“It certainly sounds like it is, Bryce Adelaide Quinlan.” Her mom’s voice rose with each word. “And it sounds like you’re engaged to the Crown Prince of Avallen! Do you know who his father is?”
“Mom, I’m not going to marry him.”
“Then why do so many of my former school friends know about it? Why are there photos of you two having a private meeting at your office yesterday?”
Hunt’s wings flared with alarm, and Bryce shook her head. Later, she tried to signal.
“Cormac ambushed me—”
“He did what?”
“In a nonphysical way. Nothing I couldn’t handle. And,” she said as her mom began objecting, “I have zero intention of marrying Prince Creepster, but you gotta trust me to deal with it.” She gave Hunt a look as if to say, You too.
Hunt nodded, getting it. Drank some more coffee. Like he needed it.
Her mother, however, hissed, “Randall is in a panic.”
“Randall, or you? Because last I checked, Dad knows I can take care of myself.” Bryce couldn’t help the sharpness in her tone.
“You’re playing games with Fae royals who will outsmart you at every turn, who have likely anticipated your reticence—”
Bryce’s phone buzzed. She skimmed the incoming message. Thank Urd.
“I appreciate your confidence, Mom. I have to go. I’ve got an important meeting.”
“Don’t you try to—”
“Mom.” She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t halt the roiling, rising power that made her body begin to shimmer, as if she were a pot boiling over with liquid starlight. “You don’t get a say in what I do or don’t do, and if you’re smart, you’ll stay the Hel out of this.”
Stunned silence from her mother. From Hunt and Ithan, too.
The words kept flowing, though. “You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through, and faced, and what I’m now dealing with.” Her mom and Randall would never know about what she’d done to Micah. She couldn’t risk it. “But let me tell you that handling this bogus engagement is nothing compared to that. So drop it.”
Another pause. Then her mother said, “I knew you bundled us off at the break of dawn for a reason. I want to help you, Bryce—”
“Thanks for the guilt trip,” Bryce said. She could practically see her mother stiffening.
“Fine. We’re still at your disposal should you need us, Your Highness.”
Bryce started to answer, but her mother had hung up. She slowly, slowly closed her eyes. Hunt said into the sudden, heavy quiet, “Cormac came by the archives?”
Bryce opened her eyes. “Only to swing his dick around.” Hunt tensed, and Bryce added, “Not literally.”
His expression turned wary. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I got a phone call from Celestina that you were in a holding cell.” She bared her teeth. “Spare me the territorial male act, okay?”
“Hide shit from your parents all you want, but don’t keep stuff from me. We’re a team.”
“I just forgot. No big deal.”
Hunt hesitated. “All right.” He lifted his hands. “Okay. Sorry.”
Silence fell, and she became keenly aware of Ithan’s attention. “Hunt can fill you in on my joyous news,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I do have a meeting, and I need to get dressed.” Hunt arched a brow, but Bryce offered no explanation as she aimed for her bedroom.
She returned to the great room an hour later, showered and in work clothes. Hunt was already in his 33rd gear.
Bryce said to Ithan, who was doing push-ups in front of the TV with extraordinary ease, “I’ll pop back in at lunch when Tharion swings by. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge and call if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Ithan said between reps, and Bryce stuck out her tongue.
Bryce unlocked the door, then buckled Syrinx’s leash before slipping into the hall. She’d been lonely in the archives yesterday without his company. And maybe a little jealous about the fact that Syrinx had spent the day with Ithan.
And it would have been nice to watch him take a bite out of Prince Cormac’s ass.
The elevator had just arrived when Hunt appeared behind her, and every muscle in her body turned electric. Had the elevator always been this small? Had his wings gotten larger overnight?
“Why are things so weird between us?” Hunt asked.
Going right for the throat, then. “Are things weird?”