The elegant dancer strode arm-in-arm with Bryce. “I had no idea.”
“June doesn’t talk about it. Even with us. But she hates this place more than you can imagine.”
“So why’d she come?” Why had Bryce even invited her?
“For Bryce,” Fury said simply. “Bryce told her she didn’t have to join, but she wanted to come with us. If there’s a kid running around lost in this place, June would do anything to help find him. Even come here herself.”
“Ah,” Hunt said, nodding.
Fury’s eyes glittered with dark promise. “I’ll burn this place to the ground for her one day.”
Hunt didn’t doubt it.
An hour later, Bryce’s arms and stomach trembled as she held her plank on the floor of her apartment building’s gym, sweat dripping off her brow and onto the soft black mat beneath. Bryce focused on the droplet as it splattered, on the music thumping in her earbuds, on breathing through her nose—anything other than the clock.
Time itself had slowed. Ten seconds lasted a minute. She pushed her heels back, steadying her body. Two minutes down. Three more to go.
Before the Drop, she’d usually managed a decent minute in this position. After it, in her immortal body, five minutes should be nothing.
Master her powers, indeed. She needed to master her body first. Though she supposed magic was ideal for lazy people: she didn’t need to be able to hold a plank for ten minutes if she could just unleash her power. Hel, she could blind someone while sitting down if she felt like it.
She chuckled at the idea, horrible as it was: her lounging in an oversize armchair, taking down enemies as easily as if she were changing the channel with a remote. And she did have enemies now, didn’t she? She’d killed a fucking Reaper today.
As soon as those Death Marks arrived from Jesiba tomorrow morning, she’d demand answers from the Under-King.
It was why she’d come down here—not only to validate her excuse for leaving the apartment. Well, that and seeing Danika on Declan’s laptop as it scanned through footage. Her head had begun spinning and acid had been burning through her veins, and sweating it all out seemed like a good idea. It always worked in Madame Kyrah’s classes.
She owed June a massive box of pastries for coming tonight.
Bryce checked the clock on her phone. Two minutes fifteen seconds. Fuck this. She plopped onto her front, elbows splaying, and laid her face directly on the mat.
A moment later, a foot prodded her ribs. Since there was only one other person in the gym, she didn’t bother to be alarmed as she craned her neck to peer up at Hunt. His lips were moving, sweat beading his brow and dampening his tight gray T-shirt—gods-damn it. How could he look so good?
She tugged an earbud out. “What?” she asked.
“I asked if you were alive.”
“Barely.”
His mouth twitched, and he lifted the hem of his T-shirt up to clean his dripping face. She was rewarded with a glimpse of sweat-slicked abs. Then he said, “You dropped like a corpse.”
She cradled her arms, rubbing the sore muscles. “I prefer running. This is torture.”
“Your dance classes are equally grueling.”
“This isn’t as fun.”
He offered her a hand, and Bryce took it, her sweaty skin sliding against his as he hauled her to her feet.
She wiped at her face with the back of her arm, but found it to be equally sweaty. Hunt returned to the array of metal machines that seemed more like torture devices, adjusting the seat on one to accommodate his gray wings. She stood in the center of the room like a total creep for a moment, watching his back muscles ripple as he went through a series of pull-down exercises.
Burning fucking Solas.
She’d blown this male. Had slid down that beautiful, strong body and taken his ridiculously large cock in her mouth and had nearly come herself as he’d spilled on her tongue.
And she knew it was ten kinds of fucked up, considering how much shit they were juggling and all that lay ahead, but … look at him.
She wiped at the sweat rolling down her chest, leaving a spectacularly unsexy stain beneath her sports bra.
Hunt finished his set but kept gripping the bar above his head, arms extended high above him, stretching out his back and wings. Even in a T-shirt and gym shorts, he was formidable. And … she was still staring. Bryce twisted back to her mat, grimacing as she put in her earbud and it blasted music. But her body refused to move.
Water. She needed some water. Anything to delay going back to that plank.
She trudged for the wet bar built into the far wall of the gym. The beverage fridge beneath the white marble counter was stocked with glass water bottles and chilled towels, and Bryce helped herself to both. A bowl of green apples sat on the counter, along with a basket full of granola bars, and she took the former, teeth sinking into the crisp flesh.