House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (59 page)

She nodded, like the name meant something to her. “If they catch you, running is your best option. Don’t fight.”

“I’m not programmed that way.”

“Then reprogram yourself.”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t think I—”

Day hissed, bending over. She twitched, almost convulsing.

“Day?”

She sucked in a breath, then was gone.

“Day!” His voice echoed across the void.

He didn’t think. Launching over the fainting couch, he sprinted down her end of the bridge, into the dark and night, flinging himself after her—

Ruhn slammed into a wall of black adamant. Time slowed, bringing with it flashes of sensation. No images, all …
touch
.

Bones grinding in her left wrist from where it was being squeezed tight enough to hurt; it was the pain that had awoken her, pulled her away from the bridge—

Willing herself to yield, give over, become his, to find some way to savor this. Teeth scraping at her nipple, clamping down—

Ruhn collided with the ground, the sensations vanishing. He surged to his feet, pressing a palm against the black wall.

Nothing. No echo to tell him what was happening.

Well, he
knew
what was happening. He’d gotten the sense of very rough sex, and though he had the distinct feeling that it was consensual, it wasn’t … meaningful. Whoever slept at her side had woken her with it.

The impenetrable black loomed before him. The wall of her mind.

He had no idea why he waited. Why he stayed. Had no idea how much time passed until a flame once more emerged from that wall.

Her fire had banked enough that he could make out long legs walking toward him. Halting upon finding him kneeling. Then she dropped to her knees as well, flame again swallowing her whole.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” The word was a hiss of embers being extinguished.

“What was that?”

“You’ve never had sex before?”

He straightened at the slicing question. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

“I said I was.”

“You weren’t—”

“No. He asked, albeit a bit suddenly, and I said yes.”

Ruhn’s insides twisted at the utter iciness. “You don’t seem to have enjoyed it.”

“Is it your business whether I find release or not?”

“Did you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you orgasm?”

“That’s absolutely none of your business.”

“You’re right.”

Again, silence fell, but they remained kneeling there, face-to-face. She said after a tense moment, “I hate him. No one knows it, but I do. He disgusts me.”

“Then why sleep with him?”

“Because I …” A long sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“Indulge me.”

“Do you only sleep with people you like?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never fucked someone you hate?”

He considered, even as the sound of her saying the word
fucked
did something to his cock. “All right. Maybe once. But it was an ex.” A Fae female he’d dated decades ago, who he hadn’t cared to remember until now.

“Then you can think of this like that.”

“So he’s—”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

Ruhn blew out a breath. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Why?”

“One moment you were here, the next you were gone. It seemed like you were in pain.”

“Don’t be a fool and get attached enough to worry.”

“I’d be a monster not to care whether another person is hurt.”

“There’s no place for that in this war. The sooner you realize it, the less pain you’ll feel.”

“So we’re back to the ice-queen routine.”

She drew up. “Routine?”

“Where’s the wild and crazy female I was talking about bondage with earlier?”

She laughed. He liked the sound—it was low and throaty and predatory. Fuck, he liked that sound a lot. “You are such a typical Valbaran male.”

“I told you: Come visit me in Lunathion. I’ll show you a good time, Day.”

“So eager to meet me.”

“I like the sound of your voice. I want to know the face behind it.”

“That’s not going to happen. But thank you.” She added after a moment, “I like the sound of your voice, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”
She chuckled. “You’re trouble.”

“Is it clich
é
if I say that
Trouble
is my middle name?”

“Oh yes. Very.”

“What would
your
middle name be?” he teased.

Her flames pulled back, revealing those eyes of pure fire. “Retribution.”

He grinned wickedly. “Badass.”

She laughed again, and his cock hardened at the sound. “Goodbye, Night.”

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep. Properly.”

“Isn’t your body resting?”

“Yes, but my mind is not.”

He didn’t know why, but he gestured to her fainting couch. “Then sit back. Relax.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Honestly? Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel calm around you. There’s so much shit going down, and I … I like being here. With you.”

“I don’t think most females would be flattered to be called ‘calming’ by a handsome male.”

“Who says I’m handsome?”

“You talk like someone who’s well aware of his good looks.”

“Like an arrogant asshole, then.”

“Your words, not mine.”

Day rose to her feet, striding to the fainting couch. Her flames rippled as she lay upon it, and Ruhn jumped onto his own couch.

“All I need is a TV and a beer and I’m set,” he said.

She snickered, curling on her side. “As I said: typical Valbaran male.”

Ruhn closed his eyes, bathing in the timbre of her voice. “You gotta work on those compliments, Day.”

Another chuckle, sleepier this time. “I’ll add it to my to-do list, Night.”

43

Hunt breathed in the cool air off the turquoise sea, admiring the pristine water, so clear that he could see the corals and rocks and the fish darting among them.

Down in the quay, hidden in a massive cavern, the cargo ship was still being unloaded. The sea cave, tucked into an isolated, arid part of Ydra, one of the more remote Coronal Islands, ran at least a mile inland. It had been selected because the water flowing within it ran so deep—deep enough for massive cargo ships to slide into its stone-hewn dock and unload their contraband.

Hunt stood in the shadows just within the mouth of the cave, focusing on the bright, open water ahead and not the reek of the oil on the ancient mech-suits currently helping to unload the ship into the fleet of awaiting vehicles: laundry trucks, food trucks, moving trucks … anything that might reasonably inch along one of the island’s steeply curving roads or board one of the auto-ferries shuttling vehicles between the hundred or so islands of this archipelago without raising too much suspicion.

Cormac had teleported everyone to Ydra an hour ago. Hunt had nearly puked during the five-minute-long trip with several stops—when they’d finally arrived, he’d sat his ass on the damp concrete, head between his knees. Cormac had gone back, again and again, until all of them were here.

And then the poor fuck had to go head-to-head with whoever was in charge from Command, to convince them Pippa Spetsos shouldn’t be anywhere near this shit.

Cormac had been unsteady on his feet, pale from the teleporting, but had left them with the promise to return soon. Bryce, Tharion, and Ruhn all sat on the ground—apparently not trusting their legs yet, either. Hunt hadn’t failed to notice that Ruhn kept reaching over his shoulder—as if to seek the reassuring presence of the Starsword. But the prince had left the blade back in Lunathion, not wanting to risk losing it here if all Hel broke loose. It seemed the male was missing his security blanket as their stomachs and minds settled.

“I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast,” Tharion was saying, a hand on his abs. He wore only tight black aquatic leggings, equipped along the thighs with holsters for knives. No shoes or shirt. If he needed to shift into his mer form, he’d said upon arriving at Bryce’s place this morning, he didn’t want to lose much.

Tharion’s timing had been unfortunate—he’d arrived at the apartment right after Hunt. Bryce was already propped up on the counter, gripping Hunt’s shoulders while he lazily licked up her neck. Tharion’s knock on the door was … unwelcome.

That would all have to wait. But his mate had gotten him out of the barracks—he’d repay her generously tonight.

Bryce now patted Tharion’s bare shoulder. “I’m weirdly satisfied that a mer can get airsick, considering how many of us suffer from seasickness.”

“
He’s
still green, too,” Tharion said, pointing to Hunt, who grinned weakly.

But Tharion went back to idly observing the cave around them. Perhaps
too
idly. Hunt knew Tharion’s main objective: get Pippa to talk about Emile. Whether that interrogation would be friendly was up to the mer captain.

Ruhn murmured, “Incoming.”

They all turned toward the cargo ship to see Cormac striding over to them. Still pale and drained—Hunt had no idea how he’d get them all out of here when this was over.

But Hunt tensed at the fury simmering off Cormac. “What’s up?” Hunt said, eyeing the cave interior beyond Cormac. Tharion’s attention drifted that way as well, his long body easing into a crouch, ready to spring into action.

Cormac shook his head and said, “Pippa’s already got her claws in them. They’re all eating out of her hand. The weapons are hers, and she’s now in charge of the Valbaran front.”

Tharion frowned, but scanned the space behind the Avallen Prince. “Anything about Emile or Sofie?”

“No. She didn’t say a word about them, and I couldn’t risk asking. I don’t want her to know we’re on the hunt as well.” Cormac paced. “A confrontation about Emile in front of the others would likely lead to bloodshed. We can only play along.”

“Any chance of isolating her?” Tharion pressed.

Cormac shook his head. “No. Believe me, she’ll be on her guard as much as we are. You want to drag her off for questioning, you’re going to have a battle on your hands.”

Tharion swore, and Bryce patted his knee in what Hunt could only guess was an attempt at consolation.

Cormac faced Hunt. “Athalar, you’re up.” He jerked his head to the massive ship. “They’re unloading the new prototype right now.”

In silence, they followed the prince, Hunt keeping close to Bryce. The rebels—all in black, many with hats or masks on—stared at them as they passed. None of them smiled. One man grumbled, “Vanir pricks.”

Tharion blew him a kiss.

Ruhn growled.

“Play nice,” Bryce hissed at her brother, pinching his side through his black T-shirt. Ruhn batted her away with a tattooed hand.

“Real mature,” Hunt muttered as they halted at the foot of the loading platform. Ruhn subtly flipped him off. Bryce pinched Hunt’s side, too.

But Tharion let out a low whistle as four rusty mech-suits emerged from the ship’s hold, each carrying the corner of a massive box.

It looked like a metal sarcophagus, carved with the insignia of the Asteri: seven stars around
SPQM
. The humans piloting the old-model mech-suits didn’t so much as glance to the side as they carried the box down the ramp, the ground thudding beneath the machines’ massive feet.

“Those suits are for battle, not manual labor,” Tharion murmured.

“Twelve-gunners. They’re the strongest of the human models.” Hunt inclined his head to the twin double guns at the shoulder, the guns on each of the forearms. “Six visible guns, six hidden ones—and one of those is a cannon.”

Bryce grimaced. “How many of these suits do the humans have?”

“A few hundred,” Cormac answered. “The Asteri have bombed enough of our factories that these suits are all old, though. The imperial prototype that they’re carrying could give us new technology, if we can study it.”

Bryce murmured, “And no one is worried about giving this stuff over to trigger-happy Pippa?”

“No,” Cormac replied gravely. “Not one of them.”

“But they’re cool with us examining the suit?” Bryce asked.

“I told them Athalar would have some insight into how they’re constructed.”

Hunt clicked his tongue. “No pressure, huh?” He suppressed the memory of Sandriel’s face, her cruel amusement as she watched what he’d done to the suits on her orders.

The suits and their pilots reached the concrete quay, and someone barked an order that dispersed the various rebels working the docks until only a unit of twelve rebels—all humans—lingered behind Hunt and the others.

Hunt liked that about as much as the fact that they were here at all, on a fucking rebel base. Officially aiding Ophion. He kept his breathing slow and steady.

The unit of rebels marched past them, climbing into the vessel, and the mech-pilots stomped off, leaving the sarcophagus behind. A heartbeat later, a human female, brown-haired and freckled, emerged from the shadows beside the boat.

From the way Cormac tensed, Hunt knew who it was. He noted that she wore the uniform of the Lightfall squadron. All the rebels who’d gone by had borne armbands with the sinking sun emblem.

Hunt put his hand in easy reach of the gun at his thigh, lightning writhing in his veins. Bryce angled her body, already eyeing up the best shot. Tharion drifted a few feet to the left, positioning Pippa between himself and the water. As if he’d tackle her into it.

But Pippa moved casually to the other side of the sarcophagus as she said to Cormac, “The code to that box is seven-three-four-two-five.”

Her voice was smooth and fancy—like she was some rich Pangeran kid playing at being a rebel. She said to Hunt, “We’re waiting with bated breath for your analysis, Umbra Mortis.” It was practically an order.

Hunt stared at her from under lowered brows. He knew he was recognizable. But the way she said his name definitely carried a threat. Pippa shifted her attention to Cormac. “I wondered when you’d try to turn them against me.”

Hunt and Bryce drew close, guns at their fingertips now. Ruhn kept a step back, guarding their rear. And Tharion …