“Come on,” Ithan said, scoffing.
Tharion didn’t bother to keep the gravity from his face. “I like being alive. I’m not going to risk death because you’ve got an outsize view of your wolf skills.”
“Fuck you.”
Tharion shrugged. “My river, my rules, pup.”
Thunder from far above echoed in the quiet halls, rattling even the thick glass.
“I can go after her on my own.”
Tharion smirked. “Not while you’re stuck down here.”
Ithan sized him up. “Really? You’d trap me?”
“For your own safety, yeah. You know what Bryce would do to me if you wound up dead? I’d never get to fondle her underwear again.”
Ithan gaped at him. Then burst out laughing. It was a rich sound, a little hoarse—like he hadn’t done it in a while. “I’m surprised Athalar lets you live.”
“You know what Bryce would do to Hunt if I wound up dead?” Tharion grinned. “My sweet Legs has my back.”
“Why do you call her that?” Ithan asked cautiously.
Tharion shrugged again. “You really want me to answer that?”
“No.”
Tharion smirked. “Anyway, the real question is whether Emile is headed toward the place Danika hinted at in her email.”
Holstrom had already filled him in on the papers and news clippings he and Bryce had uncovered yesterday, but none had any link to a potential rendezvous location.
The door to Tharion’s office opened, and one of his officers, Kendra, strode in. The blond sentinel stopped short upon seeing Ithan, hair swaying around her. She looked to Tharion, who nodded. She was free to speak around the wolf.
“Boss wants you in her quarters. She’s, ah … in a mood.”
Fuck. “I thought I heard thunder.” Tharion jerked his chin at the door as Kendra left. “There’s a lounge down this hall on the left. Feel free to watch TV, help yourself to snacks, whatever. I’ll be back … soon. Then we can start sniffing around for the kid.” And hopefully avoid Pippa Spetsos.
He used the walk to his queen’s quarters to steady his nerves against whatever storm was brewing. It had to be bad, if it was raining Above during the dry summer months.
Bryce fanned her face in the summer heat, thanking Ogenas, Bringer of Storms, for the rain that was moments away from falling. Or whatever Vanir might be throwing a temper tantrum. Judging by how swiftly the storm had swept in to ruin the otherwise flawless blue sky, odds were on the latter.
“It’s not that hot,” Ruhn observed as they walked down the sidewalk toward the Aux training facility on the edge of the Old Square and Moonwood. The empty, cavernous chamber was usually used for large meetings, but he’d reserved it once a week at this hour for their standing training.
They’d have a newcomer today. At least, if Prince Cormac deigned to show up to begin her training, as he’d promised.
“I don’t know how you’re wearing a leather jacket,” Bryce said, her sweaty thighs sticking together with each step.
“Gotta hide the weapons,” Ruhn said, patting the holsters beneath the leather jacket. “Can’t have the tourists getting skittish.”
“You literally carry a sword.”
“That has a different impact on people than a gun.”
True. Randall had taught her that a long time ago. Swords could mean hope, resistance, strength. Guns meant death. They were to be respected, but only as weapons of killing, even in defense.
Bryce’s phone rang, and she checked the caller ID before shutting off the ringer and sliding it into her pocket.
“Who’s that?” Ruhn asked, glancing at her sidelong as thunder grumbled. People began clearing the streets, darting into shops and buildings to avoid the downpour. With the arid climate, summer storms were usually violent and swift, prone to flooding the streets.
“My mom,” Bryce said. “I’ll call her later.” She fished out a postcard from her purse and waved it at Ruhn. “She’s probably calling about this.”
“A postcard?” On the front, it said Greetings from Nidaros! in a cheery font.
Bryce slid it back into her purse. “Yeah. It’s a thing from when I was a kid. We’d get into a huge fight, and my mom would send me postcards as a weird kind of apology. Like, we might not be talking in person, but we’d start communicating again through postcards.”
“But you were living in the same house?”
Bryce laughed again. “Yeah. She’d put them under my door and I’d put them under hers. We’d write about everything but the fight. We kept doing it when I went to CCU, and afterward.” Bryce riffled through her bag and pulled out a blank postcard of an otter waving that said, Keep It Fuzzy, Lunathion! “I’m going to send her one later. Seems easier than a phone call.”