She opened a tube of lipstick and began filling in the precise outline she’d drawn. “If you’re referring to when I fucked Pollux in the showers, I’m afraid I’m not going to apologize to Naomi Boreas for leaving the stall door open. I did invite her to join, you know.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
She started on her top lip. “Then enlighten me.”
Hunt stared at her. She’d seen him. Spoken to him, to all of them, while they’d been in the water. He’d gone ballistic, ready to slaughter her. Had needed his mate’s touch and body to calm down afterward.
Hunt growled, “Is this some sort of cat-and-mouse game?”
She set the golden lipstick tube on the counter and pivoted. Beautiful and cold as a statue of Luna. “You’re the hunter. You tell me.”
This female had killed Sofie Renast. Drowned her. And had tortured so many others that the silver torque around her neck practically screamed the names of the dead.
When Hunt said nothing, the Hind inspected herself in the mirror, tucking a stray tendril of hair into her elegant chignon. She then stalked toward him—to the door. He stepped away silently. The Hind said as she exited, “Perhaps you’ll stop prattling on about nonsense once you see what the Harpy did by the Angels’ Gate. It’s rather extraordinary.”
Ten minutes later, Hunt learned what she meant.
The crystal Gate in the heart of the CBD was muted in the midmorning light, but no one was looking at it anyway. The gathered crowd was snapping pictures and murmuring about the two figures lying facedown on the ground beneath it.
It had been a long while since Hunt had seen anyone blood-eagled.
The corpses wore black stealth clothes—or shreds of them. Rebels. That was the Ophion crest on their red armbands, and the sinking sun of the Lightfall squadron above it.
Across the Gate’s square, someone vomited, then sprinted away, crying softly.
The Harpy had started down their backs. Taken her knives and sawed through the ribs, cleaving each bone from the spine. And then she’d reached through the incisions and yanked their lungs through them.
Leaving a pair of bloody wings draped over their backs.
Hunt knew the victims would have still been alive. Screaming.
Ephraim had brought this into his city. This was what the Hind, the Asteri would unleash upon him and Bryce. It wouldn’t be crucifixion. It’d be something far more creative.
Had the Harpy left the blood eagles as a message for Ophion, or for all of Valbara?
Celestina had allowed this to happen here. Allowed the Harpy to do this and then display the bodies. Hadn’t even mentioned it in their meeting. Because she agreed with these methods, or because she had no choice?
Hunt swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. But others had noticed him now. The Umbra Mortis, they murmured. Like he’d helped the Harpy create this atrocity.
Hunt swallowed his answer. We might be triarii, but I will never be like that monster.
They wouldn’t have believed him.
It had been a weird fucking day, but Ruhn heaved a sigh of relief when Athalar called. All clear, the angel had said, and it had eased Ruhn’s exhaustion and dread, if only by a fraction. He hadn’t told Athalar about the sprites and the dragon. He’d let Bryce tell her mate those details. He wondered if she’d even told him yet about the mystics.
Ruhn toyed with his lip ring as he returned to the living room, where Flynn was flirting with the sprites while Dec asked them questions about their lives in the rings. The dragon sat on the stairs, and Ruhn ignored her, even if it went against every primal instinct to do so. Ithan lifted his brows as Ruhn entered.
“We’re good,” Ruhn told the males, who all muttered prayers of thanks to the gods. He faced the dragon, bracing himself, but was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
Brows lowering, hand drifting to the gun tucked into his back waistband, Ruhn strode to the front door. A lovely, familiar female scent hit him a moment before he registered who stood there, broom in hand.
Queen Hypaxia Enador smiled faintly. “Hello, Prince. I’d hoped to find you here.”
52
Tharion finished his report to the River Queen, his fin holding him steady in the current of the river depths. She lounged among a bed of river oysters, long fingers trailing over the ridges and bumps.
“So my sister has a fleet of ships that elude the Asteri’s Omega-boats.” The waters around them swirled, and Tharion fought to keep in place, tail swishing hard.
“Only six.”
“Six, each one the size of the Comitium.” Her eyes flashed in the dim depths.