“It’s not about wanting to help him—it’s more about wanting to help Emile. But I meant what I said to you in the alley: this is also about getting what I can out of the situation for our own advantage.” An end to the betrothal, and some training. “And,” she admitted, “learning about Danika.”
“Does it matter? About Danika, I mean?”
“It shouldn’t. But it does. For some reason, it does.” She said carefully, “I know we discussed this earlier, but … I can’t do this without you, Hunt.”
He said softly, “I know. I’m just … Fuck, Quinlan. The thought of anything happening to you scares the shit out of me. I understand, though. That’s what prompted me this spring … what I was doing with Vik and Justinian. It was for Shahar.”
Her heart strained. “I know.” And he’d been willing to give that up for her—for them. “So you’re in?”
“Yeah. Whatever help I can give, I’ll offer it. But we need an exit strategy.”
“We do,” she agreed. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, though. I’m exhausted.”
“All right.” His wing brushed her bare shoulder and she turned her head to find him with his head propped on a fist.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?” His eyes sparkled in the dimness.
She turned onto her own side and waved a hand toward him. “Look so … like that.”
His lips curled upward. “Sexy? Attractive? Seductive?”
“All of the above.”
He flopped onto his back. “I feel weird doing anything with Holstrom a wall away.”
She pointed to the aforementioned wall. “He’s on the other side of the apartment.”
“He’s a wolf.”
Bryce inhaled the musky, midnight scent of him. Arousal. “So let’s be quiet, then.”
Hunt’s swallow was audible. “I … All right, I’ll be straight with you, Quinlan.”
She arched a brow.
He blew out a breath toward the ceiling. “It’s been … a while. For me, I mean.”
“Me too.” The longest she’d ever gone without sex since her first time at seventeen. Well, ignoring what she and Hunt had done on the couch months ago—though that wasn’t the kind of sex she wanted right now.
He said, “I guarantee that however long it’s been for you, it’s been longer for me.”
“How long?”
Some part of her howled at the idea of anyone—any-fucking-one—putting their hands and mouth and other parts on him. Of Hunt touching anyone else. Wanting anyone else. Of him existing in a world where he hadn’t known her, and some other female had been more important—
Some other female had been more important. Shahar. He’d loved her. Been willing to die for her.
He nearly died for you, too, a small voice whispered. But … this was different somehow.
Hunt grimaced. “Six months?”
Bryce laughed. “That’s it?”
He growled. “It’s a long time.”
“I thought you were going to say years.”
He gave her an affronted look. “I wasn’t celibate, you know.”
“So who was the lucky lady, then?” Or male, she supposed. She’d assumed he preferred females, but it was entirely possible he also—
“A nymph at a bar. She was from out of town and didn’t recognize me.”
Bryce’s fingers curled, as if invisible claws appeared at their tips. “Nymph, huh.”
Was that his type? Exactly like those dancers at the ballet? Delicate and svelte? Had Shahar been like that? Bryce had never searched for portraits of the dead Archangel—hadn’t ever wanted to torture herself like that. But Sandriel had been beautiful as Hel, slim and tall, and Hunt had once mentioned that they were twins.
Bryce added, if only because she wanted him to feel a shred of the misery that now coursed through her, “Lion shifter. In a bathroom at the White Raven.”
“The night of the bombing?” The words were sharp. As if her fucking someone while they’d known each other was unacceptable.
“Less than a week before,” she said nonchalantly, quietly pleased at his sharpness.
“I thought you didn’t like alphaholes.”
“I like them for some things.”
“Oh yeah?” He trailed a finger down her bare arm. “What, exactly?” His voice dropped to a purr. “You don’t seem to enjoy males bossing you around.”