House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (44 page)

Mordoc angled his head, scalp gleaming through his buzzed hair, then crouched, muscles flexing beneath his gray uniform, and ran a thick finger through a footprint. He lifted the dirt to his nose and sniffed. His teeth—slightly too long—gleamed in the dimness of the alley.

Mind-to-mind, Ruhn asked Cormac,
Does Mordoc know your scent?

I don’t think so. Does he know yours?

No. I’ve never met him.

Ruhn said to Ithan, who jolted slightly at the sound of Ruhn’s voice in his mind,
Do you know Mordoc? Have you met him before?

Ithan’s gaze remained on the powerful male now rising to sniff the air.
Yes. A long time ago. He came to visit the Den.

Why?

Ithan at last responded, eyes wide and pained.
Because he’s Danika’s father.

Bryce had enough presence of mind to draw the Starsword. To rally her power even though the thing before them … Oh gods.

“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 was 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 muscle. 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.

It screamed, dodging to the left, an obelisk crumbling beneath it. Bryce pivoted to where the Under-King had been, but only mist remained.

Coward.

Hunt struck again, forked lightning splitting the sky before it slammed into the creature’s back, but it rolled once more, shaking off the lightning.

“The
fuck
,” Hunt panted, drawing his sword and gun as he moved in front of Bryce. The Shepherd halted, eyeing them. Then the hound peeled apart.

First its head split, two other heads joining the first. And then the three-headed dog continued to separate until three hounds snarled at them. Three beasts that shared one mind, one goal:
Kill
.

“Run,” Hunt ordered, not taking his focus from the three dogs. “Get back to the river and fucking
swim
.”

“Not without you.”

“I’ll be right behind.”

“Just fly us—”

The dog to the left snarled, bristling. Bryce faced it, and in that blink, the one on the right leapt. Hunt’s lightning snapped free, and Bryce didn’t hesitate before she turned and ran.

Mist swallowed her, swallowed Hunt until he was nothing but light rippling behind her. She sped past obelisks and stone mausoleums. Resting places for the dead, or mere cages to keep them until they could become food, valuable for their firstlight?
Secondlight
.

Thunderous steps crunched behind her. She dared a glance over her shoulder.

One of the hounds rampaged at her heels, closing the distance. Hunt’s lightning flashed behind it, along with his bellow of rage. That was her
mate
she was leaving behind—

Bryce cut inland. The beast, apparently convinced she was making a run for the river, pivoted too slowly. It crashed into a
mausoleum, sending both structure and hound sprawling. Bryce kept running. Sprinted as fast as she could back toward Hunt.

But the mist was a labyrinth, and Hunt’s lightning seemed to launch from everywhere. Obelisks loomed like giants.

Bryce slammed into something hard and smooth, her teeth punching through her lower lip and the Starsword clattering out of her hand. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth as she hit the ground. Flipping over, she peered up to find herself sprawled before a crystal archway.

The Dead Gate.

A snarl rumbled the earth. Bryce twisted, crawling backward to the Gate. The Shepherd emerged from the mist.

And in the grayish dirt between them lay the Starsword, glowing faintly.

Ruhn’s blood iced over at Ithan’s declaration. Did Bryce know Mordoc was Danika’s father? She’d have mentioned it if she did, right?

It wasn’t spoken of
, Ithan explained.
Sabine and the others tried to forget. Danika refused to acknowledge Mordoc. Never said his name, or that she even had a father. But a few of us were at the Den the only time he came to see his daughter. She was seventeen and refused to even see him. Afterward, she wouldn’t talk about it except to say that she was nothing like him. She never mentioned Mordoc again.

The male approached, and Ruhn scanned for any hint of Danika Fendyr in him. He found none.
They don’t resemble each other at all.

Ithan said warily, sadly,
The similarities run beneath the surface.
Ruhn waited for the blow. Knew it was coming even before Ithan explained,
He’s a bloodhound.

Ruhn said to Cormac,
Teleport us the fuck out of here.
He should have done it the moment they saw Mordoc coming.

I can only take one at a time.

Mordoc drew closer.
Take Ithan and
go
.

I won’t be able to pinpoint you in the shadows when I return
, Cormac answered.
Be ready to run to the avenue on my signal.
Then he grabbed Ithan and vanished.

Ruhn kept perfectly still as the wolf prowled near. Sniffing, head swaying from side to side.

“I can smell you, Faeling,” Mordoc growled, voice like stones cracking against each other. “I can smell the coffee on your breath.”

Ruhn kept his shadows tight around him, blending into the dimness along the alley’s far wall. He made each step silent, though the dusty ground threatened to betray him.

“What were you doing here, I wonder,” Mordoc said, halting to turn in place. Tracking Ruhn. “I saw your agent go in—the vagabond. He slipped my net, but why did you stay?”

Where the Hel was Cormac? Considering that Bryce and Hunt were currently in the Bone Quarter, Ruhn had expected
them
to be the ones in major peril today.

He kept moving, slowly and silently. The bright, open street lay beyond. The crowd might hide him, but not his scent. And his shadows would be of no use out in the sunny open.

“Hunting you all down like vermin shall be diverting,” Mordoc said, pivoting in place as if he could see Ruhn through the shadows. “This city has been coddled for far too long.”

Ruhn’s temper unsheathed its talons, but he willed it down.

“Ah, that annoys you. I can smell it.” A savage smile. “I shall remember that smell.”

At the other end of the alley, Ruhn’s magic picked up the flicker of Cormac arriving—only long enough to scuff his shoes in the dirt—and then vanish.

Mordoc whirled toward it, and Ruhn ran, dropping the shadows around himself.

Cormac appeared in a writhing nest of darkness, grabbed his arm, and teleported them out. Ruhn could only pray to Luna that by the time Mordoc had faced the street again, nothing remained of his scent for the bloodhound to detect.

31

Ruhn nursed his glass of whiskey, trying to calm his frayed nerves. Ithan, seated across from him at a quiet bar in FiRo, was watching the sports highlights on the TV above the liquor display. Cormac had dropped them both here before teleporting away, presumably to warn his rebel counterparts about what had happened with Mordoc.

Danika’s father. Bryce would have a fit.

Had her sire’s involvement with the dreadwolves been part of what spurred Danika to work with the rebels? She was rebellious and defiant enough to do such a thing.

And Mordoc knew Ruhn’s scent now. Knew Ithan’s scent had been there. Which was why Cormac had brought them here—so there would be video proof of them far from the Old Square at the time Mordoc would claim Ithan had been in the alley.

Ithan said nothing as the minutes wore on, his whiskey vanishing with them. No matter that it was barely eleven in the morning and only one other person sat at the bar—a hunched female who looked like she’d seen better years. Decades.

Neither of them dared utter a word about what had happened. So Ruhn said to Ithan, “I asked you to join me here so we could chat about something.”

Ithan blinked. “Yeah?”

Ruhn said to him, mind-to-mind,
Play along. I have no idea if the cameras have audio, but in case they do, I want our meeting here to seem planned.

Ithan’s face remained casual, intrigued.
Got it.

Ruhn made sure his voice was loud enough to be picked up as he said, “How do you feel about moving in with me and the guys?”

Ithan angled his head. “What? Like—live with you?” His surprise seemed genuine.

Ruhn shrugged. “Why not?”

“You’re Fae.”

“Yeah, but we hate the angels more than we hate wolves, so … you’re only our second-worst enemy.”

Ithan chuckled, some color returning to his face. “A winning argument.”

“I mean it,” Ruhn said. “You honestly want to stay at Bryce’s apartment and endure her and Hunt hooking up nonstop?”

Ithan snorted. “Hel no. But … why?”
Beyond an excuse for the cameras
, Ithan said silently.

Ruhn leaned back in his chair. “You seem like a decent male. You’re helping Dec with the footage stuff. And you need a place to stay. Why not?”

Ithan seemed to weigh his response. “I’ll think about it.”

“Take all the time you need. The offer stands.”

Ithan straightened, his attention darting behind Ruhn. He went wholly still. Ruhn didn’t dare look. Not as light footsteps sounded, followed by a second thudding pair. Before he could ask Ithan mind-to-mind what he saw, Ruhn found himself faced with the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

“Mind if I join?” Her voice was lovely, fair and cool—yet no light shone in her amber eyes.

A step behind her, a dark-haired, pale-faced female malakh grinned with wicked amusement. She was narrow-featured, black-winged, with a wildness like the western wind. “Hello, princeling. Pup.”

Ruhn’s blood chilled as the Harpy slid into the seat to his left.
An assortment of knives glinted on the belt at her slim waist. But Ruhn peered up again at the beautiful female, whose face he knew well thanks to the news and TV, though he’d never seen it in person. Her golden hair glinted in the dim lights as she sat on his right and signaled the bartender with an elegant hand.

“I thought we’d play a round of cards,” the Hind said.

Two against one. Those odds were usually laughable for Hunt.

But not when his opponents were demons from Hel. One of the princes’ cast-off experiments, now acting as the Under-King’s enforcers, feeding long-dead souls into the Gate for secondlight energy. Like all they were, would ever be, was food to fuel the empire.

The demon to his left lunged, teeth snapping.

Hunt blasted his lightning, forks of it wrapping around the beast’s thick neck. It bucked, bellowing, and the one to his right charged. Hunt lashed at it, another collar of lightning going around its neck, a leash of white light clenched in his fist.

Had Bryce made it to the river? The third demon had raced after her before he could stop it, but she was fast, and she was smart—

The demons before him halted. They shuddered and melted back into each other, becoming one beast again.

His lightning remained around its neck. But he could do nothing as it flexed—and shattered the lightning sizzling into its flesh. Something of that size and speed would use the two seconds of slowness it took him to get airborne and swallow him whole.

This wasn’t how he’d expected the morning to go.

He rallied his power, focusing. He’d killed Sandriel with this lightning. A demon should be nothing. But before he could act, a scream rent the mists to the southeast. The beast twisted toward the sound, sniffing.

And before Hunt could stop it, faster than his lightning’s whip, it raced off into the mist. After Bryce.

Bryce crouched beside the Dead Gate, sizing up the threats surrounding her. Not just the hound, but the two dozen Reapers who’d floated from the mists, encircling her.

The half-lifes’ rotting flesh reeked; their acid-green eyes glowed through the mists. Their rasping whispers slithered like snakes over her skin. The Shepherd advanced, cutting her off further.

The crystal of the Dead Gate began to glow white. Not from her touch, but as if—

The Reapers were chanting. Awakening the Dead Gate, somehow.

During the attack on the city, it had channeled her magic against the demons, but today … today it would siphon off her power. Her soul. The Gates sucked magic from whoever touched them, and stored it. She’d inherited her power from that very force.

But this one fed that power right back into the power grid. Like some fucked-up rechargeable battery. Somehow, she’d become food. Was that what she’d traded away? A few centuries here, thinking she’d found eternal rest—and then meeting this end? Instead, she’d face a trip straight into the meat grinder of souls immediately when she died.

Which seemed likely to be soon.

There was a good chance that she could draw from the Gate as well, she supposed. But what if the Dead Gate was somehow different? What if she went to summon power, only to lose all of hers? She couldn’t risk it.