Crescent City Hunt Quotes

I've got you," he murmured. "Sweetheart, I've got you.

The power shall always belong to those who give their lives to the city.

But wherever you’re headed when this life is over, Quinlan, that’s where I want to be, too.

I heard what you said.' Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. 'What you waiting to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward.' His lightening surged into her, sending her body arcing off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heart. He snarled in her ear, 'Now come say it to my face.

Vengeance incarnate. Wrath's bruised heart. She would bow for no one. Hunt's lightning sang at the sight of that beautiful, brutal face.

Hunt’s voice was a thunderclap as he said behind her, “Light it up, Bryce.

Fury didn’t stop her prep. “Bryce was a ghost for a long while, Hunt. She pretended she wasn’t, but she was.” The helicopter finally pulled into the air. “You brought her back to life.

Okay, let’s do a head count. If you’re disowned, disgraced, or both, raise your hand.” Tharion, Baxian, Lidia, Hunt, and Ruhn raised their hands.

You’re my home, Hunt. Our love spans across stars and worlds, remember?” She smiled slightly. “I’ll always find you.

Want to count my abs when we get home from the ballet?

Bryce stared at the fire, her face still splattered with the Archangel’s blood. And finally, she lifted her eyes. Right to the camera. To the world watching. Vengeance incarnate. Wrath’s bruised heart. She would bow for no one. Hunt’s lightning sang at the sight of that brutal, beautiful face.

It couldn't be. It... it couldn't be. Bryce and Hunt were frozen with shock. Ruhn whispered, "Day?" Lidia Cervos looked over a shoulder. And she said with quiet calm in a voice he knew like his own heartbeat, a voice he had never once heard her use as the Hind, "Night.

Loyal unto death and beyond. Hunt's phone rang, Isiah's name popping up again, but Hunt didn't immediately answer. Not as he glanced at the gallery roof beneath his boots and wondered what it was like - to have a friend like that.

It means that he’s going ballistic in the way that only mates can when the other is threatened. It’s what happened then, and what’s happening now. You’re true mates—the way Fae are mates, in your bodies and souls. That’s what was different about your scent the other day. Your scents have merged. As they do between Fae mates.

Hunt." The entire world went quiet. "I was waiting for you." "Bryce, sweetheart, just get back to your apartment and give me an hour and-" "No," she whispered, closing her eyes. She put her hand on her chest. Over her heart. "I was waiting for you- in here." Hunt couldn't stop his own tears then. "I was waiting for you, too.

But Micah purred, “I would like to take you to dinner, Bryce Quinlan.” She pulled out of his grip, joining Hunt in the elevator. And as the doors closed, she looked the Archangel of Valbara full in the face. “Not interested,” she said.

She whispered, "I'm scared." Danika grabbed her hand again. "That's the point of it, Bryce. Of Life. To live, to love, knowing that it might all vanish tomorrow. It makes everything that much more precious.

Oh gods,” Bryce said, choking. “Hunt is a fucking prince.” She laughed bitterly.

Hunt was so bored he honestly thought his brain was going to bleed out his ears.

Hunt’s eyes practically glowed as he said, in full view of those cowering along the street, “I am going to kill you.

I am Bryce Quinlan,' she said to the Gate, to the void, to all of Hel behind it. Her voice was serene—wise and laughing. 'Heir to the Starborn Fae.' The ground slid out from under Hunt as the light between her hands, the Star she'd drawn from her shattered heart, flared bright as the sun.

If my powers only work if my big, tough male helps me out—” “It can’t be romantic?” Hunt demanded. Bryce huffed. “I’m an independent female.

So Hunt pulled back. Stared into his mate's beautiful face for the last time. He laughed softly, a sound of wonder at odds with the crystal throne room and the monsters in it. "I love you. I wish I'd said it more. But I love you, Quinlan, and..." His throat closed up, his eyes stinging. His lips brushed her brow. "Our love is stronger than time, greater than any distance. Our love spans across stars and worlds. I will find you again. I promise.

Isaiah coughed. "You watched Quinlan for one night." "Ten hours, to be exact. Right until her pet chimera just appeared next to me at dawn, bit me in ass for looking like I was dozing off, and then vanished again - right back into the apartment. Just as Quinlan came out of her bedroom and opened the curtains to see me grabbing my own ass like a f***ing idiot. Do you know how sharp a chimera's teeth are?

-It's illegal. -Are you quoting the motto of the Meat Market, or trying to tell me that you somehow don't have precisely what I need?

She didn’t know the number, but she wasn’t at all surprised when she picked up, plopping down onto the cushions, and Hunt growled, “Open the curtains. I want to watch the show.

Bryce shouldered the canvas bag, surveying the Viper Queen. “Nice outfit.” The serpentine shifter smiled, revealing bright white teeth—and canines that were slightly too elongated. And slightly too thin. “Nice bodyguard.” Bryce shrugged as those snake’s eyes dragged over every inch of Hunt. “Nothing going on upstairs, but everything happening where it counts.

Hunt grinned. Her little smile was like seeing the sun after days of rain.

Those look like broken ribs," Hunt said wryly. "Definitely broken ribs, Athalar," Bryce replied, sitting back on her heels. "And a broken arm, from the way he's cradling it." "Skull fracture's healed," Hunt observed with equal distance, as if they were on one of his favorite Vanir crime show procedurals. Ithan's eyes flashed again. "I'm sensing hostility and a good dose of male pride," Bryce said. "Throw in some stubbornness and I'd say we've got a classic case of stupidity," Hunt answered. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Ithan demanded.

I’m saying I want shit kept quiet.” She grinned at Ruhn, showing all her white teeth, the expression more savage than amused. “I’m saying if you three morons leak any of this to your Aux buddies or drunken hookups, I am going to be very unhappy.” Honestly, Hunt would have liked nothing more than to grab some popcorn and a beer, kick back in a chair, and watch her verbally fillet these assholes.

Declan said, "Can we pause for a moment and remark on the fact that both of you have spoken to the Prince of the Pit? Is no one else about to puke at the thought?" Ruhn held up a hand, and Tharion lazily lifted one from the bench, but Bryce high-fived Hunt. "Special kids club," she said to the angel, who winked at her.

Prince Hunt Athalar Danaan. He would have hated the last name were it not for the fact that it was a marker of her ownership over his soul, his heart.

Bryce was too fast, even for him, as she leapt in front of the blow, Starsword extended. A wild theory, only half-formed, but— Hunt’s lightning hit the Starsword, and the world erupted.

Come on,' he repeated, pumping her chest again with his hands. 'I'm waiting for you.' He'd been waiting for her from the moment he'd been born. And as if she'd heard him, Bryce exploded into life.

Bryce barely heard the woman as she nodded. Barely heard anything beyond Hunt's lingering words. I've got you. Her fingers curled around his. She let her eyes tell him everything her ravaged throat couldn't. I've got you, too.

Hunt hissed to Bryce through his gritted teeth, thunder cracking above him, "I heard what you said." Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. "What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward." His lightning surged into her, sending her body off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heart. He snarled in her ear, "Now come say it to my face.

...I realised all this was the wrong path. But you and me, Bryce... You are where I want to end up. A life- with you. You are my fucking path.

I heard what you said. What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward. Now come say it to my face!' -- Hunt

He said after a while, "You traded your resting place in the Bone Quarter for Danika's." "Given what happens to everyone over there, I feel kind of relieved about that now." "Yeah." He took one of her hands in his and laid their interlaced fingers atop his heart. "But wherever you're headed when this life is over, Quinlan, that's where I want to be, too.

Hard to enjoy being free,” Hunt countered darkly, “if you’re dead.” Cormac opened the door, stepping into the swirling shadows. “I can think of no better reason to yield my life.

For Jelly Jubilee in the flesh?” Hunt grinned. “Anything.

It'd be safer not to go at all, but here we are, going," Hunt said. Ruhn wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself as the angel crossed the room and knelt before Bryce, grabbing her hands. "I want a future with you. That's why I'm going. I'm going to fight for that future." His sister's eyes softened. Hunt kissed her hands. "And to do so, we can't play by other people's rules.

Why would Danika tell them to lie low in the Meat Market?” “Why tell them to lie low in the Bone Quarter?” She sniffed and sighed with a longing toward a bowl of noodle soup. Hunt said, “Even if Danika or Sofie told Emile it was safe to hide out, if I were a kid, I wouldn’t have come here.” “You were a kid, like, a thousand years ago. Forgive me if my childhood is a little more relevant.” “Two hundred years ago,” he muttered. “Still old as fuck.

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.

The strike had been for the rebellion, Hunt knew, but the escape—the escape had been entirely for Ruhn.

This sunball-watching person doesn't fit with my mental image of the Shadow of Death.' 'Sorry to disappoint.' Hunt's turn to lift a brow. 'What do you think I do with my spare time?' 'I don't know. I assumed you cursed at the stars and brooded and plotted revenge on all your enemies.

It's almost out," the witch hissed, grunting with effort. "Hang on, Bryce." She did. To Hunt, to his hand, to that softness in his eyes, she held on. With all she had. "I've got you," he murmured. "Sweetheart, I've got you." He'd never said it like that before- that word. It had always been mocking, teasing. She'd always found it just this side of annoying. Not this time. Not when he held her hand and her gaze and everything she was. Riding out the pain with her. "Breathe," he ordered her. "You can do it. We can get through this." Get through it- together. Get through this mess of a life together. Through this mess of a world.

Why,' she asked Bryce, 'is Hunt Athalar your roommate?' 'He was booted from the 33rd for his questionable fashion sense,' she said munching on the croissant. 'I told him his boring black clothes don't bother me, and let him stay here.

What sort of an afterward for you and me do you have in mind, Athalar?' He didn't balk from her searching gaze. 'The good kind,' he said with equal quiet.

I've got you,' he murmured. 'Sweetheart, I've got you.

Orion was bred to be receptive to our kind. Why do you think he is so adept at hunting us?

I don't need a male telling me when to eat.' 'How about a friend telling you that you had an understandably rough night, and you get mean as shit when you're hungry?

Hunt's fingers stroked over her brow. 'I thought to myself, There's someone I want guarding my back. There's a friend I'd live to have. I think I gave you such a hard time when we met up again because... because some part of me knew that, and was afraid of what it'd mean.

Bryce explained everything again, and Hunt couldn't keep himself from tugging her closer. When she finished, Ruhn echoed Hunt's words. "We got lucky tonight. You got lucky tonight." Bryce winked at Hunt. "And I plan to get lucky again." "Gross," Ruhn said as Declan snickered.

Go to the gym or the roof if you’re going to brawl. Please. I can’t afford to lose any more furniture.” She scowled at Ithan at that. Hunt snickered. “We’ll get through the mourning process together, Quinlan. Have a proper send-off for the coffee table. Holstrom should give the eulogy, since he broke it.

It felt like my power went into you,” Hunt said, eyes tracking the lightning as it slithered down her body. “It’s … yours.” “As mine is yours,” she said, touching a fleck of starlight glittering between the sable locks of his hair.

Stop cursing so much. You're upsetting Syrinx.' He leaned close enough to note gold flecks in her amber eyes. 'You have the dirtiest mouth I've ever heard, sweetheart. And from the way you act, I think you might be the alphahole here.

Ruhn nodded to Hunt. “We need you to be the Umbra Mortis. He’s a badass—he wouldn’t hesitate.” “A badass,” Hunt said, “not a cannibal.” “Desperate times,” Ruhn said, meeting Hunt’s stare. Determination and focus filled the prince’s face.

Does it matter now?” Flynn asked. “I mean, no offense, but Danika’s gone.” Bryce gave him a flat look. “Really? I had no idea.” Flynn flipped her off, and the sprites ooohed at his shoulder. Bryce rolled her eyes. Exactly what Flynn needed: his own flock of cheerleaders trailing him at all hours. She said to Flynn, “Hey, remember that time you set a dragon free and we’re dumb enough to think she’d follow your orders?” “Hey, remember that time you wanted to marry me and wrote Lady Bryce Flynn in all your notebooks?” Hunt choked. Bryce countered with, “Hey, remember when you pestered me for years to hook up with you, but I have something called standards—” “This is highly unusual behavior for royals,” Hypaxia observed. “You have no idea,” Ruhn muttered, earning a smile from the queen.

I don't see how I can move on from loving her when she gave up everything for me. For the cause.' He shook his head. 'Every time I hook up, I remember it.

Want to come play Scary Asshole with me?' Despite everything, despite the Asteri's watching and all that had occurred, Bryce smiled. 'I have just the outfit.

I'd think cuddling in front of the TV allowed me to at least be able to voice my opinions without getting my head bitten off.

Hunt leaned forward putting his cool brow against hers. 'I've known who you were this whole time. I never forgot you.

Please tell me you don't have a foot fetish.' 'No. But everything where you're involved is a fetish for me.

Your chest is as big as mine,' she muttered. 'That's the least sexy thing anyone has ever said to me,' ...

I've never stopped wanting it- wanting you. I thought it was obvious.

I love you. You're crazy and shady as all Hel, but I love you.

I mean, don't go in there playing Scary Asshole. May try for an Approachable Asshole vibe.' ... 'Approachable Asshole it is, Quinlan.

Isn't it exhausting to be an alphahole all the time? Do you guys have a handbook for it? Maybe secret support groups?

Hunt studied the knife sheathed at his thigh. “Danika Fendyr was one of the strongest Vanir in the city, even without making the Drop. She begged like a human by the end.

Half-dangling between Hunt and Baxian, Ruhn stared at her. Still said nothing. The world seemed to hold its breath as the elegant doe walked up to Ruhn and gently, lovingly, nuzzled his neck.

The sword's as much yours as it is mine.' Bryce waved a hand. 'I'll take it on weekends and holidays, don't worry.' Hunt tossed in. 'And it'll get two Winter Solstices, so... double the presents.

You think Lidia will make it?” Hunt rubbed his jaw. “I hope so. We need her.” “For what?” Hunt gave his old enemy—now friend, he supposed—a slash of a smile. “To make these fuckers pay for what they’ve done.

I'm sorry I dumped my baggage in your lap.' A corner of his mouth turned up. 'You can dump your baggage in my lap anytime, Quinlan.' She snorted, shaking her head. 'You made it sound gross.' 'You said it first.

Ruhn said to her, “I asked you to come. Not him.” Bryce linked her arm through Athalar’s, the portrait they painted laughable: Bryce in her fancy work dress and heels, the angel in his black battle-suit. “We’re joined at the hip now, unfortunately for you. Best, best friends.” “The best,” Hunt echoed, his grin unfading.

Boyfriend sounds weird for you. It's so... young. But what else is there?' If he had a star on his chest, Hunt knew it'd be glowing as he asked. 'Partner?' 'Not sexy enough.' 'Lover?' 'Does that come with a ruff and a lute?' He swept a wing over her bare thigh. 'Anyone ever tell you that you're a pain in the ass?' 'Just ye olde lover.

She laid he palm over his thundering heart. 'Did you just call me a fucking coward?' Hunt tipped his head to the stars and laughed. 'So what if I did?' She angled her face closer to his. 'Too bad all that healing firstlight didn't turn you into a decent person.' 'Where would the fun be in that, Quinlan?

Hunt.' The entire world went quiet. 'I was waiting for you.' 'Bryce, sweetheart, just get back to your apartment and give me an hour and-' 'No,' she whispered, closing her eyes. She put her hand on her chest. Over her heart. 'I was waiting for you- in here.' Hunt couldn't stop his own tears then. 'I was waiting for you, too.

Hey, remember that time you set a dragon free and were dumb enough to think she'd follow your orders?' 'Hey, remember that time you wanted to marry me and wrote Lady Bryce Flynn in all your notebooks?' Hunt choked. Bryce countered with, 'Hey, remember when you pestered me for years to hook up with you, but I have something called standards-

The Hawk smiled up at Baxian. “How about we start with your tongue today, traitor?” To Baxian’s credit, he stuck out his tongue toward the Hawk in invitation. Hunt smirked. Yeah—they were all in this together. To the bitter end. The Hawk cut his stare toward Hunt. “You’ll be next, Athalar.” “Come and get it,” Hunt gasped. Ruhn extended his tongue as well.

And being dickless, even for a few months, wasn’t high up on Hunt’s to-do list.

Orion, his mother had named him. Hunter. He doubted she would have done so, would have so lovingly called him Hunt instead, if she’d known what he’d become.

She’s here,” Hunt said. The scent of her still lingered on the sidewalk, lilac and nutmeg and something he couldn’t quite place—like the gleam of the first stars at nightfall.

earned Hunt a nickname whispered down every corridor and street in Crescent City: the Umbra Mortis. The Shadow of Death.

Hunt swore softly at the mercenary’s name. Fury Axtar was licensed to kill in half a dozen countries. Including this one.

Don't let the books sweet-talk you into taking them home.

Look at you,' he breathed. 'Bryce.' 'Look at us,' she whispered, and lifted up to kiss him.

The answer,' Hunt went on, 'is with me. Anywhere you or I go, we go together from now on. Got it?

Apollion lifted a hand. Pure, sizzling lightning danced around it, arcing out to meet Hunt’s. “Welcome, son,” said the Prince of the Pit.

Hyrieus,” Aidas answered. “He was a good male, Hunt Athalar. As you are.

I can handle myself-' 'I can't fucking handle myself, Quinlan. Not if you might be in danger.

She had brought joy, and laughter, and love, had pried him free of that cold, dark existence and pulled him into the light. Her light. He wouldn't let it be extinguished.

Do you want to go outside so we can get caught fooling around in public by the press? That'll make us really official.

Don't worry about that shit. We focus on the now, then deal with everything else afterward.

and though she knew there was work to do to heal Midgard, the world was out there. Life was out there. So Bryce and Hunt ran out to live it. Together.

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.

Yeah, yeah, you're the tough, smart male who knows best and I'm an impulsive female whose feelings get her in trouble-

We'll get through the mourning process together, Quinlan. Have a proper send-off for the coffee table. Holstrom should give the eulogy, since he broke it.

Approachable asshole, reporting for duty.

Ruhn demanded, “Did you figure out what kind of demon did it?” “Something that eats little princes for breakfast,” Hunt crooned. Ruhn bared his teeth. “Blow me, Athalar.

The fearless, fuzzy messengers were hard to resist, even for Hunt.

She’d seen more than her fair share of cut, beautiful male bodies, but Hunt Athalar’s blew them all away.

Hunt crossed the distance between them. Took her hands. “You’re my mirror. You said so yourself.

El amor es una trampa, Hunt.

When you nail Hunt Athalar’s balls to the wall, will you do me a favor and take a picture?

Hunt had managed to prop himself up on his elbows when Ithan yelled from the other side of the apartment, “Please: have sex a little louder! I didn’t hear everything that time!

Isaiah looked back at Hunt, his eyes brimming with pride and determination. The warrior touched his heart and flew off. Hunt lifted his arm in salute and farewell, as if beyond words.

It brings me no joy to see you with the halo and slave brand again, Athalar.” “Halo,” Hunt asked as solidly as he could, “or black crown?” Rigelus blinked—the only sign of his surprise—but the term clearly landed with the Bright Hand. “Been talking to shadows, have you?” Rigelus hissed. “Umbra Mortis and all that,” Hunt said. “Makes sense for the Shadow of Death.” Baxian chuckled.

I acted like an asshole. Let me cook something for you to make up for it.' Based on how much chilli powder you just dumped into that pan, I'm not sure I want to accept this particular apology.

There are thirty-six photos on your four-year-old phone, and all of them are of dismembered bodies,' she said. Someone gasped across the store. Hunt gritted his teeth. 'Say it a little louder, Quinlan.' She frowned. 'You never take any others?' 'Of what?' 'Oh, I don't know- of life? A pretty flower or good meal or something?' 'What's the point?' She blinked, then shook her head. 'Weirdo.' And before he could stop her, she'd angled his phone in front of her, beamed from ear to ear, and snapped a photo of herself before she handed it back to him. 'There. One non-corpse photo.

But the work Hunt did in the shadows for the Archangels—for Micah, currently—that was what had earned him his nickname. Hunt answered directly to Micah, and the rest of them stayed out of his way.

Do you ever wonder?” she blurted. “What might have happened if you hadn’t sent your goons to hunt us down, or hadn’t tossed me to the curb when I was thirteen?” His eyes flickered. “Every single day.

Tell my dad …,” she whispered. The Autumn King stiffened. Looked back toward Hunt. “Tell Randall,” she clarified, “that I’m so proud I got to call him my father. That he was the only one that ever mattered.

This wasn't supposed to happen- between us,' she whispered. 'I know,' he said, kissing her shaking fingers again. He gently unfurled them, exposing the heart of her palm. He pressed his mouth there, too. 'But thank fucking Urd it did.' Her hands stopped shaking. Hunt lifted his eyes from her hand to find her own lined with silver- and full of fire. He interlaced their fingers. 'For fuck's sake, just kiss me, Quinlan.

We're going to be alright,' she lied. 'We're going to go home, where Syrinx is waiting for us. We're going to go home. You and me. Together. We'll have that afterward, like you promised. But only if you hold on, Hunt.

if the cost of uniting the sword and knife is too much, Bryce Quinlan, then don’t do it. Choose life.” He glanced to Hunt. “Choose each other. I have lived with the alternative for millennia—the loss never gets easier to bear.

Hunt squinted as he lowered his wing and met the shithead’s eyes. “Fuck you.” Like Hel would these assholes make him beg and grovel—either for his own life or Ruhn’s. Lidia said mildly, “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Athalar.” Hunt looked, but not fast enough. The Hawk certainly didn’t look fast enough. And Hunt knew he’d treasure this moment forever: the moment when Lidia Cervos pulled out her gun and fired it right between the Hawk’s eyes.

Bryce had developed a keen awareness of Hunt’s presence, like scenting lightning on the wind. He had only to enter a room and she’d know if he was there by that surge of power in her body. Like her magic, her very blood answered to his.

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.

He sat close enough that his thigh pressed into hers and went so far as to drape a wing over her. Like he'd never let her out of his sight again. She breathed in his scent, his warmth, over and over again. The most wonderful things in this universe.

With Hunt, the explosion of energy-filled light that had probably erupted from him when he’d made the Drop had likely gone toward fueling an entire city. She sometimes wondered about it: whose firstlight was powering her phone, or the stereo, or her coffee machine.

Allow me to introduce my shepherd,” The Under-King said from the mist ahead, standing beside a ten-foot-tall black dog. Each of its fangs were as long as one of her fingers. All hooked—like a shark’s. Designed to latch into flesh and hold tight while it ripped and shredded. Its eyes were milky white—sightless. Identical to the Under-King’s. Her light would have no effect on something that was already blind. The dog’s fur—sleek and iridescent enough that it almost resembled scales—flowed over bulky, bunched muscles. Claws like razor blades sliced into the dry ground. Hunt’s lightning crackled, skittering at Bryce’s feet. “That’s a demon,” he ground out. He’d fought enough of them to know. “An experiment of the Prince of the Ravine’s, from the First Wars,” the Under-King rasped. “Forgotten and abandoned here in Midgard during the aftermath. Now my faithful companion and helper. You’d be surprised how many souls do not wish to make their final offering to the Gate. The Shepherd…Well, it herds them for me. As it shall herd you.” “Fry this fucker,” Bryce muttered to Hunt as the dog snarled. “I’m assessing.” “Assess faster. Roast it like a—” “Do not make a joke about—” “Hot dog.” Bryce had no sooner finished saying the words than the hound lunged. Hunt struck, swift and sure, a lightning bolt spearing toward its neck.

I love you. I wish I'd said it more. But I love you, Quinlan, and...' His throat closed up, his eyes stinging. His lips brushed her brow. 'Our love is stronger than time, greater than any distance. Our love spans across stars and worlds. I will find you again. I promise.

Hunt fell back on centuries of training to keep the shock off his face. Black salts were used for summoning demons directly—bypassing the Northern Rift entirely—or for various dark spellwork. A salt that went beyond black, a salt like the obsidian … It could summon something big.

Azriel said nothing, face impassive. Fine. Sighing, Bryce surveyed the carvings on the floor. Whorls and faces and— The hair on her arms rose. “These are Midgard’s constellations.” Bryce pointed to a cluster. “That’s the Great Ladle. And that … that’s Orion. The hunter.” Hunt. Her Hunt.

She wasn’t a monster. Was she? Maybe she’d regret it. She knew Hunt would have yelled at her for setting a trap only to go help the people she’d ensnared. But Bryce began running again, hurtling through the cave. Back toward Nesta and Azriel. And prayed there was something left for her to save.

Ember at last pulled away from Nesta. But she gently put a hand to the female’s cheek and whispered, “You’ll find your way,” before walking to the portal. Bryce could have sworn there were tears in Nesta’s eyes as her mother stepped back into Midgard. But those tears were gone when Nesta met Bryce’s stare. And Cassian, like any good mate, sensed when he wasn’t wanted, and walked over to the fireplace to pretend to read some sort of old-looking manuscript. Bryce knew that, also like any good mate, if she made one wrong move, he’d rip her to shreds. Which was precisely why Hunt had come back into the room, and was watching Nesta carefully. “Alphaholes,” Nesta echoed, eyes gleaming with amusement. Bryce chuckled and drew the Starsword. Again, Cassian tensed, but Bryce just offered it to Nesta. The female took it, blinking. “You said you had an eight-pointed star tattooed on you,” Bryce explained. “And you found the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison, too.” Nesta lifted her head. “So?” “So I want you to take the Starsword.” Bryce held the blade between them. “Gwydion—whatever you call it here. The age of the Starborn is over on Midgard. It ends with me.” “I don’t understand.” But Bryce began backing toward the portal, taking Hunt’s hand, and smiled again at the female, at her mate, at their world, as the Northern Rift began to close. “I think that the eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason. Take that sword and go figure out why.

Maybe that day he'd first met Bryce, the gods had sent him there. Not to be some instrument of Hel, but because Urd knew that there would be a female who would be kind and selfless and brave, who would give everything for her city, for her planet. And that she would need someone to give everything back to her.

We’re not going to make it,” Baxian called as Lidia zoomed toward the guard station. “Lidia,” Athalar warned. “Get down!” Lidia barked, and Ruhn shut his eyes, sinking low as the grate lowered at an alarming rate. Metal screamed and exploded right above them, the car rocking, shuddering— Yet Lidia kept driving. She raced onto the open road beyond the city as the grate slammed shut behind them. “Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” Hunt shouted to Lidia, and Ruhn opened his eyes to find that the gunner had been ripped clean off. Baxian was clinging for dear life to the back of the jeep, a manic grin on his face.

Azriel struck before she could exhale. Searing, sharp power, a bolt of blue right into her star. Bryce bent over, coughing, breathing around the burn, the alien strangeness of the power. “Are you all right?” Nesta asked with something like concern. Was it his power? Or something about this world? Even Hunt’s hadn’t felt like this—so undiluted, like one-hundred-proof liquor. Bryce closed her eyes and counted to ten, breathing hard. Letting it ease into her blood. Her bones. It tingled along her limbs. Slowly, she straightened, opening her eyes. From the way the others’ faces were illuminated, she knew her gaze had turned incandescent.

You appeared as a cat the last time” was all Bryce said. All. She. Said. Hunt dared take his eyes off the Prince of the Chasm to find Bryce bowing her head. Aidas slid his slender hands into the pockets of his closely tailored jacket and pants—the material blacker than the Chasm in which he resided. “You were very young then.

You're really trying to convince me to make the Ascent for a guy?' 'Is Hunt Athalar really just some guy to you?' Danika's smile turned gentle. 'And why is it somehow a mark against your strength to admit that there is someone, who happens to be male, worth returning to? Someone who I know made you feel like things are far from fucked.

Hunt bristled at the sound of her name on the prince’s lips. But he found himself looking to Quinlan, to torture himself with the damning agreement he’d find on her face. Only sorrow lay there. And something like understanding. Like she saw him, as he’d seen her in that shooting gallery, marked every broken shard and didn’t mind the jagged bits.

Everything that ever happened to me, it was all so I could meet you, Quinlan. Be here with you. I'm yours. Forever.' Her throat tightened, and the star on her chest flared, lighting up the entire conservatory like a small moon. Bryce kissed him back, not caring who saw, only that he was here. 'Everything I am is yours,' she said against his lips.

Hunt, with his gray wings and common blood, despite his lightning, had never even been in the running. Being asked to join Shahar’s elite 18th had been privilege enough. He’d loved her almost instantly for seeing his worth—and Isaiah’s. All of the 18th had been like that: soldiers she’d selected not for their status, but their skills. Their true value.

Is that coffee?” Hunt busied himself with pouring three cups, passing one to Quinlan first. “A drop of coffee in a cup of milk, just as you like it.” “Asshole.” She swiped the mug. “I don’t know how you drink it straight.” “Because I’m a grown-up.” Hunt passed the second mug to Ithan, whose large hands engulfed the white ceramic cup that said I Survived Class of 15032 Senior Week and All I Got Was This Stupid Mug! Ithan peered at it, his mouth twitching. “I remember this mug.” Hunt fell silent as Bryce let out a breathy laugh. “I’m surprised you do, given how drunk you were. Even though you were a sweet baby frosh.” Ithan chuckled, a hint of the handsome, cocky male Hunt had heard about. “You and Danika had me doing keg stands at ten in the morning. How was I supposed to stay sober?” The wolf sipped from his coffee. “My last memory from that day is of you and Danika passed out drunk on a couch you’d moved right into the middle of the quad.” “And why was that your last memory?” Bryce asked sweetly. “Because I was passed out next to you,” Ithan said, grinning now.

The radio crackled again, and a stranger’s voice filled it. “Daybright, we’re a go at Meridan.” Another voice: “We’re a go at Alcene.” Another: “Ready at Ravilis.” On and on. Eleven locations total. Then a soft female voice said, “This is Irithys. Set to ignite at the Eternal City.” “What the fuck is happening, Lidia?” Hunt breathed. They raced through the narrow city streets, the van with Flynn falling into line behind them. Hunt grunted, “Those are all places on the Spine.” Athalar was right: Every single city mentioned was a major depot along the vital railway that funneled imperial weapons to the front. Lidia didn’t take her eyes off the road as she picked up the radio. “This is Daybright. Blast it to Hel, Irithys.

You know what Bryce would do to me if you wound up dead? I'd never get to fondle her underwear again.' Ithan gaped at him. Then burst out laughing. It was a rich sound, a little hoarse- like he hadn't done it in a while. 'I'm surprised Athalar lets you live.' 'You know what Bryce would do to Hunt if I wound up dead?' Tharion grinned. 'My sweet Legs has my back.

Hunt hissed to Bryce through his gritted teeth, thunder cracking above him, 'I heard what you said.' Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. 'What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward.' His lightning surged into her, sending her body arcing off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heard. He snarled in her ear. 'Now come say it to my face.

You said you love me.' 'And?' She cocked an eyebrow. Hunt's mouth twitched upward. 'It was said under duress.' She bit her lip. He wanted to plant his teeth there. 'Are you asking whether I meant it, or do you think you're that good with your mouth that I went out of my mind?' He flicked her nose. 'Smart-ass.' She flopped back onto the mattress. 'They're both true.

Micah had offered Hunt the bargain from his first day in Crescent City four years ago: a kill for every life he’d taken that bloody day on Mount Hermon. Every angel he’d slaughtered during that doomed battle, he was to pay back. In the form of more death. A death for a death, Micah had said. When you’ve fulfilled the debt, Athalar, we’ll discuss removing that tattoo on your brow.

What happened when Mordoc visited Danika?” Bryce asked. “It didn’t go well. He came back to Sandriel’s castle…” Baxian said to Hunt, “Remember that time he ate that human couple?” Bryce choked. “He what?” Hunt said roughly, “Yeah.” “That was when he’d returned from the visit to the Den,” Baxian explained. “He was in such a rage that he went out and killed a human couple he found on the street.

Hunt said, “I lost track of time, too. The Asteri dungeons are so far beneath the earth, so lightless, that days are years and years are days and … When they let me out, I went right to the Archangel Ramuel. My first … handler. He continued the pattern for two years, got bored with it, and realized that I’d be more useful dispatching demons and doing his bidding than rotting away in his torture chambers.” “Burning Solas, Hunt,” she whispered.

The Oracle blinked, a slow bob of those thick lashes. “You remind me of that which was lost long ago,” she said quietly. “I had not realized it might ever appear again.” Before Hunt dared ask what that meant, her lion’s tail—a larger version of Syrinx’s—swayed over the floor. The doors behind him opened on a phantom wind, his dismissal clear. But the Oracle said before stalking into the vapors, “Do yourself a favor, Orion Athalar: keep well away from Bryce Quinlan.

It was catastrophic.” She swallowed against the memory. “When the Oracle looked into her smoke, she screamed. Clawed at her eyes.” There was no point hiding it. The event had been known in some circles. “I heard later that she went blind for a week.” “Holy shit.” Bryce laughed to herself. “Apparently, my future is that bad.” Hunt didn’t smile. “What happened?” “I returned to the petitioners’ antechamber. All you could hear was the Oracle screaming and cursing me—the acolytes rushed in.

Only Aidas remained, seeming to cling to the connection as he spoke to Bryce, his blue eyes intense on her face. “If you find that final piece of Theia’s power … if the cost of uniting the sword and knife is too much, Bryce Quinlan, then don’t do it. Choose life.” He glanced to Hunt. “Choose each other. I have lived with the alternative for millennia—the loss never gets easier to bear.” Bryce reached a ghostly hand toward Aidas, but the Prince of the Chasm was gone. And all of Hel with him.

One after another, I hunted monsters—the remaining pets of the Daglan—until many of the lowest rooms were filled with them. Until my once-beautiful home became a prison. Until even the land was so disgusted by the evil I’d gathered here that the islands shriveled and the earth became barren. The winged horses who hadn’t gone with my mother to Midgard, who had once flown in the skies, playing in the surf … they were nearly gone. Not a single living soul remained, except for the monstrosities in the mountain.

Bryce didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything other than, “Who’s selling synth in the river?” The grin vanished from Tharion’s face. Hunt began to object, but the mer said, “Not in, Legs.” He shook his head. “On the river.” “So it’s true, then. It’s—it’s what? A healing drug that leaked from a lab? Who’s behind it?” Hunt stepped up to her side. “Tharion—” “Danika Fendyr,” Tharion said, his eyes soft. Like he knew who Danika had been to her. “The intel came in a day before her death. She was spotted doing a deal on a boat just past here.

Bryce glanced to Nesta, who was watching warily. So Bryce reached into her jacket and pulled out the Mask. “Here. As promised.” Everyone fell silent. And then Bryce drew Truth-Teller and Cassian looked like he’d jump between her and Nesta. Hunt set his feet into a fighting stance in response, but Bryce just said, “Alphaholes,” and laid the dagger on the table between their tea set and treats. “You brought them back.” Nesta’s voice was quiet. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” “I don’t know what I thought,” Nesta said, smiling slightly.

Indeed, Ruhn said, “Wanna … hear a … joke?” The prince didn’t wait for a reply before he continued, “Two angels … and a Fae Prince … walk into … a dungeon …” Ruhn didn’t finish, and didn’t need to. A broken, rasping laugh came out of Hunt. Then Baxian. Then Ruhn. Though every heave shrieked through his arms, his back, his broken body, Hunt couldn’t stop laughing. The sound bordered on hysteria. Soon tears were leaking down his cheeks, and he knew from the scent that the others were laughing and crying as well, like it was the funniest fucking thing in the world. The door to the chamber banged open,

You said you had an eight-pointed star tattooed on you,” Bryce explained. “And you found the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison, too.” Nesta lifted her head. “So?” “So I want you to take the Starsword.” Bryce held the blade between them. “Gwydion—whatever you call it here. The age of the Starborn is over on Midgard. It ends with me.” “I don’t understand.” But Bryce began backing toward the portal, taking Hunt’s hand, and smiled again at the female, at her mate, at their world, as the Northern Rift began to close. “I think that eight-pointed star was tattooed on you for a reason. Take that sword and go figure out why.

Bryce held her stare. Clearly, they didn’t want her dead, if they’d sent someone to retrieve her, not hunt her down. But if she returned to that cell, how long would they keep her there? Even hours could make a difference for Hunt and Ruhn— “I’m always up for a day of discovery,” Bryce said. Then she erupted with light. Nesta cursed, but Bryce didn’t wait to see if the light had blinded her before bolting down the passage. Without any weapons, a running head start was her best chance of making it. A force like a stone wall hit her from behind. The world tilted, her breath rushing from her as she collided with the stone ground, bones barking in pain. Shadows had wrapped around her, pinning her, and she thrashed, kicking and swatting at them.

I know you'll keep going forward, Quinlan- even if it sucks.' 'What makes you so sure of it?' His feet were silent as he crossed the kitchen. She tipped back her head to hold his stare. 'Because you pretend to be irreverent and lazy, but deep down, you don't give up. Because you know that if you do, then they win. All the asp-holes, as you called them, win. So living, and living well- it's the greatest fuck you that you can ever give them.' 'That's why you're still fighting.' He ran a hand ver the tattoo on his brow. 'Yes.' She let out a hmm, stirring the mixture in the pain again. 'Well then, Athalar. I guess it'll be you and me in the trenches for a while longer.' He smiled at her, more openly than he'd dared do with anyone in a long while. 'You know,' he said, 'I think I like the sound of that.

Hunt opened his mouth, his last bit of bravado before the shitshow began, but in the shadows behind Pollux, beyond the fireplace, something dark moved. Something darker than shadow. Not Ruhn’s shadows. The prince didn’t seem to be able to access those when constrained by the gorsian shackles. Only the prince’s mind-speaking abilities remained. This shadow was different—darker, older. Watching them. Watching Hunt. Hallucinations: Bad, because it meant he had some infection that even his immortal body couldn’t fight off. Good, because it meant he might quietly slip away into death’s embrace. Bad, because it meant the Asteri might turn their attention fully to Bryce. Good, because the pain would be gone. Bad, because he still held out some stupid, fool’s hope deep in his heart of seeing her again. Good, because Bryce wouldn’t come looking for him if he was dead. Across the room, the thing in the shadows moved. Just slightly. Like it had crooked a finger at him. Death. That was the thing in the shadows. And now it beckoned.

The Middengard Wyrm had arrived at last. Precisely according to Bryce’s plan. She’d been dripping blood for it all this way, leaving a trail, constantly scraping off her scabs to reopen her wounds—ones she’d intentionally inflicted on herself by “falling” into the stream. If the Wyrm relied on scent to hunt, then she’d left a veritable neon sign leading right to them. She hadn’t known when or how it would attack, but she’d been waiting. And she was ready. Bryce fell back as not only shadows, but blue light flared from Azriel—right alongside the ripple of silver flame from Nesta. Back-to-back, they faced the massive creature with razor-sharp focus. Ataraxia gleamed in Nesta’s hand. Truth-Teller pulsed with darkness in Azriel’s. Now or never. Her legs tensed, readying to sprint. Nesta’s eyes slid to Bryce’s for a heartbeat. As if understanding at last: Bryce’s “unhealing” hand. The blood she’d wiped on the walls. Her musing about the linked river system in these caves, sussing out what they knew regarding the terrain and the Wyrm. To unleash this thing—on them. “I’m sorry,” Bryce said to her. And ran.

After centuries with an empty womb, my mother bore both my sister and me within a span of five years. My father was fading by then—he was centuries older than my mother. But Fionn did not consider my mother a worthy successor. The crown should go to the eldest child, he said—to my sister, Helena. It was time, he thought, for a new generation to lead. It did not sit well with my mother, or with many of those in her court—especially her general, Pelias. He agreed with my mother that Helena was too young to inherit our father’s throne. But my mother was still in her prime. Still ripe with power, and it was clear that she’d been blessed by the gods themselves, since she had been gifted children at long last. So it was just as it had been before: those behind the throne worked to upend it. The image shifted to some sort of marsh—a bog. Fionn rode a horse between the islands of grass, bow at the ready as he ducked beneath trees in bloom. My parents often went hunting in the vast slice of land the Daglan had kept for their private game park, where they had crafted terrible monsters to serve as worthy prey. It was there that he met his death.

You’ve known Bryce for what—a few months? We were friends for five years. So don’t fucking talk about me, my brother, or her as if you know anything about us. You don’t know shit, Umbra Mortis.” “I know you were a dick to her for two years. I watched you stand by while Amelie Ravenscroft tormented her. Grow the fuck up.” Ithan barred his teeth. Hunt barred his own right back. Syrinx hopped to his feet and whined, demanding more food. Hunt couldn’t help his exasperated laugh. “Fine, fine,” he said to the chimera, reaching for the container of kibble. Ithan’s eyes burned him like a brand. Hunt had seen that same take-no-shit face during televised sunball games. “Connor was in love with her for those five years, you know.” The wolf headed over to the couch and plopped onto the cushions. “Five years, and by the end of it, he’d only managed to get her to agree to go on a date with him.” Hunt kept his face unreadable as Syrinx devoured his second—potentially third—breakfast. “So?” Ithan turned on the morning news before propping his feet on the coffee table and interlacing his hands behind his head. “You’re at month five, bro. Good luck to you.

Rhysand mastered himself, a cool mask sliding into place. “You live in such a world.” It wasn’t entirely a question. But Bryce nodded. “Yes.” “And they want to bring all of that … here.” “Yes.” Rhysand stared ahead. Thinking it through. Azriel just kept his eyes on the space where the orb had displayed the utter destruction of her world. Dreading—and yet calculating. She’d seen that look before on Hunt’s face. A warrior’s mind at work. Amren turned to Rhys, meeting his stare. Bryce knew that look, too. A silent conversation passing between them. As Bryce and Ruhn had often spoken. Her heart wrenched to see it, to remember. It steadied her, though. Sharpened her focus. The Asteri had been here—under a different name, but they’d been here. The ancestors of these Fae had defeated them. And Urd had sent her here—here, not Hel. Here, where she’d instantly encountered a dagger that made the Starsword sing. Like it had been the lodestone that had drawn her to this world, to that riverbank. Could it really be the knife from the prophecy? She’d believed that destroying the Asteri would be as simple as obliterating that firstlight core, yet Urd had sent her here.

But the portal was closing, getting smaller and smaller, and— A glowing, black figure filled it. Then another. Aidas and Apollion. Their power grabbed the edges of the portal and held it a little wider. Held it open a moment longer. And with what little strength he had left, Hunt threw a desperate, raging, blazing-hot rope of lightning toward Apollion. The only being on Midgard who could handle his power. Apollion caught it, in that humanoid form once more, and pulled. Aidas flared with black light, pushing back against the sealing portal, against Urd’s wishes. Hunt was close enough to see the princes’ strained faces, Apollion’s teeth flashing as he dragged Hunt by his lightning, inch by inch, closer and closer. Aidas was sweating, panting as he fought to keep the portal open— And then Ruhn was there. Starlight flaring. Pushing back against the impossible. Lidia was beside him, crackling with fire. Tharion. Holstrom. Flynn and Dec. A fire sprite, her small body bright with flame. Isaiah and Naomi. So many hands, so many powers, from almost every House. The friends they’d made were what mattered in the end. Not the enemies. Through love, all is possible. It was love that was holding the portal open.

Bryce walked calmly to the hidden supply closet. Pulled out a red plastic container. And dumped the entire gallon of gasoline on the Governor’s dismembered corpse. “Holy fuck,” Ruhn whispered, over and over. “Holy fuck.” The rest of the room didn’t so much as breathe too loudly. Even Sandriel had no words as Bryce grabbed a pack of matches from a drawer in her desk. She struck one, and tossed it onto the Governor’s body. Flames erupted. The fireproofing enchantments on the art around her shimmered. There would be no chance of salvation. Of healing. Not for Micah. Not after what he had done to Danika Fendyr. To the Pack of Devils. And Lehabah. Bryce stared at the fire, her face still splattered with the Archangel’s blood. And finally, she lifted her eyes. Right to the camera. To the world watching. Vengeance incarnate. Wrath’s bruised heart. She would bow for no one. Hunt’s lightning sang at the sight of that brutal, beautiful face. Time sped up, the flames devouring Micah’s body, crisping his wings to cinders. They spat him out as ashes. Sirens wailed outside the gallery as the Auxiliary pulled up at last. Bryce slammed the front door shut as the first of the Fae units and wolf packs appeared. No one, not even Sandriel, spoke a word as Bryce took out the vacuum from the supply closet. And erased the last trace of Micah from the world.

I'm sorry you lost your friends.' 'I'm sorry you lost yours.' Bryce nodded her thanks, going back to stirring. 'I know people don't get it. It's just... a light went out inside me when it happened. Danika wasn't my sister, or my lover. But she was the one person I could be myself around and never feel judged. The one person that I knew would always pick up the phone, or call me back. She was the one person who made me feel brave because no matter what happened, no matter how bad or embarrassing or shitty it was, I knew that I had her in my corner. That if it all went to Hel, I could talk to her and it would be fine.' Her eyes gleamed, and it was all he could do to not cross the few feet between them and grab her hand as she continued. 'But it... I'm not fine. I will never talk to her again. I think people expect me to be over it by now. But I can't. Anytime I get anywhere close to the truth of my new reality, I want to space out again. To not have to be me. I can't fucking dance anymore because it reminds me of her- of all the dancing we did together in clubs or on the streets or in our apartment or dorm. I won't let myself dance anymore because it brought me joy, and... And I didn't, I don't, want to feel those things.' She swallowed. 'I know it sounds pathetic.' 'It's not,' he said quietly. 'I'm sorry I dumped my baggage in your lap.' A corner of his mouth turned up. 'You can dump your baggage in my lap anytime, Quinlan.' She snorted, shaking her head. 'You made it sound gross.' 'You said it first.

Although Bryce’s body still buzzed with all she and Hunt had done, seeing that slender female body on the table, the prince kneeling, head bowed…Her eyes stung. Hunt’s fingers found hers and squeezed. “I knew,” Cormac said roughly. His first words in minutes. “I think I always knew, but…” Ruhn stepped to his cousin’s side. Put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Cormac leaned his brow against the rim of the examination table. His voice shook. “She was good, and brave, and kind. I never deserved her, not for one minute.” Bryce’s throat ached. She let go of Hunt’s hand to approach Cormac, touching his other shoulder. Where would Sofie’s soul go? Did it linger near her body until they could give her a proper Sailing? If she went to one of the resting places, they’d be dooming her to a terrible fate. But Bryce didn’t say any of that. Not as Cormac slid his fingers beneath the black cloth and pulled out a blue-tinged, stiff hand. He clasped it in his own, kissing the dead fingers. His shoulders began to shake as his tears flowed. “We met during a recon report to Command,” Cormac said, voice breaking. “And I knew it was foolish, and reckless, but I had to speak to her after the meeting was over.” He kissed Sofie’s hand again, closing his eyes. “I should have gone back for her that night.” Tharion, who’d been poring over the corner’s files on Sofie at the desk by the far wall, said gently, “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope.” “It kept her alive in my heart a little longer,” Cormac said, swallowing back his tears. He pressed her stiff hand against his brow. “My Sofie.

They found Tharion on the couch with Ithan, the tv blasting the latest sports stats. Tharion munched on a piece of pizza, long legs sprawled out in front of him, bare feet on the coffee table. Ruhn might have stepped inside to grab a piece of that pizza had Bryce not gone still. A Fae sort of stillness, sizing up a threat. His instinct went to high alert, bellowing at him to defend, to attack, to slaughter any threat to his family. Ruhn suppressed it, held back by the shadows begging to be unleashed, to hide Bryce from sight. Ithan called over to them, “Pizza’s on the counter if you want some.” Bryce remained silent as fear washed over her scent. Ruhn’s fingers grazed the cool metal of the gun strapped to his thigh. “Your cat’s a sweetheart, by the way,” Ithan went on, not taking his focus from the TV as he stroked the white cat curled on his lap. Bryce slowly shut the door behind her. “He scared the shit out of me when he leapt onto the counter a few minutes ago, the bastard.” The wolf ran his fingers through the luxurious coat, earning a deep purr in response. The cat had stunning blue eyes. They seemed keenly aware as they fixed on Bryce. Ruhn’s shadows gathered at his shoulders, snakes waiting to strike. He subtly drew his gun. Behind her, a familiar ripple of ether-laced power kissed over her skin. A small reassurance as Bryce croaked, “That’s not a cat.” Hunt arrived at the apartment just in time to hear Bryce’s words through the shut front door. He was inside in a moment, lightning gathered at his fingers. “Oh, calm yourself,” the Prince of the Chasm said, leaping into the coffee table.

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. “What you were born to do—to accomplish the task for which your father brought you into existence,” Apollion said before fading into nothing, leaving Aidas standing alone before the prisoners. Shock reared up in Hunt, dampened by the weight of an old, unbidden hurt. “I have no father.” Aidas’s expression was sad as he stepped out of the shadows. “You spent too long asking the wrong questions.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Aidas shook his head. “The black crown once again circling your brow is not a new torment from the Asteri. It has existed for millennia.” “Tell me the fucking truth for once—” “Stay alive, Athalar.” The Prince of the Chasm followed his brother, vanishing into darkness and embers.

Bryce waved a hand. “I’ll take it on weekends and holidays, don’t worry.” Hunt tossed in, “And it’ll get two Winter Solstices, so … double the presents.

Ithan bared his teeth. Hunt bared his own right back. Syrinx hopped to his feet and whined, demanding more food.

the sword has no power without the knife.” “The knife?” Hunt asked. Ruhn drew the sword, the metal whining, and laid it on the table between them. Bryce leaned back, away from it, as a bead of starlight sang down the fuller and sparkled at the tip.

It mentions here that the sacred objects were made only for Fae like them. That the Horn worked only when that starlight flowed through it, when it was filled with power. This claims that the Starborn magic, in addition to a bunch of other crap, can be channeled through the sacred objects—bringing them to life. I sure as fuck have never been able to do anything like that, even with the Starsword. But it says that’s why the Prince of the Pit had to steal Pelias’s blood to make the kristallos to hunt the Horn—it contained that essence. I think the Horn could have been wielded by any of them, though.

Hunt again looked at her in that considering, all-seeing way. So Bryce peered over at Ruhn’s tome, skimmed a few lines, and then looked back up at Ruhn. “This whole section is about your fancy Avallen cousins. Shadow-walking, mind-reading … I’m surprised they don’t claim they’re Starborn.

The River Queen, part mer, part river-spirit, could summon far worse, they said. Possibly wash away all of Lunathion, if provoked. She was a daughter of Ogenas, according to legend, born from the mighty river-that-encircles-the-world, and sister to the Ocean Queen, the reclusive ruler of the five great seas of Midgard. There was a fifty-fifty chance the goddess thing was true of the River Queen, Hunt supposed. But regardless, the residents of this city did their best not to piss her off. Even Micah maintained a healthy, respectful relationship with her.

Sandriel—the Archangel and Governor of the northwestern quadrant of Pangera, and Hunt’s former owner before Micah had traded with her, desiring to have Hunt clear Crescent City of any enemies. Sandriel—his dead lover’s twin sister.

Sandriel had been Shahar’s prime target, and Hunt had been ordered to take her out. By whatever means necessary. And Shahar had good reason to go after her sister. Their parents had both been Archangels, whose titles had passed to their daughters after an assassin had somehow managed to rip them to shreds. He’d never forget Shahar’s theory: that Sandriel had killed their parents and framed the assassin. That she’d done it for herself and her sister, so they might rule without interference. There had never been proof to pin it on Sandriel, but Shahar believed it to her dying day.

Shahar, the Daystar, had rebelled against her fellow Archangels and the Asteri because of it. She’d wanted a world free of rigid hierarchies, yes—would have brought their rebellion right to the crystal palace of the Asteri if it had been successful. But she’d also wanted to make her sister pay. So Hunt had been unleashed.

Micah was an Archangel. A Governor appointed by the Asteri. He was a king among angels, and law unto himself, especially in Valbara—so far from the seven hills of the Eternal City. If he deemed someone a threat or in need of justice, then there would be no investigation, no trial. Just his command. Usually to Hunt.

The Hammer and the Hind—the smasher of battlefields and the destroyer of the Republic’s enemies. Hunt had seen the Hind a few times in Sandriel’s stronghold and always walked away unnerved by her unreadable golden eyes. Lidia was as beautiful as she was ruthless in her pursuit of rebel spies. A perfect match for Pollux. The only one who might have suited Pollux more than the Hind was the Harpy, but Hunt tried not to think about the second in command of Sandriel’s triarii when he could avoid it. Hunt

The thought made Hunt stiffen. “Pollux will be a fucking menace in this city.” The Hammer was well known for his favorite activities: slaughter and torture.

How,” the Autumn King asked no one in particular. “How?” It was the ancient Prime of the wolves who answered, his withered voice rising above the pinging of the graph. “With the strength of the most powerful force in the world. The most powerful force in any realm.” He pointed to the screen. “What brings loyalty beyond death, undimming despite the years. What remains unwavering in the face of hopelessness.” The Autumn King twisted toward the ancient Prime, shaking his head. Still not understanding. Bryce was at the level of ordinary witches now. But still too far from life. Motion caught Declan’s eye, and he whirled toward the feed of the Old Square. Wreathed in lightning, healed and whole, Hunt Athalar was kneeling over Bryce’s dead body. Pumping her torso with his hands—chest compressions. Hunt hissed to Bryce through his gritted teeth, thunder cracking above him, “I heard what you said.” Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. “What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward.” His lightning surged into her, sending her body arcing off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heart. He snarled in her ear, “Now come say it to my face.” Sabine whispered a sentence to the room, to the Autumn King, and Declan’s heart rose, hearing it. It was the answer to the ancient Prime’s words. To the Autumn King’s question of how, against every statistic blaring on Declan’s computer, they were even witnessing Hunt Athalar fight like Hel to keep Bryce Quinlan’s heart beating. Through love, all is possible.

To show you how deep our gratitude goes, we would like to grant you a favor.” She wondered if the brimstone had been a favor, too. But she said, “That’s not necessary—” “It is already done. We trust you will find it satisfactory.” She knew Hunt could hear the voice on the line as he walked over. But he just held out his wrist. His tattooed wrist, with a C stamped over the slave’s mark. Freed.

We also trust that this favor will serve as a reminder for you and Hunt Athalar. It is our deepest wish that you remain in the city, and live out your days in peace and contentment. That you use your ancestors’ gift to bring yourself joy. And refrain from using the other gift inked upon you.” Use your starlight as a party trick and never, ever use the Horn. It made her the biggest idiot in Midgard, but she said, “What about Micah and Sandriel?” “Governor Micah went rogue and threatened to destroy innocent citizens of this empire with his high-handed approach to the rebel conflict. Governor Sandriel got what she deserved in being so lax with her control over her slaves.

These are, of course, sensitive issues, Miss Quinlan. Ones that, were they publicly announced, would result in a great deal of trouble for all involved.” For you. We will destroy you. “All the witnesses to both events have been notified of the potential fallout.” “Okay,” Bryce whispered. “And as for the unfortunate destruction of Lunathion, we do accept full responsibility. We were informed by Sandriel that the city had been evacuated, and sent the Asterian Guard to wipe away the demon infestation. The brimstone missiles were a last resort, intended to save us all. It was incredibly fortunate that you found a solution.” Liar. Ancient, awful liar. He’d picked the perfect scapegoat: a dead one. The rage that flickered over Hunt’s face told her he shared her opinion. “I was truly lucky,” Bryce managed to say. “Yes, perhaps because of the power in your veins. Such a gift can have tremendous consequences, if not handled wisely.” A pause, as if he were smiling. “I trust you shall learn to wield both your unexpected strength and the light within you with … discretion.” Stay in your lane.

Tell me you don’t believe that conspiracy crap about an ancient library in the heart of a pre-existing human civilization?” When she didn’t answer, Hunt challenged, “If something like that did exist, where’s the evidence?

Hunt let them shackle him again with the gorsian stones. He knew what the stones would do if he so much as moved wrong. Disintegration of blood and bone, his brain turned into soup before it leaked out his nose.

Hunt lay sprawled on the ground, his back a bloodied, burned mess, and his legs … There was nothing left of them but ribbons. Nothing left of his right arm but splattered blood on pavement. And through his back, where his wings had been— That was a bloody, gaping hole. She moved on instinct, scrambling over concrete and metal and blood. He’d shielded her against the brimstone. Had somehow escaped Sandriel and come here. To save her. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease

Do you even know what you are surrounded by, Bryce Quinlan? This is the Great Library of Parthos.” The words clanged through the room. Jesiba refused to so much as open her mouth. Bryce, to her credit, said, “Sounds like a lot of conspiracy theory crap. Parthos is a bedtime story for humans.” Micah chuckled. “Says the female with the Archesian amulet around her neck. The amulet of the priestesses who once served and guarded Parthos. I think you know what’s here—that you spend your days in the midst of all that remains of the library after most of it burned at Vanir hands fifteen thousand years ago.” Hunt’s stomach turned. He could have sworn a chill breeze drifted from Jesiba. Micah went on idly, “Did you know that during the First Wars, when the Asteri gave the order, it was at Parthos that a doomed human army made its final stand against the Vanir? To save proof of what they were before the Rifts opened—to save the books. A hundred thousand humans marched that day knowing they would die, and lose the war.” Micah’s smile grew. “All to buy the priestesses time to grab the most vital volumes. They loaded them onto ships and vanished. I am curious to learn how they landed with Jesiba Roga.

Micah leaned back in his seat, wings rustling. “I’ve long suspected that the remains of Parthos were housed here—a record of two thousand years of human knowledge before the Asteri arrived. I took one look at some of the titles on the shelves and knew it to be true.” No one so much as blinked as the truth settled. But Jesiba pointed to the screens and said to Tristan Flynn, to Sabine, her voice shaking, “Tell the Aux to move their fucking asses. Save those books. I beg you.” Hunt ground his teeth. Of course the books were more important to her than Bryce. “The Aux shall do no such thing,” Sandriel said coldly. She smiled at Jesiba as the female went rigid. “And whatever Micah has in mind for your little assistant is going to look mild compared to what the Asteri do to you for harboring that lying rubbish—” But Bryce picked up the cheese tray and glass of wine. “Look, I only work here, Governor.

Micah purred, unaware of the camera mere feet away, “I saw the footage of you in the Comitium lobby. You gave your Archesian amulet to Sandriel. And she destroyed it.” His broad hand clamped around her neck, and Bryce squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s how I realized. How you realized the truth, too.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bryce whispered. Micah’s hand tightened, and it might as well have been his hand on Hunt’s throat for all the difficulty he had breathing. “For three years, you wore that amulet. Every single day, every single hour. Danika knew that. Knew you were without ambition, too, and would never have the drive to leave this job. And thus never take off the amulet.” “You’re insane,” Bryce managed to say. “Am I? Then explain to me why, within an hour after you took off the amulet, that kristallos demon attacked you.” Hunt stilled. A demon had attacked her that day? He found Ruhn’s stare, and the prince nodded, his face deathly pale. We got to her in time was all Danaan said to him, mind-to-mind. “Bad luck?” Bryce tried. Micah didn’t so much as smile, his hand still clamped on her neck. “You don’t just have the Horn. You are the Horn.” His hand again ran down her back. “You became its bearer the night Danika had it ground into a fine powder, mixed it with witch-ink, and then got you so drunk you didn’t ask questions when she had it tattooed onto your back.” “What?” Fury Axtar barked. Holy fucking gods. Hunt bared his teeth, still forbidden from speaking. But Bryce said, “Cool as that sounds, Governor, this tattoo says—” “The language is beyond that of this world. It is the language of universes. And it spells out a direct command to activate the Horn through a blast of raw power upon the tattoo itself. Just as it once did for the Starborn Prince. You may not possess his gifts like your brother, but I believe your bloodline and the synth shall compensate for it when I use my power upon you. To fill the tattoo—to fill you—with power is, in essence, to blow the Horn.

Ruhn breathed, “He’s going to fucking kill her.” Bryce crawled backward through the debris of the table, blood running from her mouth as she whispered to Micah, “You killed Danika and the pack.” Micah smiled. “I enjoyed every second of it.” The conference room shook. Or maybe that was just Hunt himself.

Did you learn, in all your research, that I am an investor in Redner Industries? That I have access to all its experiments?” “Oh fuck,” Isaiah said from across the pit. “And did you ever learn,” Micah went on, “what Danika did for Redner Industries?” Bryce still crawled backward up the stairs. There was nowhere to go, though. “She did part-time security work.” “Is that how she sanitized it for you?” He smirked. “Danika tracked down the people that Redner wanted her to find. People who didn’t want to be found. Including a group of Ophion rebels who had been experimenting with a formula for synthetic magic—to assist in the humans’ treachery. They’d dug into long-forgotten history and learned that the kristallos demons’ venom nullified magic—our magic. So these clever rebels decided to look into why, isolating the proteins that were targeted by that venom. The source of magic. Redner’s human spies tipped him off, and out Danika went to bring in the research—and the people behind it.” Bryce gasped for breath, still slowly crawling upward. No one spoke in the conference room as she said, “The Asteri don’t approve of synthetic magic. How did Redner even get away with doing the research on it?” Hunt shook. She was buying herself time. Micah seemed all too happy to indulge her. “Because Redner knew the Asteri would shut down any synthetic magic research, that I would shut their experiments down, they spun synth experiments as a drug for healing. Redner invited me to invest. The earliest trials were a success: with it, humans could heal faster than with any medwitch or Fae power. But later trials did not go according to plan. Vanir, we learned, went out of their minds when given it. And humans who took too much synth … well. Danika used her security clearance to steal footage of the trials—and I suspect she left it for you, didn’t she?” Burning Solas. Up and up, Bryce crawled along the stairs, fingers scrabbling over those ancient, precious books. “How did she learn what you were really up to?” “She always stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. Always wanting to protect the meek.

Micah’s smile was hideous. “She made no secret that she kept an eye on the synth trials, because she was keen to find a way to help her weak, vulnerable, half-human friend. You, who would inherit no power—she wondered if it might give you a fighting chance against the predators who rule this world. And when she saw the horrors the synth could bring about, she became concerned for the test subjects. Concerned for what it’d do to humans if it leaked into the world. But Redner’s employees said Danika had her own research there, too. No one knew what, but she spent time in their labs outside of her own duties.” All of it had to be on the flash drive Bryce had found. Hunt prayed she’d put it somewhere safe. Wondered what other bombshells might be on it. Bryce said, “She was never selling the synth on that boat, was she?” “No. By that point, I’d realized I needed someone with unrestricted access to the temple to take the Horn—I would be too easily noticed. So when she stole the synth trial footage, I had my chance to use her.” Bryce made it up another step. “You dumped the synth into the streets.” Micah kept trailing her. “Yes. I knew Danika’s constant need to be the hero would send her running after it, to save the lowlifes of Lunathion from destroying themselves with it. She got most of it, but not all. When I told her I’d seen her on the river, when I claimed no one would believe the Party Princess was trying to get drugs off the streets, her hands were tied. I told her I’d forget about it, if she did one little favor for me, at just the right moment.” “You caused the blackout that night she stole the Horn.” “I did. But I underestimated Danika. She’d been wary of my interest in the synth long before I leaked it onto the streets, and when I blackmailed her into stealing the Horn, she must have realized the connection between the two. That the Horn could be repaired by synth.” “So you killed her for it?” Another step, another question to buy herself time. “I killed her because she hid the Horn before I could repair it with the synth. And thus help my people.

Bryce was shaking. Hunt was, too. “So you went to the apartment and killed her and the Pack of Devils?” “I waited until Philip Briggs was released.” She murmured, “He had the black salt in his lab that would incriminate him.” “Yes. Once he was again on the streets, I went to Danika’s apartment—your apartment—disabled the Pack of Devils with my power, and injected her with the synth. And watched as she ripped them apart before turning on herself.” Bryce was crying in earnest now. “She didn’t tell you, though. Where the Horn was.” Micah shrugged. “She held out.

Bryce slowed her retreat as she winced in pain, “And the apartment building? I thought it was Hunt, but it wasn’t, was it? It was you.” “Yes. Your landlord’s request went to all of my triarii. And to me. I knew Danika had left nothing there. But by that time, Bryce Quinlan, I was enjoying watching you squirm. I knew Athalar’s plan to acquire the synth would soon be exposed—and I took a guess that you’d be willing to believe the worst of him. That he’d used the lightning in his veins to endanger innocent people. He’s a killer. I thought you might need a reminder. That it played into Athalar’s guilt was an unexpected boon.” Hunt ignored the eyes that glanced his way. The fucking asshole had never planned to honor his bargain. If he’d solved the case, Micah would have killed him. Killed them both. He’d been played like a fucking fool. Bryce asked, voice raw, “When did you start to think it was me?” “That night it attacked Athalar in the garden. I realized only later that he’d probably come into contact with one of Danika’s personal items, which must have come into contact with the Horn.” Hunt had touched Danika’s leather jacket that day. Gotten its scent on him. “Once I got Athalar off the streets, I summoned the kristallos again—and it went right to you. The only thing that had changed was that you finally, finally took that amulet off. And then …” He chuckled. “I looked at Hunt Athalar’s photos of your time together. Including that one of your back. The tattoo you had inked there, days before Danika’s death, according to the list of Danika’s last locations Ruhn Danaan sent to you and Athalar—whose account is easily accessible to me.” Bryce’s fingers curled into the carpet, as if she’d sprout claws. “How do you know the Horn will even work now that it’s in my back?” “The Horn’s physical shape doesn’t matter. Whether it is fashioned as a horn or a necklace or a powder mixed with witch-ink, its power remains.” Hunt silently swore. He and Bryce had never visited the tattoo parlor. Bryce had said she knew why Danika was there. Micah went on, “Danika knew the Archesian amulet would hide you from any detection, magical or demonic. With that amulet, you were invisible to the kristallos, bred to hunt the Horn. I suspect she knew that Jesiba Roga has similar enchantments upon this gallery, and perhaps Danika placed some upon your apartments—your old one and the one she left to you—to make sure you would be even more veiled from it.

Full of clear liquid. “Calling me names isn’t going to stop me from using the Horn.” Hunt’s breath sawed through his chest. Micah advanced on her. “The Horn’s remnants are now embedded in your flesh. When I inject you with synth, the healing properties in it will target and fix whatever it finds to be broken. And the Horn will again be whole. Ready for me to learn if it works at last.” “You’d risk opening a portal to another fucking world in the middle of Crescent City,” she spat, inching farther away, “just to learn if it works?” “If I am correct, the benefits shall far outweigh any casualties,” Micah answered mildly as a bead of liquid gleamed on the syringe’s tip. “Too bad you will not survive the synth’s side effects in order to see for yourself.

Danika’s sword—she must have left it in the gallery on her last day alive. And Bryce must have stashed it in Jesiba’s office, where it had stayed hidden for two years. Hunt saw every minute expression on Sabine’s face, the widening of her pupils, the flow of her corn-silk hair as she reeled at the sight of the missing heirloom— Bryce leapt from the window and into the showroom below. Hunt saw each movement of her body, arcing as she raised the sword above her head, then brought it back down as she fell. He could have sworn the ancient steel cut the very air itself. And then it cut through Micah. Sliced his head in two as Bryce drove it through, the sword cleaving a path into his body. Peeling him apart. Only Danika’s sword would do for this task.

On every screen in the conference center, cameras from around Crescent City revealed a land of nightmares. Hunt didn’t know where to look. Each new image was more awful than the last. Demons he recognized with chilling clarity—the worst of the worst—poured into the city through the Gates. Demons that had been an effort for him to kill. The people of Lunathion didn’t stand a chance.

Micah’s stare turned merciless, though. He scanned Hunt from head to toe. Then the gallery beneath their booted feet. The assistant within it. Micah growled, “Keep your dick in your pants and your hands to yourself. Or you’ll find yourself without either for a long while.

The dreadwolf had been only half-right. She was part thunderbird—her great-grandmother had mated with a human long ago, before being executed. The gift, more legend than truth these days, had resurfaced in Sofie. It was why the rebels had wanted her so badly, why they’d sent her out on such dangerous missions. Why Pippa had come to value her. Sofie smelled like and could pass for a human, but in her veins lurked an ability that could kill in an instant. The Asteri had long ago hunted most thunderbirds to extinction. She’d never learned how her great-grandmother had survived, but the descendants had kept the bloodline secret. She had kept it secret. Until that day three years ago when her family had been killed and taken. When she’d found the nearest Ophion base and showed them exactly what she could do. When she told them what she wanted them to do for her in exchange.

It was the ancient Prime of the wolves who answered, his withered voice rising above the pinging of the graph. “With the strength of the most powerful force in the world. The most powerful force in any realm.” He pointed to the screen. “What brings loyalty beyond death, undimming despite the years. What remains unwavering in the face of hopelessness.” The Autumn King twisted toward the ancient Prime, shaking his head. Still not understanding. Bryce was at the level of ordinary witches now. But still too far from life. Motion caught Declan’s eye, and he whirled toward the feed of the Old Square. Wreathed in lightning, healed and whole, Hunt Athalar was kneeling over Bryce’s dead body. Pumping her torso with his hands—chest compressions. Hunt hissed to Bryce through his gritted teeth, thunder cracking above him, “I heard what you said.” Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. “What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward.” His lightning surged into her, sending her body arcing off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heart. He snarled in her ear, “Now come say it to my face.” Sabine whispered a sentence to the room, to the Autumn King, and Declan’s heart rose, hearing it. It was the answer to the ancient Prime’s words. To the Autumn King’s question of how, against every statistic blaring on Declan’s computer, they were even witnessing Hunt Athalar fight like Hel to keep Bryce Quinlan’s heart beating. Through love, all is possible.

But as they did, a mighty white light soared beneath the surface. It wrapped its long arms around the nearest Omega. The white light leapt away a moment later, flying for the next boat. No submersible lights glowed in its wake. On the radar before her, the Omega-boat vanished. “Holy gods,” Richmond said. Something like that, Pippa wanted to say. It was Sofie’s strange gift: not only electricity, but firstlight power, too. Energy of any type was hers to command, to suck into herself. Her kind had been hunted to extinction by the Asteri centuries ago because of that mighty, unconquerable gift—or so it had seemed. But now there were two of them. Sofie said her brother’s powers dwarfed her own. Powers Pippa now witnessed as the light leapt from the second

Hunt halted at the edge of the hole, avoiding the urge to peer into the endless blackness. “I won’t take much of your time,” he said, his voice swallowed by the room, the pit, the smoke. “I shall give you what time Ogenas offers.” The smoke parted, and he sucked in a breath at the being that emerged. Sphinxes were rare—only a few dozen walked the earth, and all of them had been called to the service of the gods. No one knew how old they were, and this one before him … She was so beautiful he forgot what to do with his body. The golden lioness’s form moved with fluid grace, pacing the other side of the hole, weaving in and out of the mist. Golden wings lay folded against the slender body, shimmering as if they were crafted from molten metal. And above that winged lion’s body … the golden-haired woman’s face was as flawless as Shahar’s had been. No one knew her name. She was simply her title: Oracle. He wondered if she was so old that she’d forgotten her true name.

Why does someone want Luna’s Horn?” He didn’t ask who had taken it—he knew from the reports that she had already been asked that question two years ago and had refused to answer. She blinked, wings rustling as if in surprise, but settled herself. Breathed in the fumes rising from the hole. Minutes passed, and Hunt’s head began to throb with the various scents—especially the reeking sulfur. Smoke swirled, masking the sphinx from sight even though she sat only ten feet away. Hunt forced himself to keep still. A rasping voice slithered out of the smoke. “To open the doorway between worlds.” A chill seized Hunt. “They wish to use the Horn to reopen the Northern Rift. The Horn’s purpose wasn’t merely to close doors—it opens them, too. It depends on what the bearer wishes.” “But the Horn is broken.” “It can be healed.