Hunt said, “Just laying out the puzzle pieces.”
Declan rubbed his neck. “All right. What are you looking for exactly?”
“Everything,” Hunt said. “Anything that might come up on the audio or thermal, or if there’s a way to make the video any clearer despite the blackout.”
Declan set down his rifle beside Ruhn’s. “I might have some software that can help, but no promises. If the investigators didn’t find anything two years ago, the odds are slim I’ll find any anomalies now.”
“We know,” Bryce said. “How long would it take you to look?”
He seemed to do some mental calculations. “Give me a few days. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thank you.”
Flynn let out an exaggerated gasp. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to us, B.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She surveyed them again with that cool, mocking indifference that made Hunt’s pulse begin to pound as drivingly as the beat of the music playing through the chamber’s speakers. “Why are you three even here?”
“We do actually work for the Aux, Bryce. That requires the occasional bit of training.”
“So where’s the rest of your unit?” She made a show of looking around. Hunt didn’t bother to hide his mirth. “Or was this a roomies-only kind of thing?”
Declan chuckled. “This was an invite-only session.”
Bryce rolled her eyes and said to Ruhn, “I’m sure the Autumn King told you he wants reports on our movements.” She crossed her arms. “Keep this”—she gestured to all of them—“quiet for a few days.”
“You’re asking me to lie to my king,” Ruhn said, frowning.
“I’m asking you not to tell him about this for the moment,” Bryce said.
Flynn lifted a brow. “Are you saying the Autumn King is one of your suspects?”
“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.
“Sounds like a whole lot of big talk,” Ruhn said, then indicated the target at the back of the room. “Why don’t you put on a little demonstration for Athalar, Bryce?”
She smirked. “I don’t need to prove I can handle a big gun to run with the boys’ club.” Hunt’s skin tightened at the feral delight in her eyes as she said big gun. Other parts of him tightened, too.
Tristan Flynn said, “Twenty gold marks says we outshoot you.”
“Only rich-ass pieces of shit have twenty gold marks to blow on bullshit contests,” Bryce said, amber eyes dancing with amusement as she winked at Hunt. His blood thrummed, his body tensing as surely as if she’d gripped his cock. But her gaze already drifted to the distant target.
She snapped the earmuffs over her arched ears.
Flynn rubbed his hands together. “Here we fuckin’ go.”
Bryce popped on the glasses, adjusted her ponytail, and hefted Ruhn’s rifle into her hands. She weighed it in her arms, and Hunt couldn’t drag his eyes away from the way her fingers brushed over the chassis, stroking all the way down to the butt plate.
He swallowed hard, but she merely fitted the gun to her shoulder, each movement as comfortable as he’d expect from someone raised by a legendary sharpshooter. She clicked off the safety and didn’t bother to use the scope as she said to none of them in particular, “Allow me to demonstrate why you all can kiss my fucking ass.”
Three shots cracked over the music, one after another, her body absorbing the kickback of the gun like a champ. Hunt’s mouth dried out entirely.
They all peered up at the screen with the feed of the target.
“You only landed one,” Flynn snorted, eyeing the hole through the heart of the target.
“No, she didn’t,” Emmet murmured, just as Hunt saw it, too: the circle wasn’t perfect. No, two of its edges bulged outward—barely noticeable.
Three shots, so precise that they’d passed through the same small space.
A chill skittered down Hunt’s body that had nothing to do with fear as Bryce merely reset the safety, placed the rifle on the table, and removed the earmuffs and glasses.
She turned, and her eyes met Hunt’s again—a new sort of vulnerability shining beneath the self-satisfied narrowing. A challenge thrown down. Waiting to see how he’d react.
How many males had run from this part of her, their alphahole egos threatened by it? Hunt hated them all merely for putting the question in her eyes.
He didn’t hear whatever shit Flynn was saying as he put on the earmuffs and eye gear and took up the rifle Bryce had set down, the metal still warm from her body. He didn’t hear Ruhn asking him something as he lined up his shot.
No, Hunt only met Bryce’s stare as he clicked off the safety.
That click reverberated between them, loud as a thunderclap. Her throat bobbed.
Hunt pulled his gaze from hers and fired one round. With his eagle-sharp vision, he didn’t need the scope to see the bullet pass through the hole she’d made.
When he lowered the gun, he found Bryce’s cheeks flushed, her eyes like warm whiskey. A quiet sort of light shone in them.
He still didn’t hear any of what the males were saying, only had the vague notion of even Ruhn cursing with appreciation. Hunt just held Bryce’s stare.
I see you, Quinlan, he silently conveyed to her. And I like all of it.
Right back at you, her half smile seemed to say.
Hunt’s phone rang, dragging his eyes from the smile that made the floor a little uneven. He fished it from his pocket with fingers that were surprisingly shaky. Isaiah Tiberian flashed on the screen. He answered instantly. “What’s up?”
Hunt knew Bryce and the Fae males could hear every word as Isaiah said, “Get your asses over to Asphodel Meadows. There’s been another murder.”
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“Where?” Hunt demanded into the phone, one eye on Quinlan, her arms crossed tight as she listened. All that light had vanished from her eyes.
Isaiah told him the address. A good two miles away. “We’ve got a team already setting up camp,” the commander said.
“We’ll be there in a few,” Hunt answered, and hung up.
The three Fae males, having heard as well, began packing their gear with swift efficiency. Well trained. Total pains in his ass, but they were well trained.
But Bryce fidgeted, hands twitching at her sides. He’d seen that stark look before. And the fake-ass calm that crept over her as Ruhn and his friends glanced at her.
Then, Hunt had bought into it, essentially bullied her into going to that other murder scene.
Hunt said without looking at the males, “I take it you heard the address.” He didn’t wait for any of them to confirm before he ordered, “We’ll meet you there.” Quinlan’s eyes flickered, but Hunt didn’t take his focus off her as he walked closer. He sensed Danaan, Flynn, and Emmet leaving the gallery, but didn’t look to confirm as he halted before her.
The cold emptiness of the sniper range yawned around them.
Again, Quinlan’s hands curled, fingers wiggling at her sides. Like she could shake the dread and pain away. Hunt said calmly, “You want me to handle it?”
Color crept over her freckled cheeks. She pointed to the door with a shaking finger. “Someone died while we were dicking around tonight.”
Hunt wrapped his hand around her finger. Lowered it to the space between them. “This guilt isn’t on you. It’s on whoever is doing this.”
People like him, butchering in the night.
She tried to yank her finger back, and he let go, remembering her wariness of male Vanir. Of alphaholes.
Bryce’s throat bobbed, and she peered around his wing. “I want to go to the scene of
the crime.” He waited for the rest of it. She blew out an uneven breath. “I need to go,” she said, more to herself. Her foot tapped on the concrete floor, in time to the beat of the still-thumping music. She winced. “But I don’t want Ruhn or his friends seeing me like this.”
“Like what?” It was normal, expected, to be screwed up by what she’d endured.
“Like a fucking mess.” Her eyes glowed.
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of their business, but they’ll make it their business if they see. They’re Fae males—sticking their noses into places they don’t belong is an art form for them.”
Hunt huffed a laugh. “True.”
She exhaled again. “Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.” Her hands still shook, as if her bloody memories swarmed her.
It was instinct to take her hands in his own.
They trembled like glasses rattling on a shelf. Felt as delicate, even with the slick, clammy sweat coating them.
“Take a breath,” Hunt said, squeezing her fingers gently.
Bryce closed her eyes, head bowing as she obeyed.
“Another,” he commanded.
She did.
“Another.”
So Quinlan breathed, Hunt not letting go of her hands until the sweat dried. Until she lifted her head. “Okay,” she said again, and this time, the word was solid.
“You good?”
“As good as I’ll ever be,” she said, but her gaze had cleared.
Unable to help himself, he brushed back a loose tendril of her hair. It slid like cool silk against his fingers as he hooked it behind her arched ear. “You and me both, Quinlan.”
Bryce let Hunt fly her to the crime scene. The alley in the Asphodel Meadows was about as seedy as they came: overflowing dumpster, suspect puddles of liquid gleaming, rail-thin animals rooting through the trash, broken glass sparkling in the firstlight from the rusting lamppost.
Glowing blue magi-screens already blocked off the alley entrance. A few technicians and legionaries were on the scene, Isaiah Tiberian, Ruhn, and his friends among them.
The alley lay just off Main Street, in the shadow of the North Gate—the Mortal Gate, most people called it. Apartment buildings loomed, most of them public, all in dire need of repairs. The noises from the cramped avenue beyond the alley echoed off the crumbling brick walls, the cloying reek of trash stuffing itself up her nose. Bryce tried not to inhale too much.
Hunt surveyed the alley and murmured, a strong hand on the small of her back, “You don’t need to look, Bryce.”
What he’d done for her just now in that shooting range … She’d never let anyone, even her parents, see her like that before. Those moments when she couldn’t breathe. She usually went into a bathroom or bailed for a few hours or went for a run.
The instinct to flee had been nearly as overwhelming as the panic and dread searing her chest, but … she’d seen Hunt come in from his mission the other night. Knew he of all people might get it.
He had. And hadn’t balked for one second.
Just as he hadn’t balked from seeing her shoot that target, and instead answered it with a shot of his own. Like they were two of a kind, like she could throw anything at him and he’d catch it. Would meet every challenge with that wicked, feral grin.
She could have sworn the warmth from his hands still lingered on her own.
Whatever conversation they’d been having with Isaiah over, Flynn and Declan strode for the magi-screen. Ruhn stood ten feet beyond them, talking to a beautiful, dark-haired medwitch. No doubt asking about what she’d assessed.
Peering around the glowing blue edge to the body hidden beyond, Flynn and Declan swore.
Her stomach bottomed out. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea. She leaned slightly into Hunt’s touch.
His fingers dug into her back in silent reassurance before he murmured, “I can look for us.”
Us, like they were a unit against this fucking mess of a world.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice mercifully calm. But she didn’t move toward the screen.
Flynn pulled away from the blocked-off body and asked Isaiah, “How fresh is this kill?”
“We’re putting the TOD at thirty minutes ago,” Isaiah answered gravely. “From the remains of the clothes, it looks like it was one of the guards at Luna’s Temple. He was on his way home.”
Silence rippled around them. Bryce’s stomach dropped.
Hunt swore. “I’m gonna take a guess and say he was on duty the night the Horn was stolen?”
Isaiah nodded. “It was the first thing I checked.”
Bryce swallowed and said, “We have to be getting close to something, then. Or the murderer is already one step ahead of us, interrogating and then killing anyone who might have known where the Horn disappeared to.”
“None of the cameras caught anything?” Flynn asked, his handsome face unusually serious.
“Nothing,” Isaiah said. “It’s like it knew where they were. Or whoever summoned it did. It stayed out of sight.”
Hunt ran his hand up the length of her spine, a solid, calming sweep, and then stepped toward the Commander of the 33rd, his voice low as he said, “To know every camera in this city, especially the hidden ones, would require some clearance.” His words hung there, none of them daring to say more, not in public. Hunt asked, “Did anyone report a sighting of a demon?”
A DNA technician emerged from the screen, blood staining the knees of her white jumpsuit. Like she’d knelt in it while she gathered the sample kit dangling from her gloved fingers.
Bryce glanced away again, back toward Main Street.
Isaiah shook his head. “No reports from civilians or patrols yet.”
Bryce barely heard him as the facts poured into her mind. Main Street.
She pulled out her phone, drawing up the map of the city. Her location pinged, a red dot on the network of streets.
The males were still talking about the scant evidence when she placed a few pins in the map, then squinted at the ground beneath them. Ruhn had drifted over, falling into conversation with his friends as she tuned them out.
But Hunt noted her focus and turned toward her, his dark brows high. “What?”
She leaned into the shadow of his wing, and could have sworn he folded it more closely around her. “Here’s a map of where all the murders happened.”
She allowed Ruhn and his friends to prowl near. Even deigned to show them her screen, her hands shaking slightly.
“This one,” she said, pointing to the blinking dot, “is us.” She pointed to another, close by. “This is where Maximus Tertian died.” She pointed to another, this one near Central Avenue. “This is the acolyte’s murder.” Her throat constricted, but she pushed past it as she pointed to the other dot, a few blocks due north. “Here’s where …” The words burned. Fuck. Fuck, she had to say it, voice it—
“Danika and the Pack of Devils were killed,” Hunt supplied.
Bryce threw him a grateful glance. “Yes. Do you see what I see?”
“No?” Flynn said.
“Didn’t you go to some fancy Fae prep school?” she asked. At Flynn’s scowl, she sighed, zooming out on the screen. “Look: all of them took place within steps of one of the major avenues. On top of the ley lines—natural channels for the firstlight to travel through the city.”
“Highways of power,” Hunt said, his eyes shining. “They flow right through the Gates.” Yeah, Athalar got it. He aimed for where Isaiah stood twenty feet away, talking to a tall, blond nymph in a forensics jacket.
Bryce said to the Fae males, to her wide-eyed brother, “Maybe whoever is summoning this demon is drawing upon the power of these ley lines under the city to have the strength to summon it. If all the murders take place near them, maybe that’s how the demon appeared.”
One of the Aux team called Ruhn’s name, and her brother merely gave her an impressed nod before going over to them. She ignored what that admiration did to her, turning her gaz
e to Hunt instead as he kept walking down the alley, the powerful muscles of his legs shifting. She heard him call to Isaiah as he walked toward the commander, “Have Viktoria run a search on the cameras along Main, Central, and Ward. See if they catch any blip of power—any small surge or drop in temperature that might happen if a demon were summoned.” The kristallos might stay out of sight, but surely the cameras would pick up a slight disturbance in the power flow or temperature. “And have her look at the firstlight grid around those times, too. See if anything registered.”
Declan watched the angel stride off, then said to Bryce, “You know what he does, right?”
“Look really good in black?” she said sweetly.
Declan growled. “That demon-hunting is a front. He does the Governor’s dirty work.” His chiseled jaw clenched for a second. “Hunt Athalar is bad news.”
She batted her eyelashes. “Good thing I like bad boys.”
Flynn let out a low whistle.
But Declan shook his head. “The angels don’t give a shit about anyone, B. His goals are not your goals. Athalar’s goals might not even be the same as Micah’s. Be careful.”
She nodded to where her brother was again speaking with the stunning medwitch. “I already got the pep talk from Ruhn, don’t worry.”
Down the alley, Hunt was saying to Isaiah, “Call me if Viktoria gets any video of it.” Then he added, as if not quite used to it, “Thanks.”
In the distance, clouds gathered. Rain had been predicted for the middle of the night, but it seemed it was arriving sooner.
Hunt stalked back toward them. “They’re on it.”
“We’ll see if the 33rd follows through this time,” Declan muttered. “I’m not holding my breath.”
Hunt straightened. Bryce waited for his defense, but the angel shrugged. “Me neither.”
Flynn jerked his head toward the angels working the scene. “No loyalty?”
Hunt read a message that flashed on his phone’s screen, then pocketed it. “I don’t have any choice but to be loyal.”
And to tick off those deaths one by one. Bryce’s stomach twisted.
Declan’s amber eyes dropped to the tattoo on Hunt’s wrist. “It’s fucked up.”
House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City) Page 36