-conditioned dark, Bryce asked, “Why did you quit sunball?”

  She felt Ithan tense, the mattress shifting. “Because it’s a stupid game,” he said, voice empty, and turned onto his side with a groan.

  Bryce had no idea how to respond. So she closed her eyes, rubbing idly at the scar on her chest, and prayed for Luna to send her into a dreamless, heavy sleep.

  7

  “This is bullshit.” Ruhn paced the ornate rugs of his father’s study as the grandfather clock in the corner chimed two in the morning. “You know it’s total fucking bullshit.”

  Lounging in a crimson leather armchair by the darkened fireplace, the Autumn King said nothing. The experiments and nonsense he worked on day and night boiled and bubbled away, the sound a steady hum in the background.

  “What’s the matter, cousin? Feeling possessive of your sister?” Cormac smirked from where he leaned against the black marble mantel, white sweater stretched tight over his muscled chest. Not one golden hair on his head out of place.

  Fucker.

  Ruhn ignored Cormac’s taunt and said to his father, “We live in a modern city. In modern times. There are lawyers by the dozen who have endless resources to challenge this—and courts that might be amenable to setting a new precedent that protects the rights of Fae females.”

  “Bryce will arrive willingly at the marriage altar,” his father said. “As will you.”

  Cormac’s mouth curled upward. “I hear you’re engaged to Hypaxia Enador. Congratulations.” Ruhn scowled at him. Cormac went on, sizing up Ruhn, “Of course, the marriage is unorthodox, considering your bride’s family and bloodline.”

  Ruhn stiffened. “You’ve got some shit to spew about Hypaxia, then let’s hear it.”

  But Cormac said to the Autumn King, “He doesn’t know?”

  His father, damn him, seemed bored as he said, “It didn’t seem necessary. My order is law.”

  Ruhn glanced between them. “What is this?”

  His father, features tightening with distaste—as if disappointed that Ruhn hadn’t learned it himself—said, “The late Queen Hecuba had two daughters, from different sires. Hypaxia’s sire, Hecuba’s coven learned afterward, was a powerful necromancer from the House of Flame and Shadow. Hypaxia seems to have inherited his gifts alongside her mother’s.”

  Ruhn blinked. Slowly. Hypaxia could raise and speak to the dead. All right. He could live with that. “Cool.”

  Flames danced along his father’s hair, dancing over his shoulders. “Her older sister, however, was sired by a shape-shifting male. A stag.”

  “So?”

  Cormac snorted. “Hypaxia’s half sister is better known as the Hind.” Ruhn gaped at him. How had he not known this? “She didn’t inherit any witch gifts,” Cormac continued, “and was handed over to her father’s kin. The crown naturally went to Hypaxia. But it seems that since your bride has been crowned queen, the question of her necromancy has become … an issue for the witches.”

  “It’s of no bearing on this conversation,” his father said. “Ruhn shall marry her, necromancy or not, odious sister or not.”

  “My father found Hypaxia’s background to be problematic,” Cormac said.

  “Then it is a good thing your father is not marrying her,” the Autumn King countered.

  Cormac shut his mouth, and Ruhn held in his grin of delight.

  But his father went on, “Ruhn shall marry Hypaxia, and Bryce Quinlan shall marry you, Prince Cormac. There will be no more debate.”

  “You do remember that Bryce and Athalar are together?” Ruhn said. “Try to get between them, and you’ll get a refresher course on why he was called the Umbra Mortis.”

  “Last my spies reported, she still does not bear his scent. So I can only assume they have not consummated their relationship.”

  Just talking about this with his father was gross.

  Cormac cut in, “One day, she’ll be Queen of Avallen. She’d be a fool to throw it away on a bastard angel.”

  Ruhn spat, “You need Bryce more than she needs either of you. She’s Starborn.”

  The Autumn King’s teeth flashed. “If Bryce wished to remain free of our household, then she should not have been so brazen about showing off her power.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Fire seared through Ruhn’s veins. “That she showed you up? That she has more power than you? What—you needed to put her back in her place?”

  “You’re delusional,” Cormac’s grin promised violence. “I am stooping to marry your sister. Many of my people will consider the union a disgrace.”

  “Careful,” the Autumn King warned, true anger sparking in his whiskey-colored eyes. “Regardless of her human lineage, Bryce is an heir to the Starborn line. More so than my son.” He threw a frown dripping with disdain at Ruhn. “We have not seen starlight with such force for thousands of years. I do not take handing her over to Avallen lightly.”

  “What the fuck are you getting from it?” Nausea clawed its way up Ruhn’s throat.

  His father answered, “Your sister has one value to me: her breeding potential. Both of our royal houses will benefit from the union.”

  Cormac added, “And the continued commitment to the alliance between our peoples.”

  “Against what?” Had everyone lost their minds?

  “A weakening of magic in the royal bloodline,” Cormac said. “As recent generations have demonstrated.” He waved with a flame-crusted hand toward Ruhn and his shadows.

  “Fuck you,” Ruhn hissed. “Is this about the war in Pangera? The rebellion?” He’d heard rumors recently that Ophion had taken out four Omega submersibles in the north. Four. Some insane shit had to be going on over there. His father had even hinted at it in the late spring, when he’d announced Ruhn’s betrothal. That war was coming, and they needed to shore up allies.

  “It is about ensuring that the Fae retain our power and birthright,” his father said. His icy voice had always belied the merciless flame in his blood. “Your sister can imbue that into her offspring with Cormac.”

  Cormac grunted his agreement, flames winking out.

  Ruhn tried again. “For fuck’s sake, leave Bryce out of this. Don’t we have other royals we can pair off to punch out some babies?”

  “I didn’t remember you whining so much, Ruhn,” Cormac said.

  “Before or after you tried to kill me? Or when you buried a sword in Dec’s gut?”

  Cormac’s eyes gleamed like hot coals. “Just wanted to feel you boys out.” He pushed off the mantel and strode for the shut doors. “You know,” Cormac drawled over his shoulder, “the Starborn used to intermarry. Brother wed sister, aunt married nephew, and so on. All to keep the bloodline pure. Since you seem so heavily invested in who shares Bryce’s bed, perhaps the old traditions could be revived for you two.”

  “Get the Hel out,” Ruhn snarled. His shadows writhed at his fingertips, whips ready to snap for the Avallen Prince’s neck.

  “You might rebel all you like, Ruhn Danaan, but you are a Crown Prince, as I am. Our fates are the same. But I know which one of us will rise to meet it.”

  Then he was gone.

  Our fates are the same. Cormac meant that they would both be kings, but Ruhn knew his fate was more complicated than that.

  The royal bloodline shall end with you, Prince. The Oracle’s voice floated through his mind, twisting up his insides. He might very well not live long enough to see himself crowned. His blood chilled. Was it because Cormac would lead some sort of coup?

  He shook it off, turning to his father. “Why are you doing this?”

  “That you have to ask shows me you’re no true son of mine.”

  The words seared through him. Nothing could ever hurt worse than what had already been done to him by this male, the scars he bore on his arms from it, mostly covered by the sleeves of his tattoos. But the words … yeah, they stung.

  Ruhn refused to let the old bastard see it, though. Would never let him see it. “And I suppose you think Cormac will become that true son by marrying Bryce.”

  His father’s lips curled upward, eyes as lifeless as the Pit. “Cormac has always been the son I should have had. Rather than the one I was burdened with.”

  8

  “Today’s the big day, huh?”

  Hunt turned from where he’d been staring at the coffee machine, willing the grinding of the beans to drown out the thoughts roaring in his head. Bryce leaned against the white marble counter behind him, clad in leggings and an old T-shirt.

  Hunt tucked in his gray wings and saluted. “Approachable Asshole, reporting for duty.” Her lips curved upward, but he asked, “How’d it go with your parents?” She’d left well before he was up.

  “Perfectly.” She feigned brushing dirt off her shoulders. “Not a whisper about the engagement. I think Randall suspected something, but he was game to play along.”

  “Five gold marks says your mom calls before noon to start yelling.”

  Her grin was brighter than the morning sun streaming outside the windows. “You’re on.” She angled her head, surveying his daily uniform: his usual black battle-suit for the 33rd. “You should see the decorations that went up overnight—apparently, the city’s rolling out the welcome mat, and sparing no expense. Banners, flowers, sparkly-clean streets, even in the Old Square. Not one drop of drunken-idiot vomit to be seen or smelled.”