8
The shadows were watching him again.
Baxian and Ruhn had passed out, and Hunt had thought he’d lost consciousness, too, but … here he was. Watching a shadow watch him back. It stood beside the rack of devices Pollux and the Hawk had used on him.
Lidia hadn’t appeared today. He didn’t know whether that was a good sign. Didn’t dare ask Ruhn for his take on it. Hunt supposed that, out of all of them, he himself should be the one to know whether it was a good sign. He’d lived through this shit for years.
But he should have known a lot of other things, too.
Hunt had lost feeling in his hands, his shoulders. The itching from his slowly regenerating wings continued, though. Like streams of ants tickling down his spine. No writhing could help it.
He should have known not to tangle with Archangels, with the Asteri. He should have warned Bryce more strongly—should have tried harder to get her to back down from this insane path.
Isaiah had tried to convince him all those centuries ago. Hunt hadn’t listened … and he’d lived with the consequences. He should have learned.
His blood cooled as it ran along his body. Dripped to the floor.
But he hadn’t learned a fucking thing, apparently. One didn’t take on the Asteri and their hierarchies and win. He should have known.
The shadow smiled at him.
So Hunt smiled back. And then the shadow spoke.
“You would do well in Hel.”
Too drugged with agony, Hunt didn’t even quiver at the familiar male voice. One he’d already heard in another dream, another life.
“Apollion,” he grunted. Not Death at all, then.
He tried not to let disappointment sink in his gut.
“What a sorry state you’re in,” the Prince of the Pit purred. He remained hidden in the shifting shadows. The demon prince inhaled, as if tasting the air. “What delicious pain you feel.”
“I’d be happy to share.”
A terrifyingly soft laugh. “Your good humor, it seems, remains intact. Even with the halo inked anew upon your brow.”
Hunt smiled savagely. “I had the honor of having it done by Rigelus’s hand this time.”
“Interesting that he would do it himself, rather than employ an imperial hag. Do you detect a difference?”
Hunt’s chin dipped. “This one … stings. The hag’s halo felt like cold iron. This burns like acid.” He’d just finished voicing the last word when a thought slammed into him. “Bryce. Is she … is she with you?” If they’d hurt her, if Apollion gave one suggestion that—
“No.” The shadow seemed to blink. “Why?”
Horror leached through Hunt, colder than ice. “Bryce didn’t make it to Hel?” Where was she, then? Had she made it anywhere, or was she tumbling through time and space, forever trapped—
He must have made some pitiful noise because Apollion said, “One moment before the hysterics, Athalar,” and vanished.
Hunt couldn’t breathe. Maybe it was the weight of his body crushing his lungs, but … Bryce hadn’t made it. She hadn’t fucking made it to Hel, and he was stuck here, and—
Apollion appeared again, a second shadow at his side. Taller and thinner, with eyes like blue opals.
“Where is Bryce?” hissed the Prince of the Chasm.
“She went to find you.” Hunt’s voice broke. Beside him, Ruhn groaned, stirring. “She went to fucking find you, Aidas.” The Princes of Hel looked at each other, some wordless conversation passing between them. Hunt pushed, “You two told her to find you. Fed us all that bullshit about armies and wanting to help and getting her ready—”
“Is it possible,” Aidas said to his brother, ignoring Hunt entirely, “after everything …？”
“Don’t fall into romanticism,” Apollion cautioned.
“The star might have guided her,” Aidas countered.
“Please,” Hunt cut in, not caring if he was begging. “Tell me where she is.” Baxian grunted, rising to consciousness.
Aidas said quietly, “I have a suspicion, but I can’t tell you, Athalar, lest Rigelus wring it from you. Though he has likely already arrived at the same conclusion.”
“Fuck you,” Hunt spat.
But Apollion said to his brother, “We must leave.”
“Then what was the point of all this watching me from the shadows?” Hunt demanded.
“To ensure that we can continue to rely on you when the time comes.”
“To do what?” Hunt ground out.