“It’s bullshit.”
Bryce steeled her spine. “I was really enjoying this summer, you know. Today seems Hel-bent on ruining it for both of us.”
Hunt ducked his head. “You’d almost think this was planned by the gods. They probably have a special task force: How to Fuck Over Bryce and Hunt in One Day.”
Bryce chuckled. “Celestina might wind up being a blessing. But …” She asked Hunt, “You think the Autumn King might have timed this to coincide with you getting the news about Celestina?”
“To what end?”
“To rattle us. To make us act, I don’t know.” She dared say, “Maybe he thought you’d go after him, and it’d make you look bad in front of the new Archangel.”
Hunt stilled, and Bryce became keenly aware of the distance between their bodies. “Again,” he said, voice husky, “to what end?”
“If you did something illegal,” Bryce mused, heart beginning to thunder as he stepped closer, “like …”
“Kill a Crown Prince of the Fae?”
Bryce chewed on her lip. “Celestina needs to set an example of how she plans to rule. And punishing a powerful angel, a notorious angel acting out of line … that’d be the perfect way to demonstrate her power. And thus get you out of the picture for the Autumn King. He knows we’re a team.”
“A team,” Hunt said slowly. As if, out of everything she’d laid out, that was what he chose to dwell on.
“You know what I mean,” Bryce said.
“I’m not sure I do.” Had his voice dropped lower?
“We’re roomies,” she said, her own voice getting breathy.
“Roomies.”
“Occasional Beer Pong Champions?”
Hunt snatched the hat off her head and plunked it back on his own, backward as usual. “Yes, the Autumn King truly fears our unholy beer pong alliance.”
Bryce smiled, letting it chase away the darkness lurking in her soul. But Hunt added, “We can’t forget that Avallen has their own angle. Why’d they agree to the union?”
“You know what?” Bryce said. “Who cares about any of them? My father, the Avallen Fae—screw them.” Only with Hunt could she be dismissive about this. He’d have her back, no matter what. “At least until we get my parents onto that train.”
“You still haven’t given me a convincing plan for how that will happen. For all we know, they’re learning about this on the news.”
“Oh, my phone would already be exploding if my mother had heard.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe I should ask Fury to sneak into their hotel and disable their phones.”
“Is it bad if I think she should go one step further and tie them up, throw them in the trunk of a car, and drive them home so they get there before the news breaks? Because that’s what Fury will likely do if you send her to that hotel.”
Bryce laughed, and the sound sang through her like silver bells. “Okay, no Fury.” She looped her arm through Hunt’s, savoring the muscled mass of him as she steered them toward the low gate and sidewalk beyond. “Let’s watch old episodes of Beach House Hookup and come up with ways to trick my parents.”
One of his wings brushed along her back in the softest of caresses. Every inch it touched lit up like firstlight. “Sounds like a normal Tuesday night.”
They meandered home, and despite Bryce’s flippant words, she found herself slipping into a state of roiling darkness and thoughts like shooting stars. She’d been a fool to think she could lie low forever. She’d been willing to follow the Asteri’s order to lead a boring, normal life, but the rest of the world had different plans for her. And Hunt.
She was bringing her phone to her ear to call her parents with the news that Oh, so sad, but Jesiba needs me to head over to her warehouse tomorrow and I think this might lead to a second chance at a job with her, so do you mind getting on the earlier train? when she and Hunt walked off the elevator and found the door to their apartment ajar.
If her mom and Randall had come over unexpectedly …
Syrinx was barking inside, and Bryce lunged for the door, the memory of another night washing red over her senses. Now, as then, the scent of blood was a coppery tang in the air, in the hallway, on the threshold of her door—
Not again. Not her parents—
Hunt shoved her back as he angled himself at the doorway, gun out and lightning wreathing his other hand, violence written in every taut line of his body, his raised wings.