Bryce didn’t go to the gym. Not yet, anyway. She waited in front of the elevator, and when Hunt appeared, she tapped her wrist and said, “You’re late. Let’s go.”
He halted. “We’re not working out?”
She rolled her eyes, stepping into the elevator and hitting the Lobby button. “Honestly, Athalar. We’ve got a kid to find.”
“You really think Emile is here? What about the Bone Quarter?” Hunt asked as Bryce strode through the warren of stalls that made up one of the Meat Market’s many warehouses. There was no missing her, not with her neon-pink sneakers and athletic gear, that high ponytail that swished back and forth, brushing tantalizingly close to the glorious curve of her ass. “The Reapers practically told you that he and Sofie are lying low over there. You’re having Emmet and Holstrom comb through footage because you think Emile’s over there.”
She paused at an open seating area, surveying the crammed array of tables and the diners hunched over them. “Forgive me if I don’t take those half-lifes at their word. Or want to wait around while Declan and Ithan stare at their screens. Jesiba said the coins will arrive tomorrow, so why not look at alternatives in the meantime? What Danika said … Where the weary souls find relief … Couldn’t that be here, too?”
“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 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 pinched her ass and she squeaked, batting him away, drawing more than a few eyes. Not exactly inconspicuous. How long until the Viper Queen heard they were here? Hunt tried not to bristle at the thought. He had zero interest in dealing with the shape-shifter tonight.
Hunt marked the faces that turned their way, the ones who moved off into the stalls and shadows. “And if this is where Sofie told him to hide, Sofie was a fool for listening to Danika. Though I really doubt Danika would have suggested it as a rendezvous point.”
Bryce glared at him over a shoulder. “This kid stole two boats and made it all the way here. I think he can handle the Meat Market.”
“Okay, buying that, you think he’s simply going to be sitting at a table, twiddling his thumbs? You’re no better than Cormac, stomping around the docks for any sign of this kid.” Hunt shook his head. “If you do find Emile, don’t forget you’ll have Tharion and Cormac fighting you for him.”
She patted his cheek. “Then it’s a good thing I have the Umbra Mortis at my side, huh?”
“Bryce,” he growled. “Be reasonable. I mean, look at where we are right now. This market’s huge. Are we going to search through every warehouse ourselves?”
“Nope.” Bryce put her hands on her hips. “That’s why I brought backup.”
Hunt’s brows rose. She lifted her hand, waving at someone across the space. He followed her line of attention. Let out a low growl. “You didn’t.”
“You’re not the only badass I know, Athalar,” she trilled, approaching Fury and Juniper, the former in her usual all black, the latter in tight jeans and a flowing white blouse. “Hi, friends,” Bryce said, smiling. She kissed June’s cheek as if they were meeting for brunch, then gave Fury a once-over. “I said casual clothes.”
“These are her casual clothes,” Juniper said, laughter in her eyes.
Fury crossed her arms, ignoring them as she said to Hunt, “Gym clothes? Really?”
“I thought I was going to the gym,” he grumbled.
Bryce waved him off. “All right. We divide and conquer. Try not to attract too much attention.” The last bit she directed at Hunt and Fury, and the merc glowered with impressive menace. “Don’t ask questions. Just watch—listen. June, you take the east stalls, Fury the west ones, Hunt the south, and me …” Her gaze drifted to the northern wall, where Memento Mori had been painted. The stalls beneath it—beneath the walkway above—lay within range of the door to the Viper Queen’s quarters.
Fury eyed her, but Bryce winked. “I’m a big girl, Fury. I’ll be fine.”
Hunt grunted, but suppressed any hint of objection.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Fury said. Then asked quietly, “Who is this kid again?”
“His name is Emile,” Bryce whispered. “He’s from Pangera. Thirteen years old.”
“And possibly very, very dangerous,” Hunt warned, glancing at Juniper. “If you spot him, come find us.”
“I can take care of myself, angel,” Juniper said with impressive cool.
“She’s a big girl, too.” Bryce high-fived her friend. “Right. Meet back here in thirty?”
They parted, and Hunt watched Bryce weave through the tables of the dining area—watched the many patrons note her, but keep well away—before slipping between the stalls. Gazes slid back to him, questioning. Hunt bared his teeth in a silent snarl.
Moving off toward the area she’d ordered him to sweep, Hunt opened his senses, calmed his breathing.
Thirty minutes later, he’d returned to the dining area, Juniper appearing a moment later. “Anything?” he asked the faun, who shook her head.
“Not a whisper.” The dancer frowned. “I really hope that kid isn’t here.” She scowled at the warehouse. “I hate this place.”
“That makes two of us,” Hunt said.
Juniper rubbed at her chest. “You should talk to Celestina about it—the things that happen here. Not only that fighting pit and the warriors the Viper Queen practically enslaves …” The faun shook her head. “The other things, too.”
“Even Micah let the Viper Queen do what she wanted,” Hunt said. “I don’t think the new Governor is going to challenge her anytime soon.”
“Someone should,” she said quietly, eyes drifting to the Memento Mori on the wall. “Someday, someone should.”
Her words were haunted and strained enough that Hunt opened his mouth to ask more, but Fury sauntered up, smooth as a shadow, and said, “No sign of the kid.”
Hunt searched the space for Bryce, and found her at a stall far too close to the Fae-guarded door to the Viper Queen’s private living area. The towering Fae sentries a mere fifty feet from her didn’t so much as blink at her presence, though. She had a bag swinging from her wrist, and she was chatting away.
Bryce finished and walked toward them. Again, too many eyes watched her.
“She’s got some pep in her step,” Juniper observed, chuckling. “She must have gotten a good bargain.”
The tang of blood and bone and meat stuffed itself up Hunt’s nose as Bryce approached. “I got some lamb bones from the butcher for Syrinx. He goes crazy for the marrow.” She added to Juniper, “Sorry.”
Right. The faun was a vegetarian. But Juniper shrugged. “Anything for the little guy.”
Bryce smiled, then surveyed them all. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Hunt said.
“Me neither,” Bryce said, sighing.
“What now?” Fury asked, monitoring the crowd.
“Even if Declan and Ithan can’t find any footage of Emile around the Black Dock,” Bryce said, “the fact that there’s no hint of him here at the Meat Market leads us right back to the Bone Quarter again. So it gives us a bit more reason to even ask the Under-King about whether Emile is there.”
Hunt’s blood sparked. When she talked like that, so sure and unflinching … His balls tightened. He couldn’t wait to show her just how insanely that turned him on.
But Juniper whispered, “A little boy in the Bone Quarter …”
“We’ll find him,” Bryce assured her friend, and threw an arm around Juniper’s shoulders, turning them toward the exit. Hunt swapped a look with Fury, and they followed. Hunt let Bryce and Juniper drift ahead a few feet, and then, when he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, asked Axtar, “Why does your girlfriend hate this place so much?”
Fury kept her attention on the shadows between the stalls, the vendors and shoppers. “Her brother was a fighter here.”
Hunt started. “Does Bryce know?”
Fury nodded shallowly. “He was talented—Julius. The Viper Queen recruited him from his training gym, promised him riches, females, everything he wanted if he signed himself into her employ. What he got was an addiction to her venom, putting him in her thrall, and a contract with no way out.” A muscle ticked in Fury’s jaw. “June’s parents tried everything to get him freed. Everything. Lawyers, money, pleas to Micah for intervention—none of it worked. Julius died in a fight ten years ago. June and her parents only learned about it because the Viper Queen’s goons dumped his body on their doorstep with a note that said Memento Mori on it.”
The elegant dancer strode arm-in-arm with Bryce. “I had no idea.”
“June doesn’t talk about it. Even with us. But she hates this place more than you can imagine.”
“So why’d she come?” Why had Bryce even invited her?
“For Bryce,” Fury said simply. “Bryce told her she didn’t have to join, but she wanted to come with us. If there’s a kid running around lost in this place, June would do anything to help find him. Even come here herself.”
“Ah,” Hunt said, nodding.
Fury’s eyes glittered with dark promise. “I’ll burn this place to the ground for her one day.”
Hunt didn’t doubt it.
An hour later, Bryce’s arms and stomach trembled as she held her plank on the floor of her apartment building’s gym, sweat dripping off her brow and onto the soft black mat beneath. Bryce focused on the droplet as it splattered, on the music thumping in her earbuds, on breathing through her nose—anything other than the clock.
Time itself had slowed. Ten seconds lasted a minute. She pushed her heels back, steadying her body. Two minutes down. Three more to go.
Before the Drop, she’d usually managed a decent minute in this position. After it, in her immortal body, five minutes should be nothing.
Master her powers, indeed. She needed to master her body first. Though she supposed magic was ideal for lazy people: she didn’t need to be able to hold a plank for ten minutes if she could just unleash her power. Hel, she could blind someone while sitting down if she felt like it.
She chuckled at the idea, horrible as it was: her lounging in an oversize armchair, taking down enemies as easily as if she were changing the channel with a remote. And she did have enemies now, didn’t she? She’d killed a fucking Reaper today.
As soon as those Death Marks arrived from Jesiba tomorrow morning, she’d demand answers from the Under-King.
It was why she’d come down here—not only to validate her excuse for leaving the apartment. Well, that and seeing Danika on Declan’s laptop as it scanned through footage. Her head had begun spinning and acid had been burning through her veins, and sweating it all out seemed like a good idea. It always worked in Madame Kyrah’s classes.
She owed June a massive box of pastries for coming tonight.
Bryce checked the clock on her phone. Two minutes fifteen seconds. Fuck this. She plopped onto her front, elbows splaying, and laid her face directly on the mat.
A moment later, a foot prodded her ribs. Since there was only one other person in the gym, she didn’t bother to be alarmed as she craned her neck to peer up at Hunt. His lips were moving, sweat beading his brow and dampening his tight gray T-shirt—gods-damn it. How could he look so good?
She tugged an earbud out. “What?” she asked.
“I asked if you were alive.”
“Barely.”
His mouth twitched, and he lifted the hem of his T-shirt up to clean his dripping face. She was rewarded with a glimpse of sweat-slicked abs. Then he said, “You dropped like a corpse.”
She cradled her arms, rubbing the sore muscles. “I prefer running. This is torture.”
“Your dance classes are equally grueling.”
“This isn’t as fun.”
He offered her a hand, and Bryce took it, her sweaty skin sliding against his as he hauled her to her feet.
She wiped at her face with the back of her arm, but found it to be equally sweaty. Hunt returned to the array of metal machines that seemed more like torture devices, adjusting the seat on one to accommodate his gray wings. She stood in the center of the room like a total creep for a moment, watching his back muscles ripple as he went through a series of pull-down exercises.
Burning fucking Solas.
She’d blown this male. Had slid down that beautiful, strong body and taken his ridiculously large cock in her mouth and had nearly come herself as he’d spilled on her tongue.
And she knew it was ten kinds of fucked up, considering how much shit they were juggling and all that lay ahead, but … look at him.
She wiped at the sweat rolling down her chest, leaving a spectacularly unsexy stain beneath her sports bra.
Hunt finished his set but kept gripping the bar above his head, arms extended high above him, stretching out his back and wings. Even in a T-shirt and gym shorts, he was formidable. And … she was still staring. Bryce twisted back to her mat, grimacing as she put in her earbud and it blasted music. But her body refused to move.
Water. She needed some water. Anything to delay going back to that plank.
She trudged for the wet bar built into the far wall of the gym. The beverage fridge beneath the white marble counter was stocked with glass water bottles and chilled towels, and Bryce helped herself to both. A bowl of green apples sat on the counter, along with a basket full of granola bars, and she took the former, teeth sinking into the crisp flesh.
Fuck doing planks.
Savoring the apple’s tart kiss, she glanced over toward Hunt, but—Where was he? Even that telltale ripple of his power had faded away.
She scanned the expansive gym, the rows of machines, the treadmills and ellipticals before the wall of windows overlooking the bustle of the Old Square. How had he—
Hands wrapped around her waist, and Bryce shrieked, nearly leaping out of her skin. Light erupted from her chest, but with the music thumping in her ears, she couldn’t hear anything—
“Fucking Hel, Quinlan!” Hunt said, prying her earbuds away. “Listen to your music a little louder, will you?”
She scowled, pivoting to find him right behind her. “It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t sneak up on me.”
He flashed her a sweaty, wicked grin. “Just making sure my Shadow of Death skills don’t get rusty before tomorrow’s tea party with the Under-King. I thought I’d see if I could dim myself a bit.” Hence her inability to sense him creeping up. He rubbed at his eyes. “I didn’t realize you’d be so … jumpy. Or bright.”
“I thought you’d praise me for my quick reflexes.”
“Good jump. You almost blinded me. Congrats.”
She playfully slapped his chest, finding rock-hard muscles beneath the sweat-dampened shirt. “Solas, Hunt.” She rapped her knuckles on his pecs. “You could bounce a gold mark off these things.”
His wings rustled. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”
She propped her elbows on the counter and bit into her apple again. Hunt extended a hand, and she wordlessly handed him one earbud. He fitted it to his ear, head angling as he listened to the song.
“No wonder you can’t do a plank for more than two minutes, if you’re listening to this sad-sack music.”
“And your music is so much better?”
“I’m listening to a book.”
She blinked. They’d often swapped music suggestions while working out, but this was new. “Which book?”
“Voran Tritus’s memoir about growing up in the Eternal City and how he became, well … him.” Tritus was one of the youngest late-night talk show hosts ever. And absurdly hot. Bryce knew the last fact had little to do with why Hunt tuned in religiously, but it certainly made her own viewing much more enjoyable.
“I’d say listening to a book while working out is even less motivational than this sad-sack music,” she said.
“It’s all muscle memory at this point. I only need to pass the time until I’m done.”
“Asshole.” She ate more of her apple, then changed the song. Something she’d first heard in the hallowed space of the White Raven dance club, a remix of a slower song that somehow managed to combine the song’s original sensual appeal with a driving beat that demanded dancing.
The corner of Hunt’s mouth kicked up. “You trying to seduce me with this music?”
She met his gaze as she chewed on another mouthful of apple. The gym was empty. But the cameras … “You’re the one who snuck up to fondle me.”
He laughed, the column of his throat working. A droplet of sweat ran down its powerful length, gleaming among all that golden-brown skin, and her breathing hitched. His nostrils flared, no doubt scenting everything that went hot and wet within the span of a breath.
He tucked in his wings, leaving the earbud in place as he took a step closer. Bryce leaned slightly against the counter, the marble digging into her overheated spine. But he only took the apple from her fingers. Held her gaze while he bit in, then slowly set the core on the counter.
Her toes curled in her sneakers. “This is even less private than my bedroom.”
Hunt’s hands slid onto her waist, and he hoisted her onto the counter in one easy movement. His lips found her neck, and she arched as his tongue slid up one side, as if licking away a bead of sweat. “Best be quiet, then, Quinlan,” he said against her skin.
Lightning skittered around the room. She didn’t need to look to know he’d severed the camera wires, and likely had a wall of power blocking the door. Didn’t need to do anything other than enjoy the sensation of his tongue on her throat, teasing and tasting.
She couldn’t stop the hands that slid into his hair, driving through the sweaty strands, all the way down his head until they landed on the nape of his neck. She drew him closer as she did so, and Hunt lifted his head from her neck to claim her mouth.
Her legs opened wider, and he settled between them, pressing hard as his tongue met hers.
Bryce groaned, tasting apple and that storm-kissed cedar scent that was pure Hunt, grinding herself against his demanding hardness. With his gym shorts and her skintight leggings, there was no hiding his erection, or the dampness that soaked through her pants.
His tongue tangled with hers, hands dropping from her waist to cup her ass. She gasped as his fingers dug in, pulling her harder against him, and she hooked her legs around his middle. She couldn’t taste him deep enough, fast enough.
His shirt came off, and then she was running her fingers over those absurd abs and side abs and pecs, down the shifting muscles of his back, frantic and desperate to touch all of him.
Her tank top peeled away, and then his teeth nipped at the swells of her breasts above the seafoam green of her sports bra, the fabric almost neon against her tan skin.
He bracketed her waist, calluses scraping her skin as he tilted her back, and Bryce let him lay her on the counter. She propped herself up on her elbows as he pulled away, graceful as an ebbing tide, hands running from her breasts to her sweaty stomach.
Hunt’s fingers curled over the waistband of her black leggings, but paused. His gaze lifted to hers in silent request.
At the black fire she beheld there, the sheer beauty and size and perfection of him …
“Hel yes,” she said, and Hunt grinned wickedly, rolling down her leggings. Exposing her midriff. Then her abdomen. Then the lacy top of her amethyst thong. Her pants and underwear were soaked with sweat—she didn’t want to imagine what they smelled like—and she opened her mouth to tell him so, but he’d already knelt.
He pulled off her sneakers, then her socks, then the leggings. Then gently, so gently, he took her right ankle and kissed its inside. Licked at the bone. Then at her calf. The inside of her knee.
Oh gods. This was going to happen. Right here, in the middle of the building gym where anyone could fly past the wall of windows twenty feet away. He was going down on her right here, and she needed it more than she’d ever needed anything—
His tongue traced circles along the inside of her right thigh. Higher and higher, until she was shaking. But his hands slid up, looping through the waistband of her thong. He pressed a kiss to the front of her underwear, and she could have sworn he shuddered as he inhaled.
Bryce went liquid, unable to stop her writhe of demand, and Hunt huffed a warm laugh against her most sensitive place, kissing her again through the fabric of her underwear.
But then he kissed her left thigh, beginning a downward trajectory, pulling her underwear away as he went. And when the thong was completely gone, when she was bared to the world, Hunt’s wings splayed above him, blocking her from the world’s view.
Only his to see, his to devour.
Her breathing turned jagged as his mouth reached her left ankle, kissing again, and then he was sliding back up. He halted with his head between her thighs, though. Took her feet and propped them onto the counter.
Spread her legs wide.
Bryce moaned softly as Hunt surveyed her, the light glowing through his wings making him look like an avenging angel lit with inner fire.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice guttural with need.
She’d never felt so naked, yet so seen and cherished. Not as Hunt slid a finger through her wetness. “Fuck yeah,” he growled, more to himself than to her, and she really, truly couldn’t breathe as he knelt again, head poised where she needed him most.
Hunt softly, reverently, laid a hand on her, opening her for his own personal tasting. His tongue swept along her in an introductory Hi, nice to fuck you flit. She bit her lip, panting through her nose.
Yet Hunt bowed his head, brow resting just above her mound as his hands slid to her thighs once more. He inhaled and exhaled, shuddering, and she had no idea if he was savoring her scent or really needed a moment to calm the Hel down.
One or two more licks and she knew she’d lose her mind entirely.
Then Hunt pressed a kiss to the top of her sex. And another, as if he couldn’t help it. His hands caressed her thighs. He kissed her a third time, raised wings twitching, and then his mouth drifted south, one hand with it.
Again, he parted her, and pressed his tongue flat against her as he dragged it up.
Stars sparked behind Bryce’s eyes, her breasts aching so much she arched into the air, as if seeking invisible hands to touch them.
“That’s it,” Hunt said against her, and flicked his tongue over her clit with lethal precision.
She couldn’t endure this. Couldn’t handle one more second of this torture—
His tongue pushed into her, curling deep, and she bucked.
“You taste like gods-damn paradise,” he growled, pulling back enough for her to note her wetness on his mouth, his chin. “I knew you’d taste like this.”
Bryce clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shouting as Hunt drove his tongue back into her, then dragged it all the way up to her clit. His teeth clamped down gently, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Burning Solas and merciful Cthona …
“Hunt,” she managed to say, voice strangled.
He paused, ready to halt should she give the word. But that was the last thing she wanted.
Bryce met Hunt’s blazing gaze, her chest heaving, head a dizzy, starry mess. She said the only thing in her head, her mind, her soul. “I love you.”
She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. She’d never said them to any male, hadn’t even thought the words about Hunt, though she’d known for a while. Why they came out then, she had no idea, but—his eyes darkened again. His fingers tightened on her legs.
Oh gods. She’d fucked everything up. She was a stupid, horny idiot, and what the fuck had she been thinking, telling him that when they weren’t even dating, for fuck’s sake—
Hunt unleashed himself. Dipped his head back down between her thighs and feasted on her. Bryce could have sworn thunderstorms rumbled in the room. It was answer and acceptance of what she’d said. Like he was beyond words now.
Tongue and teeth and purring—all combined into a maelstrom of pleasure that had Bryce grinding against him. Hunt gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise and she loved it, needed it; she drove her hips into his face, pushing his tongue into her, and then something zapped right at her clit, as if Hunt had summoned a little spark of lightning, and her brain and body lit up like white fire, and oh gods, oh gods, oh gods—
Bryce was screaming the words, Hunt’s wings still cocooning them as she came hard enough that she arced clean off the counter, fingers scrabbling in his hair, pulling hard. She was flaring with light inside and out, like a living beacon.
She could have sworn they fell through time and space, could have sworn they tumbled toward something, but she wanted to stay here, with him, in this body and this place—
Hunt licked her through every ripple, and when the climax eased, when the light she’d erupted with had faded, and that falling sensation had steadied, he lifted his head.
He met her stare from between her thighs, panting against her bare skin, lightning in his eyes. “I love you, too, Quinlan.”
No one had said those words to Hunt in two centuries.
Shahar had never said them. Not once, though he’d stupidly offered the words to her. The last person had been his mother, a few weeks before her death. But hearing them from Quinlan …
Hunt lay beside her in bed thirty minutes later, the minty scent of their toothpaste and lavender of their shampoo mingling in the air. That had been weird enough: showering one after the other, then brushing their teeth side by side, those words echoing. Walking through the apartment, past Ruhn, Declan, and Ithan watching sunball analysts argue over tonight’s game, wondering how so much and yet so little had changed in the span of a few minutes.
Going into the Bone Quarter tomorrow seemed like a far-off storm. A distant rumble of thunder. Any thought of their search at the Meat Market tonight dissolved like melting snow.
In the dimness, the TV still droning from the living room, Hunt stared at Bryce. She silently watched him back.
“One of us has got to say something,” Hunt said, voice gravelly.
“What else is there to say?” she asked, propping her head on a fist, hair spilling over a shoulder in a red curtain.
“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.”
Hunt’s blood heated. “Yeah?”
“Oh, come on.” She tucked her arms behind her head. “You have to know you’re good at it. That lightning thing …”
Hunt held up a finger, a spark of lightning dancing at the tip. “Thought you’d enjoy that.”
“If I’d known ahead of time, I might have been concerned about you deep-frying my favorite parts.”
He laughed warmly. “I wouldn’t dare. They’re my favorite parts, too.”
She lifted herself onto her elbows, unable to keep from fidgeting. “Does it weird you out? What I said?”
“Why should it? I reciprocated, didn’t I?”
“Maybe you felt bad for me and wanted to make it less weird.”
“I’m not the kind of person who lightly tosses those words around.”
“Me neither.” She reached over and Hunt leaned toward her hand, letting her brush her fingers through his hair. “I’ve never said it to anyone. I mean, like … romantically.”
“Really?” His chest became unbearably full.
She blinked, her eyes like golden embers in the darkness. “Why the surprise?”
“I thought you and Connor …” He wasn’t sure why he needed to know.
That fire banked slightly. “No. We might have one day, but it didn’t get that far. I loved him as a friend, but … I still needed time.” She smiled crookedly. “Who knows? Maybe I was just waiting for you.”
He grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. You know that, right?” His heart thundered, but he said, “I was … very attached to you during our investigation, but when Sandriel had me in that cell under the Comitium, she put on this fucked-up slideshow of all the photos on my phone. Of you and me. And I watched it and knew. I saw the photos of us toward the end, how I was looking at you and you were looking at me, and it was a done deal.”
“Sealed with you jumping in front of a bomb for me.”
“It’s disturbing when you make jokes about that, Quinlan.”
She chuckled, kissing his jaw. Hunt’s body tensed, readying for another touch. Begging for another touch. She said, “I made the Drop for you. And offered to sell myself into slavery in your stead. I think I’m allowed to joke about this shit.” He nipped at her nose. But she pulled back, gaze meeting his. Hunt let her see everything that lay there. “I knew the moment you went snooping for my dildos.”
Hunt burst out laughing. “I can’t tell if that’s the truth.”
“You handled Jelly Jubilee with such care. How could I not love you for it?”
He laughed again, ducking to brush a kiss to her warm throat. “I’ll take that.” He traced his fingers down her hip, the threadbare softness of her old T-shirt snagging against his callused skin. He kissed her collarbone, inhaling the scent of her, his cock stirring. “So what now?”
“Sex?”
He grinned. “No. I mean, fuck yes, but I don’t want an audience.” He gestured over his shoulder and wing to the wall behind him. “Shall we get a hotel room somewhere in the city?”
“Somewhere on another continent.”
“Ah, Quinlan.” He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her temple. He whispered into her ear, “I really want to fuck you right now.”
She shuddered, arching against him. “Same.”
His hand slid from her waist to cup her ass. “This is torture.” He slipped his hand under her oversize shirt, finding her bare skin warm and soft. He traced his fingers along the seam of her lacy thong, down toward her thighs. Heat beckoned him, and she sucked in a breath as he halted millimeters short of where he wanted to be.
But she placed a hand on his chest. “What do I call you now?”
The words took a moment to register. “What?”
“I mean, what are we? Like, dating? Are you my boyfriend?”
He snorted. “You really want to say you’re dating the Umbra Mortis?”
“I’m not keeping this private.” She said it without an ounce of doubt. She brushed her fingers over his brow. Like she knew what it meant to him.
Hunt managed to ask, “What about Cormac and your ruse?”
“Well, after all that, I guess.” If they survived. She whooshed out a breath. “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 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.”
Hunt hooked his finger under the strap of her thong and snapped it. She yowled, swatting away his hand.
But Hunt grabbed her fingers, laying them on his heart again. “What about mate?” Bryce stilled, and Hunt held his breath, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing. When she didn’t reply, he went on, “Fae have mates, right? That’s the term they use.”
“Mates are … an intense thing for the Fae.” She swallowed audibly. “It’s a lifetime commitment. Something sworn between bodies and hearts and souls. It’s a binding between beings. You say I’m your mate in front of any Fae, and it’ll mean something big to them.”
“And we don’t mean something big like that?” he asked carefully, hardly daring to breathe. She held his heart in her hands. Had held it since day one.
“You mean everything to me,” she breathed, and he exhaled deeply. “But if we tell Ruhn that we’re mates, we’re as good as married. To the Fae, we’re bound on a biological, molecular level. There’s no undoing it.”
“Is it a biological thing?”
“It can be. Some Fae claim they know their mates from the moment they meet them. That there’s some kind of invisible link between them. A scent or soul-bond.”
“Is it ever between species?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, and ran her fingers over his chest in dizzying, taunting circles. “But if you’re not my mate, Athalar, no one is.”
“A winning declaration of love.”
She scanned his face, earnest and open in a way she so rarely was with others. “I want you to understand what you’re telling people, telling the Fae, if you say I’m your mate.”
“Angels have mates. Not as … soul-magicky as the Fae, but we call life partners mates in lieu of husbands or wives.” Shahar had never called him such a thing. They’d rarely even used the term lover.
“The Fae won’t differentiate. They’ll use their intense-ass definition.”
He studied her contemplative face. “I feel like it fits. Like we’re already bound on that biological level.”
“Me too. And who knows? Maybe we’re already mates.”
It would explain a lot. How intense things had been between them from the start. And once they crossed that last physical barrier, he had a feeling the bond would be even further solidified.
So … maybe they were already mates, by that Fae definition. Maybe Urd had long ago bound their souls, and they’d needed all this time to realize it. But did it even matter? If it was fate or choice to be together?
Hunt asked, “Does it scare you? Calling me your mate?”
Her gaze dipped to the space between them, and she said quietly, “You’re the one who’s been defined by other people’s terms for centuries.” Fallen. Slave. Umbra Mortis. “I just want to make sure it’s a title you’re cool with having. Forever.”
He kissed her temple, breathing in her scent. “Of everything I’ve ever been called, Quinlan, your mate will be the one I truly cherish.”
Her lips curved. “Did you hear the forever part?”
“I thought that’s what this thing between us is.”
“We’ve known each other for, like, five months.”
“So?”
“My mom will throw a fit. She’ll say we should date for at least two years before calling ourselves mates.”
“Who cares what other people think? None of their rules have ever applied to us anyway. And if we’re some sort of predestined mates, then it doesn’t make a difference at all.”
She smiled again, and it lit up his entire chest. No, that was the star between her breasts. He laid a hand over the glowing scar, light shining through his fingers. “Why does it do that?”
“Maybe it likes you.”
“It glowed for Cormac and Ruhn.”
“I didn’t say it was smart.”
Hunt laughed and leaned to kiss the scar. “All right, my lovely mate. No sex tonight.”
His mate. His.
And he was hers. It wouldn’t have surprised him if her name were stamped on his heart. He wondered if his own were stamped on the glowing star in her chest.
“Tomorrow night. We’ll get a hotel room.”
He brushed another kiss against her scar. “Deal.”
