Hunt steered for a solid concrete building that Bryce had tried to block from her memory, landing smoothly on a second-story balcony. Hunt was opening the glass doors, flashing some sort of entry ID into a scanner, when he said to her, “Viktoria’s a wraith.”
She almost said I know, but only nodded, following him inside. She and Hunt had barely spoken about that night. About what she remembered.
The air-conditioning was on full blast, and she instantly wrapped her arms around herself, teeth chattering at the shock of going from the storm into crisp cold.
“Walk fast” was the only help Hunt offered, wiping the rain off his face.
A cramped elevator ride and two hallways later, Bryce found herself shivering in the doorway of a spacious office overlooking a small park.
Watching as Hunt and Viktoria clasped hands over the wraith’s curved glass desk.
Hunt gestured to her, “Bryce Quinlan, this is Viktoria Vargos.”
Viktoria, to her credit, pretended to be meeting her for the first time.
So much of that night was a blur. But Bryce remembered the sanitized room. Remembered Viktoria playing that recording.
At least Bryce could now appreciate the beauty before her: the dark hair and pale skin and stunning green eyes were all Pangeran heritage, speaking of vineyards and carved marble palaces. But the grace with which Viktoria moved … Viktoria must have been old as Hel to have that sort of fluid beauty. To be able to steer her body so smoothly.
A halo had been tattooed on her brow as well. Bryce hid her surprise—her memory had failed to provide that detail. She knew the sprites had fought in the angels’ rebellion, but hadn’t realized any other non-malakim had marched under Shahar’s Daystar banner.
Warmth glowed in Viktoria’s eyes as she purred, “Pleasure.”
Somehow, Athalar only looked better soaked with rain, his shirt clinging to every hard, sculpted muscle. Bryce was all too aware, as she extended a hand, of how her hair now lay flat on her head thanks to the rain, of the makeup that had probably smeared down her face.
Viktoria took Bryce’s hand, her grip firm but friendly, and smiled. Winked.
Hunt grumbled, “She does that flirty smile with everyone, so don’t bother being flattered.”
Bryce settled into one of the twin black leather seats on the other side of the desk, batting her eyelashes at Hunt. “Does she do it for you, too?”
Viktoria barked a laugh, the sound rich and lovely. “You earned that one, Athalar.”
Hunt scowled, dropping into another chair—one with the back cut low, Bryce realized, to accommodate anyone with wings.
“Isaiah said you found something,” Hunt said, crossing an ankle over a knee.
“Yes, though not quite what you requested.” Viktoria came around the desk and handed a file to Bryce. Hunt leaned in to peer over her shoulder. His wing brushed against the back of Bryce’s head, but he didn’t remove it.
Bryce squinted at the grainy photo, the sole clawed foot in the lower right corner. “Is that—”
“Spotted in Moonwood just last night. I was tracking temperature fluctuations around the main avenues like you said, and noticed a dip—just for two seconds.”
“A summoning,” Hunt said.
“Yes,” Viktoria said. “The camera only got this tiny image of the foot—it mostly stayed out of sight. But it was just off a main avenue, like you suspected. We have a few more grainy captures from other locations last night, but those show it even less—a talon, rather than this entire foot.”
The photo was blurry, but there it was—those shredding claws she’d never forget.
It was an effort not to touch her leg. To remember the clear teeth that had ripped into it.
Both of them looked to her. Waiting. Bryce managed to say, “That’s a kristallos demon.”
Hunt’s wing spread a little farther around her, but he said nothing.
“I couldn’t find temperature fluctuations from the night of every murder,” Vik said, face turning grim. “But I did find one from when Maximus Tertian died. Ten minutes and two blocks away from him. No video footage, but it was the same seventy-seven-degree dip, made in the span of two seconds.”
“Did it attack anyone last night?” Bryce’s voice had turned a bit distant—even to her ears.
“No,” Viktoria said. “Not as far as we know.”
Hunt kept studying the image. “Did the kristallos go anywhere specific?”
Viktoria handed over another document. It was a map of Moonwood, full of sprawling parks and riverfront walkways, palatial villas and complexes for Vanir and a few wealthy humans, peppered with the best schools and many of the fanciest restaurants in town. In its heart: the Den. About six red dots surrounded it. The creature had crawled around its towering walls. Right in the heart of Sabine’s territory.
“Burning Solas,” Bryce breathed, a chill slithering along her spine.
“It would have found a way inside the Den’s walls if what it hunts was there,” Hunt mused quietly. “Maybe it was just following an old scent.”
Bryce traced a finger between the various dots. “No bigger pattern, though?”
“I ran it through the system and nothing came up beyond what you two figured out about the proximity to the ley lines beneath those roads and the temperature dips.” Viktoria sighed. “It seems like it was looking for something. Or someone.”
Blood and bone and gore, sprayed and shredded and in chunks—
Glass ripping into her feet; fangs ripping into her skin—
A warm, strong hand gently gripped her thigh. Squeezed once.
But when Bryce looked over at Hunt, his attention was upon Viktoria—even as his hand remained upon her bare leg, his wing still slightly curved around her. “How’d you lose track of it?”
“It was simply there one moment, and gone the next.”
Hunt’s thumb stroked her leg, just above her knee. An idle, reassuring touch.
One that was far too distracting as Viktoria leaned forward to tap another spot on the map, her green eyes lifting from it only to note Hunt’s hand as well. Wariness flooded her stare, but she said, “This was its last known location, at least as far as what our cameras could find.” The Rose Gate in FiRo. Nowhere near Sabine’s territory. “As I said, one moment it was there, then it was gone. I’ve had two different units and one Auxiliary pack hunting for it all day, but no luck.”
Hunt’s hand slid from her leg, leaving a cold spot in its wake. A glance at his face and she saw the cause: Viktoria now held his gaze, her own full of warning.
Bryce tapped her dusky nails on the chrome arm of the chair.
Well, at least she knew what they were doing after dinner tonight.
41
The rain didn’t halt.
Hunt couldn’t decide if it was a blessing, since it kept the streets mostly empty of all save Vanir affiliated with water, or if it was shit-poor luck, since it certainly wiped away any chance of a scent from the demon prowling the streets.
“Come … on,” Bryce grunted.
Leaning against the wall beside the front door of the gallery, sunset mere minutes away, Hunt debated pulling out his phone to film the scene before him: Syrinx with his claws embedded in the carpet, yowling his head off, and Bryce trying to haul him by the back legs toward the door.
“It’s. Just. Water!” she gritted out, tugging again.
“Eeettzzz!” Syrinx wailed back.
Bryce had declared that they were dropping off Syrinx at her apartment before going out to FiRo to investigate.
She grunted again, legs straining as she heaved the chimera. “We. Are. Going. Home!”
The green carpet began to lift, nails popping free as Syrinx clung for dear life.
Cthona spare him. Snickering, Hunt did Jesiba Roga a favor before Syrinx started on the wood panels, and wrapped a cool breeze around the chimera. Brow scrunching with concentration, he hoisted Syrinx from the carpet, floating him on a storm-wind straight to Hunt’s open arms.
Syrinx blinked at him, then bristled, his tiny white teeth bared.
Hunt said calmly, “None of that, beastie.”
Syrinx harrumphed, then went boneless.
Hunt found Bryce blinking, too. He threw her a grin. “Any more screeching from you?”
She grumbled, her words muffled by the rain-blasted night. Syrinx tensed in Hunt’s arms as they emerged into the wet evening, Bryce shutting and locking the door behind them. She limped slightly. As if her tug-of-war with the chimera had strained her thigh again.
Hunt kept his mouth shut as he handed Syrinx over to her, the chimera practically clawing holes in Bryce’s dress. He knew her leg bothered her. Knew he’d been the cause, with his battlefield stapling. But if she was going to be stupid and not get it looked at, then fine. Fine.
He didn’t say any of that as Bryce wrapped her arms around Syrinx, hair already plastered to her head, and stepped closer to him. Hunt was keenly aware of every part of his body that met every part of hers as he scooped her into his arms, flapped his wings, and shot them into the storming skies, Syrinx huffing and hissing.
Syrinx forgave them both by the time they stood, dripping water, in the kitchen, and Bryce earned redemption points for the additional food she dumped into his bowl.
An outfit change for Bryce into athletic gear, and thirty minutes later, they stood in front of the Rose Gate. Its roses, wisteria, and countless other flowers gleamed with rain in the firstlight from lampposts flanking the traffic circle beyond it. A few cars wound past to disperse either into the city streets or along Central Avenue, which crossed through the Gate and became the long, dark expanse of the Eastern Road.
Hunt and Bryce squinted through the rain to peer at the square, the Gate, the traffic circle.
No hint of the demon that had been creeping through Vik’s feeds.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Bryce rub her upper thigh, reining in her wince. He ground his teeth, but bit back his reprimand.