So he watched, blow by blow, as the human female launched herself at the two Vanir males.
And ripped them to pieces.
It was impossible. Utterly impossible. Unless—
Tharion had said synth could temporarily grant humans powers greater than most Vanir. Powers enough to kill.
“Do you know how badly the human rebels would want this?” Hunt said. Bryce just jerked her chin toward the screen. Where the footage kept going.
They sent in two other males. Bigger than the last. And they, too, wound up in pieces.
Piles.
Oh gods.
Another two. Then three. Then five.
Until the entire room was red. Until the Vanir were clawing at the doors, begging to be let out. Begging as their companions, then they themselves, were slaughtered.
The human female was screaming, her head tilted to the ceiling. Screaming in rage or pain or what, he couldn’t tell without the sound.
Hunt knew what was coming next. Knew, and couldn’t stop himself from watching.
She turned on herself. Ripped herself apart. Until she, too, was a pile on the floor.
The footage cut out.
Bryce said softly, “Danika must have figured out what they were working on in the labs. I think someone involved in these tests … Could they have sold the formula to some drug boss? Whoever killed Danika and the pack and the others must have been high on this synth. Or injected someone with it and sicced them on the victims.”
Hunt shook his head. “Maybe, but how does it tie in to the demons and the Horn?”
“Maybe they summoned the kristallos for the antidote in its venom—and nothing more. They wanted to try to make an antidote of their own, in case the synth ever turned on them. Maybe it doesn’t connect to the Horn at all,” Bryce said. “Maybe this is what we were meant to find. There are two other videos like this, of two different human subjects. Danika left them for me. She must have known someone was coming for her. Must have known when she was on that Aux boat, confiscating that crate of synth, that they’d come after her soon. There was no second type of demon hunting alongside the kristallos. Just a person—from this world. Someone who was high on the synth and used its power to break through our apartment’s enchantments. And then had the strength to kill Danika and the whole pack.”
Hunt considered his next words carefully, fighting against his racing mind. “It could work, Bryce. But the Horn is still out there, with a drug that might be able to repair it, coincidence or no. And we’re no closer to finding it.” No, this just led them a Hel of a lot closer to trouble. He added, “Micah already demonstrated what it means to set one foot out of line. We need to go slow on the synth hunt. Make sure we’re certain this time. And careful.”
“None of you were able to find out anything like this. Why should I go slow with the only clue I have about who killed Danika and the Pack of Devils? This ties in, Hunt. I know it does.”
And because she was opening her mouth to object again, he said what he knew would stop her. “Bryce, if we pursue this and we’re wrong, if Micah learns about another fuckup, forget the bargain being over. I might not walk away from his next punishment.”
She flinched.
His entire body protested as he reached a hand to touch her knee. “This synth shit is horrific, Bryce. I … I’ve never seen anything like it.” It changed everything. Everything. He didn’t even know where to begin sorting out all he’d seen. He should make some phone calls—needed to make some phone calls about this. “But to find the murderer and maybe the Horn, and to make sure there’s an afterward for you and me”—because there would be a you and me for them; he’d do whatever it took to ensure it—“we need to be smart.” He nodded to the footage. “Forward that to me. I’ll make sure it gets to Vik on our encrypted server. See what she can dig up about these trials.”
Bryce scanned his face. The openness in her expression nearly sent him to his knees before her. Hunt waited for her to argue, to defy him. To tell him he was an idiot.
But she only said, “Okay.” She let out a long breath, slumping back against the cushions.
She was so fucking beautiful he could barely stand it. Could barely stand to hear her ask quietly, “What sort of an afterward for you and me do you have in mind, Athalar?”
He didn’t balk from her searching gaze. “The good kind,” he said with equal quiet.
She didn’t ask, though. About how it would be possible. How any of it would be possible for him, for them. What he’d do to make it so.