Baxian dug into his platter of lamb kofta and herbed rice. “You’ve been in Lunathion for a while, Tiberian. Things changed after you left.”
Isaiah asked, “Like what?”
Baxian gazed toward the glistening city roasting in the midday heat. “Things.”
“I think that means we should mind our own fucking business,” Hunt said.
Isaiah snickered. “He’s taking a page out of your book, Hunt.”
Hunt grinned. “You’re confusing me with Naomi. I at least will tell you straight up to mind your own business. She’ll only imply it.”
“With a death glare.”
“And maybe a gun set on the table for emphasis.”
They laughed, but Hunt sobered as he noted Baxian observing their volley, something like envy on his face. Isaiah noted it, too, because he said to the Helhound, “You can laugh, you know. We do that kind of stuff here.”
Baxian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You’ve had more than ten years here. Forgive me if it takes a while to forget the rules of Sandriel’s territory.”
“As long as you don’t forget that you’re in Lunathion now.” The threat of violence rumbled in Isaiah’s every word, belying the impeccable suit he wore. “That scar Athalar put on your neck will be nothing compared to what I do to you if you hurt anyone in this city.”
Baxian’s eyes glittered. “Just because you weren’t interesting enough to merit being part of Sandriel’s triarii, don’t take it out on me with bullshit threats.”
Isaiah’s teeth gleamed. “I had no interest in getting that close to a monster.”
Hunt tried not to gape. He’d seen Isaiah lay down the law countless times. His friend wouldn’t have gotten to where he was without the ability to draw a line and hold it. But it was rare these days to see that vicious warrior shine through. Soldiers were turning their way.
So Hunt cut in, “Sandriel would be thrilled to know that she’s still pitting us against each other all these years later.”
Isaiah blinked, as if surprised he’d tried to intervene. Baxian watched him cautiously.
Hunt took another deep breath. “Fuck, that sounded preachy.” Baxian let out a snort, and the tension dissolved.
Isaiah threw Hunt a grateful smile, then rose. “I need to head out. I have a meeting with the Aux Heads.”
Hunt winked. “Give Ruhn my love.”
Isaiah laughed. “Will do.”
With that, his friend strode off toward the trash receptacles. Angels lifted their heads as he passed; a few waved at him. The white-winged angel waved back, pausing at various tables to swap pleasantries. Isaiah’s smile was wide—genuine.
Baxian said quietly, “Your friend was born for this.”
Hunt grunted his agreement.
“No interest in leading again?” Baxian asked.
“Too much paperwork.”
Baxian smirked. “Sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You led once, and it went poorly. I don’t blame you for not stepping up again.”
Hunt clenched his jaw but said nothing else as he finished off his meal. Baxian was right on his heels as they strode to empty their plates and dump their trays. Hunt didn’t dare turn to tell the Helhound to back the fuck off. Not with so many eyes on them. He could hear soldiers whispering as they passed.
Hunt didn’t bother to engage as Isaiah had. He couldn’t bear to look at the other soldiers. The people who’d be summoned to fight against Ophion.
People he’d kill if they threatened Bryce. Fuck, if he replicated what he’d done at the Bone Quarter, he could fry them all in a second. No wonder the Asteri had considered the thunderbirds a threat—that kind of power was nothing short of lethal.
If Ophion got their hands on Emile … Yeah, that was a weapon to kill for.
Hunt reached the elevator bay beyond the doors. The five angels clustered there quickly aimed for the stairs.
“Tough crowd, huh?” Baxian said behind him as Hunt stepped into the elevator. To his displeasure, the Helhound got in with him. The space was wide enough to accommodate many beings with wings, but Hunt kept his tucked in tight.
“You get used to it,” Hunt said, pushing the button for the triarii’s barracks. He might as well assess his room to see what weapons he had left. What clothes he needed to send for. Knowing Bryce, she’d send him a pair of her underwear along with them.
“I thought you were Mr. Popular,” Baxian said, watching the rising numbers above them.