Table of Contents

BRYCE & DANIKA BONUS CHAPTER

*can be read at any point as it predates the series
BRYCE, NESTA & AZRIEL BONUS CHAPTER
*read after chapter 16
EMBER & RANDALL BONUS CHAPTER
*read after chapter 80
RUHN & LIDIA BONUS CHAPTER
*read after finishing the book
BRYCE & HUNT BONUS CHAPTER
*read after finishing the book
 Bryce & Danika Bonus Chapter

-Bryce-

The thumping bass from the shitty old boom box reached Bryce a full
two levels below the apartment. The sweet, musky scent of mirthroot
hit her when she reached the next landing. And by the time Bryce
unlocked the door and stepped inside, she was already dancing.
“There’s my favorite person!” Danika shouted, saluting Bryce with
a rolled cigarette of mirthroot. A pile of it lay on the coffee table before
her, Danika’s bare feet inches away. Bryce’s roommate gestured
magnanimously to the spread of drugs.
“Where the fuck did you even get that much mirthroot?” Bryce toed
off her heels, scrunching her chafed, aching toes a few times to work
some life back into them. Then she reached under her dress and
snapped her bra free. She whipped it around her head once for good
effect, then sent it soaring across the living area. It landed in a sweaty
heap on the threshold of her bedroom. Fuck, it was hot out. And it was
hot in here.
Even with the air-conditioning on, a light sweat coated Danika’s
face. It probably didn’t help that she wore her familiar leather jacket,
with Through love, all is possible scrawled across the back, despite the
summer heat.
Danika took a long drag of mirthroot, exhaling through her nostrils
before saying “I confiscated it from some asshole tourists who thought
it’d be cool to get wasted in the Oracle’s Park and see if they picked up
on her psychic vibes or whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Gave them a
formal warning and took their drugs.”
Bryce chuckled, plopping onto the sagging couch beside her best
friend, “You’re a real role model.”
Danika passed her the smoldering cigarette, “Oh yeah. Crescent
City’s finest.”
 Bryce inhaled deeply, every taut muscle in her body relaxing at the
taste of the smoke in her mouth.
On the crappy, too-small TV across the living room, the evening
news blathered on, barely audible above the thump of the music on the
boom box. The blackout last week, blah, blah, blah—
“Where’s everyone else?” Bryce asked, exhaling slowly before
passing the mirthroot back to Danika. She’d gotten Danika’s message
half an hour ago: a short video showing the pile of mirthroot—which
had then been on the kitchen counter—with music blasting in the
background, accompanied by the words Hurry home quick, honey.
So Bryce had, locking the gallery up in record time. So fast that
she’d forgotten her dirty dance clothes from the class she’d taken at
lunchtime. So fast that poor Syrinx had only gotten in one cuddle before
she’d been out the door with promises to bring him a big treat
tomorrow.
“Working,” Danika replied at last, smoke rippling from her lips.
“Being the role model that I am, I took the evening off to enjoy the
spoils.” She wriggled her toes, each one coated in chipped purple nail
polish, at the mirthroot. “Bronson made me promise to leave some for
him, so don’t make me a liar.”
Bryce took another hit. “If we smoke all of that, I think we’ll die,
Danika.”
“Nah,” Danika said, smirking as Bryce slowly released a sweet
cloud. “But you might still be high in two days.”
Bryce’s phone chirped, and she grabbed it from the coffee table to
find that an email from Jesiba had popped up. Bryce skimmed its
contents, then winced. She’d just put her phone down, intending to
ignore the message for as long as possible, when Danika said rising to
her feet, “Maybe three days.”
Bryce laughed, the room starting to slow and spin with a familiar
haziness. She set the mirthroot down in the lopsided ceramic ashtray—a
gem from their half-assed college pottery class—and leaned back on the
stained cushions to savor the chill creeping over her.
 Humming along to the music, Danika padded into the gallery
kitchen. Bryce’s phone buzzed with another message from Jesiba. I
expect a reply within the next five—
Bryce sighed and began typing back any building bliss fading away.
“Wanna go out?” Danika called from the kitchen.
Bryce propped her feet on the coffee table, sending the email to
Jesiba as she did. “No. My bra is officially off and I am not putting it
back on.”
“Who said you need a bra on to go out?” Danika emerged from the
kitchen, munching on a soggy leftover sandwich.
“There’s still plenty of ziti from what I made last night,” Bryce
offered, the music starting to send rippling gold rings through the room.
Pretty. “That sandwich is, like, six days old.”
Danika took another bite and said around a mouthful, “I’d rather
risk food poisoning from this thing than that … concoction.”
Bryce flipped off her friend with a finger that felt a million miles
away. “You said the ziti was good!.”
“It might have been on its own.” Danika crossed her arms. “But you
added …?”
“Sausage.”
“And?”
Bryce winced. “Some other stuff?” Okay, maybe she’d gotten a
little overeager adding things to the recipe. She’d stopped herself after
the garlic and olives, though.
Danika nodded sagely. “Yeah, no ziti. Let’s go out, though— I’ve
still got plenty of room for more. Pizza, then beer. Then whiskey.”
“I have work tomorrow,” Bryce hedged. “Jesiba’s already
messaging me about the pile of paperwork she wants me to fill out
before she even gets in tomorrow morning. There’s no way I can get
through it if I’m nursing a hangover. Or still high.”
“Just two drinks,” Danika promised, unraveling and then
re-braiding her blond, corn-silk hair with strands of amethyst, sapphire,
and rose woven throughout. “I’ll have you in bed by one.”
 That was a big fucking lie, if Bryce had ever heard one. But if
Danika wanted to go out, only the two of them, no mention of making it
a party with June and Fury …
“Please,” Danika asked, frowning slightly. She approached the
coffee table and picked up the mirthroot cigarette, inhaling again. “I
could use it.”
Even with the haze of the drugs, it was hard to miss the tightness in
Danika’s face, her posture.
So Bryce asked, as soberly as she could, “You all right?”
Danika shrugged, inhaling again. “Sabine. As usual.”
There was something in the way Danika didn’t look at her, didn’t
meet her eyes … Bryce wasn’t entirely sure she bought it, even though
Sabine was always nipping at Danika’s heels. But what else could it be?
Maybe something with Thorne, but Thorne’s panting after Danika had
never seemed to bother her before.
If Danika didn’t want to talk about it, though, Bryce wouldn’t push.
She’d be there when Danika was ready.
Bryce took another drag of the mirthroot herself, free-falling into
the serene calmness, and said, “One—I want to be back here and in bed
by one.”
Her best friend, the sister of her soul, winked. But some of that
tightness, that distant worry remained—just a glimmer. Even as Danika
said, eyes glowing with wolfish delight through the cloud of mirthroot
smoke, “I’ll get you a fresh bra.”

“There’s a thousand-mark fine and a permanent citation for public

drunkenness,” a male voice lectured Bryce and Danika two hours later,
right as the clock neared midnight.
One in the morning loomed, but maybe she could push it to two. It
was such a warm, beautiful night, the wind sighing through the palms
… the kind of summer night that would linger in Bryce’s memory for
years. The mirthroot still wrapped around her senses, heightening and
yet soothing them, making her savor every perfect detail of this night.
 Sitting on the rim of a fountain in a market square near Archer
Street, Danika swigged from her bottle of beer. They’d gotten a
six-pack from the nearby grocery store—and then another. This was
their third. They had only the who cares effect of the mirthroot to blame
for it, Bryce supposed. “No one likes a narc.”
Bryce snickered up at the trio of wolves standing around them:
Connor, Zach, and Thorne. It was Zach who had spoken, and though his
tone had been perfectly dry, his dark eyes glittered with amusement. He
made up half of the twin duo everyone called the Ghosts. If Zach was
here, Zelda couldn’t be far away.
But it was Connor who Bryce really looked at—and promptly tried
to ignore. Especially as he said, “A little public drunkenness never hurt
anyone.”
His tone was the opposite of Zach’s, though. He sounded amused,
but she could have sworn something disapproving shone in Connor’s
eyes as he looked at her. Bryce glared up at him as if to say, What?
Danika needed a drink. And some mirthroot. A lot of it.
She could have sworn Connor’s frown said, There are better ways
of helping her death with Sabine.
Bryce shook her head. He saw too much—noticed too much. She
changed the subject. “Where’s my bestie?”
Danika laughed. “I’m right here. You must have smoked more than
I realized.”
“I mean Ithan,” Bryce said innocently
“Hey!” Danika objected.
“Second-best friend,” Bryce amended.
Thorne chuckled. “Sleeping. Big game in a few days.”
Connor cautioned, “Do not invite him out. He needs rest.”
“Of course,” Danika said. “It’s a big, fancy, important sunball game.
Why, the fate of the world rests upon it! We’d never interfere with that.”
Bryce and Danika swapped a glance. As soon as the trio left, they
were totally messaging Ithan—the fun Holstrom, as she often teased
Connor.
 But Connor didn’t look like he’d appreciate being teased at the
moment. Gods, did everyone have something smoldering inside them
right now? Was it the summer heat? The way he was staring at her …
Bryce became keenly aware of how high her dress had ridden up
her thighs, how much bare leg she had exposed, the drunken angle of
her feet in her high heels.
“Look,” Thorne said, ever the voice of reason, “Amelie and the
Black Rose Pack are on patrol tonight. Just … be careful.”
“Let them try something,” Danika snarled, and even Bryce tensed at
that. Danika was spoiling for a fight.
“Don’t even think about it,” Connor warned, teeth bared in a way
that reminded Bryce he might have been an Alpha in his own right if he
hadn’t chosen to serve Danika instead. “A confrontation with Amelie is
the last thing you need right now.”
“Oh?” Danika rose gracefully to her feet, only swaying a bit.
“Why?”
Thorne stepped between them, the Omega flashing a disarming
smile. “Because I don’t want to have to drag you into jail for murder.”
That seemed to appease Danika, who gently patted Thorne’s face.
He held her gaze, and Bryce was surprised to see that Danika was the
first to look away—like she couldn’t stand whatever she found in
Thorne’s expression. Bryce could have sworn pure pain and longing
filled Throne’s stare. But Zach nodded to Bryce as she stood, heels
wobbling on the cobblestones. “Keep an eye on her, B,” he said.
Bryce saluted sloppily. “Will do.”
Danika snickered, slipping an arm around Bryce’s shoulders.
“We’ll go take our public drunkenness inside.” She tugged Bryce
from the fountain, from the square. “We’ll be drinking ourselves into
oblivion at Lethe should anyone need us.”
Bryce glanced over a shoulder to find Connor still frowning after
her. She didn’t like that look, or all she read in it, so she just winked at
him and let Danika lead her to Lethe’s forgetful embrace
The whiskey bar was fairly busy for a weeknight. People still in work
clothes sipped the expensive stuff from crystal glasses at the array of
high tables, while drunk assholes like Bryce and Danika perched at the
bar, downing straight shots of the cheap nail polish remover Lethe
claimed was their house whiskey.
If they could have afforded the good stuff, they would have bought
it gladly, but Bryce had zero money, and though Danika technically had
the funds, Sabine was the one who signed off on the credit payments.
Bryce didn’t usually mind the cheap crap, but Danika was putting
away an inordinate amount of it tonight. What was going on with her?
Bryce sifted through all that had happened in the past few days. Or
tried to. With all the booze in her system—why had they started with
beer?—she could barely think at all.
There was only one moment that stood out amid the drunken blur.
“What’s up with you and Thorne?” Bryce asked Danika with no
warning whatsoever.
“Huh?” Danika knocked back another whiskey. Gods, what number
was that? Bryce herself had had … She tried to count on her fingers, but
they multiplied and blurred.
Down the bar, an angel in the uniform of the 33rd was checking
them out. She couldn’t tell if he wanted to try to arrest them or try to
fuck them. The red-haired male wasn’t bad-looking actually. Tempting
enough that if she hadn’t been seeing Reid Redner, maybe—
“There’s nothing up with me and Thorne,” Danika said shortly,
signaling for another whiskey. “You gonna talk to that angel or what?”
“Not my type,” Bryce sniffed.
“Liar,” Danika teased. “He’s hot as shit.”
Bryce laughed. “You go talk to him, then.”
Danika winked. “Not my type.”
Bryce considered. “When was the last time you even went on a date
with someone?”
Danika nodded her thanks to the bartender and sighed for a long
moment. Like she was about to say something—
Gods, Bryce’s head was spinning. Maybe she should stop drinking.
 “You’re Danika Fendyr,” a male growled from down the bar. They
looked, and the male—a great, hulking brute of a draki with greenish
scales running down his muscular arm under his gray T-shirt—tipped
his glass toward them.
“What about it?” Danika asked, the words slurring only slightly.
The male downed his whiskey in one gulp, steam puffing from his
nostrils. “Heard a lot about you.”
Bryce leaned forward on the bar, peering down its shining length at
him. “All good things, I hope,” she said with saccharine sweetness. It
was definitely the mirthroot prompting her to sass a draki.
The draki spared her a glance, his reptilian eyes sweeping her, then
back to Danika. Bryce was dismissed. Invisible, unworthy of more than
a look. Maybe a quick fuck in the alley, if he condescend to that.
Bryce’s fingers clenched around her glass.
“Heard you’re a handful,” the draki said to Danika.
“Who the Hel are you?” No drunkenness fogged Danika’s words
now. They were crisp and sharp.
“Just a guy from the north,” the male answered, twisting his glass in
his clawed hands. “Passing through. Didn’t think I’d see a local
celebrity.” He bit out every syllable of celebrity, his pointed white teeth
glistening.
“Happy to make your night,” Danika said, her smile all teeth as well
“Your mom’s a hateful bitch, you know.” The bar quieted.
But Danika remained utterly unruffled. “Oh, I know. What’d she do
to you?”
The male’s pupils narrowed on the finest of slits. “Not to me. To my
cousins. They’re just kids. Came down to the city for a fun weekend
and never made it back home. Last we heard Sabine Fendyr was having
a little fun hunting them through the streets.”
Bryce put a warning hand on Danika’s arm, but said nothing.
Danika, however, said. “That doesn’t surprise me.” She nodded toward
the male. “You come down here to settle the score?”
The wood bar smoldered beneath the male’s clawed, scaled hand.
“You gonna try to stop me?”
 Danika flashed a crooked grin. “Hel no. I’ll wish you luck, if
anything.”
“Danika,” Bryce said. There was defying Sabine, and then there was
outright mutiny. If Danika went too far over the line, she’d pay.
Smoke curled from the draki’s nostrils. “I did hear you weren’t like
her.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” But Bryce didn’t miss the gleam in
Danika’s eyes.
The male nodded to her, then slid off his stool, aiming for the door.
He had almost reached it when he turned back and said to Danika, “You
tip her off and I’ll come back to find you first.”
With that, he was gone.
“Solas,”Bryce breathed after the bar resumed its usual low-key
murmur of activity.
Danika drained her whiskey. “The poor bastard doesn’t realize that
he’s not going to walk away at all, whether Sabine knows he’s coming
or not.”
“You should be careful,” Bryce said, fear clearing her mind for a
moment. “You don’t know who the fuck that is—“
“If he wants to take out Sabine, he’s my new best friend.
Bryce squeezed Danika’s arm, hard. “That’s a dumb fucking thing
to say.”
Danika didn’t answer; she only ordered yet another drink. And
Bryce didn’t object when another slid in front of her, too. After that
encounter, she needed it.
And the next one. And the next.
Music began, and Bryce was dancing to it, even though Lethe didn’t
have a dance floor. She made the whole bar her dance floor, and Danika
was dancing beside her, and they were laughing and laughing, all
thoughts of Sabine melting away, the rest of Midgard with her.
Minutes or an hour passed, and all Bryce knew was that she was
sweating, and back at the bar once more, downing yet another whiskey.
The hot angel had vanished, though she’d made a decent attempt at
trying to lure him with sex-eyes to her side as she danced.
 But the snobbery of angels ran deep. He might have given her
sex-eyes right back, but he’d no doubt flown directly up into the lofty
towers of the CBD and laughed with his friends about the half-human—
“Come on,” Danika said suddenly, pulling her off the barstool.
“Let’s get tattoos.”
“Tattoos!” Bryce burst out laughing. “No fucking way.”
“Pleeeeeeaaaaase,” Danika whined. “Best friend tattoos.”
“Absolutely not.”
Danika then unleashed her ultimate weapon: the puppy eyes. And
damn if they weren’t effective. “I’m sad and lonely and I want to get a
tattoo with my best friend.”
“My mom will kill me,” Bryce protested.
“We’ll get it in a place where she won’t see.”
“It’ll hurt.”
“You’re so drunk you won’t even feel it.” Danika squeezed her
hand. “Please? Pleasepleaseplease—“
Bryce sighed. What is some ink in her skin? Right now, just about
any idea sounded good. Granted, what Danika had said—sad and
lonely—lingered, but Bryce would press her on that tomorrow.
For right now, the night was still young, and they were young, and
would one day be nearly immortal. The whole world lay at their feet.
So Bryce sighed again and said, “Sure. Why not?”

They weren’t the only drunk assholes in the tattoo parlor at two in the
morning. No, they’d actually had to wait, but now here they were.
Gods, time was bending and slowing, then shivering and speeding up.
Danika had told the tattoo artist that she had a design and specific
text in mind—Through love, all is possible—and wanted it done in a
certain way. She’d said something about bringing an additive for the
ink, a special wolf thing … No, that couldn’t be right. This had been
spontaneous, and what the fuck did Danika know about tattoos? She
had her pack tattoo, but nothing more.
Bryce lay face down on the plastic-wrapped leather of the tattoo
table, the room spinning, spinning, spinning. Danika was spinning, too.
 Literally sitting on the tattoo artist’s stool and spinning, like all that
mirthroot and booze wasn’t impacting her at all.
“Why am I going first?” Bryce asked.
“Because you’re about an hour away from puking and passing out.
I’ve got at least two hours until that point.” Danika halted her spinning,
fixing her bright eyes on Bryce. “Cold feet?”
Bryce snorted. “No. But again: my mom is going to freak.”
“Ember’s got tattoos. And you’re way past the legal age.”
“You already have Through love, all is possible on your jacket. Why
do we need it on our skin?”
The traced lettering—in some strange alphabet that Bryce had never
seen but Danika had insisted on using—was drying on Bryce’s back
while the tattoo artist prepared her supplies and ink in an adjacent room.
Danika winked at Bryce. “Best friends and all.”
Bryce smiled drunkenly, resting her chin on her hands. “Best, best,
best friends.”
Danika kissed her brow. “Always.”
“No matter what.” Bryce closed her eyes, humming to herself.
Danika’s voice was soft. “No matter what.”
Bryce opened her eyes at that softness. “Hey—what’s that all
about?”
Were those tears in Danika’s gaze? Danika just winked again,
though. “I love you, B. You know that? There’s no one else who would
put up with me, or go along with me on all this … craziness.”
“I believe the term Thorne would use is bad influence.”
Danika grinned crookedly. “Nah. You’re the good in my life.”
Bryce’s heart squeezed. “Right back at you.”
The door groaned open, and a moment later, the tattoo artist
reappeared, little pots of ink in hand. “This stuff you gave me is some
weird shit,” she said, snapping on her gloves. “Took a while to
dissolve.”
“But it mixed in?” Danika asked a bit sharply.
“Yeah,” the artist said, fixing a mask over her mouth. “No
guarantees that it won’t fuck with the healing or the longevity of the
ink, though.”
 “It’ll be fine,” Danika assured her. “The Prime gave it to me. Sacred
wolf tattoo crap.”
“Sure,” the artist said, clearly not caring one bit where it came from
or what it was. She probably only wanted to get through the night’s
endless parade of assholes.
Danika waggled her brows at Bryce, drawing a laugh from her.
“Don’t move,” the artist said, fingers testing along the knobs of
Bryce’s spine, the expanse of her upper back. “I’m starting.”
“Here goes,” Danika said to Bryce, and reached for Bryce’s hand,
their fingers interlocking.
“Light it up,” Bryce whispered to Danika as the artist stepped on the
power pedal and the tattoo gun buzzed to life.
Danika just squeezed Bryce’s hand gently. And as the tip of the
needle bit into Bryce’s flesh, piercing even through the drunken, stoned
numbness, she whispered, “Light it up, Bryce.”
 Bryce, Nesta & Azriel Bonus Chapter

-Bryce-

Drip. Drip-drip-drip. Drip.

Eyes closed, head resting against the damp, uneven stone of the
cave wall, Bryce listened to the stone and water talk.
Drip-drip. Drop. Drip-drip-drop.
It was more conversation than either Nesta or Azriel had offered up
in the two hours that they’d all been taking a breather. Technically,
Bryce was supposed to be sleeping. But without day or night to dictate
her body’s rhythms, she just sat in a semi-stupor not really asleep, not
really awake.
Drip-drop-drop. Drip.
Bryce cracked open an eye, surveying her two companions. Nesta
sat against the opposite wall, head down, breathing lightly.
But Azriel was staring right at Bryce. She started, whacking her
head against the rock. White pain splintered across her vision. By the
time it cleared, Nesta was awake.
“What is it?” Nesta peered down the tunnel to one side, then the
other. Dripping darkness filled both directions, interrupted only by the
silvery, watery glow of Bryce’s star through her shirt. A steady shine
that hadn’t flared or dimmed. As if it was saying, You’re on the right
track. Keep going.
Bryce rubbed the back of her aching head and sat up. “Oh nothing.
Just your usual predator-in-the-night warrior, staring at me while I
sleep.”
“You weren’t sleeping,” Azriel said, faint amusement in his voice.
“How do you know?” Bryce countered, but her lips quirked upward.
Nesta yawned, stretching her arms over her head and rolling her
neck from side to side. “It’s his job to be vigilant.” She lowered her
arms, frowning slightly at Azriel. “Were you really watching her
sleep?”
Azriel glowered. “When you say it like that, it sounds … unsavory.”
“It’s creepy,” Bryce grumbled.
“You are a stranger to us,” Nesta pointed out. “We’d be fools to take
our attention off you for one second. Even while sleeping.”
Bryce crossed her legs, sighing. There was no hope of sleeping now.
“Well, let’s not be strangers anymore,” she suggested. A survival tactic
Randall had taught her: endear herself to any captor. Make them see her
heart and soul so they might consider not killing her.
Because even though they’d left that interrogation cell, even though
Nesta had given her back her phone, Bryce had little doubt that the
killing option was still on the table.
“What is it you want to know?” Nesta asked carefully.
Bryce glanced between them. “How’d you two meet?”
She could have sworn Azriel tensed, like he was weighing how
dangerous any answer might be, assessing why Bryce might want to
know.
“There was a war,” Nesta said shortly.
“Between who?” Bryce asked.
Again, that assessing silence. Azriel answered this time. “Between
an evil Fae King and us.”
“You two, or, like … everyone?”
Nesta gave her a withering look. “Yes, the King of Hybern declared
war on just me and Azriel.”
Bryce shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me with the Fae. Petty assholes
and all that.”
Azriel snickered, but said, “He sought to conquer our lands—and
the world at large. We didn’t intend to let him.”
Nesta added darkly, “Especially after he turned my sister and me
from humans into High Fae.” Vicious, yet haunted words.
“I’m guessing your side won?” Bryce arched a brow.
“We defeated Hybern,” Azriel confirmed. A glance toward
Truth-Teller at his side. Then at Nesta. “Nesta beheaded the King of
Hybern herself.”
 Bryce blinked. “Badass,” she breathed.
A wild satisfaction shone in Nesta’s eyes. “He had it coming.” She
studied Bryce. “From what you have said, your world is constantly at
war. There are … rebels?”
“Yeah.” Bryce fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “They’ve been
fighting against the Asteri for a long time. My mate, Hunt, fought in a
different rebellion centuries ago—one that failed. The human one
started a century after that. And the Asteri were so fucking pissed about
it that they started the human conscription service.”
“What’s that?” Azriel asked.
Bryce frowned. “Every human is a member of the peregrini class,
compared to the Vanir, who are full citizens—civitas. And every
peregrini is required to serve in the imperial military for three years.
The Asteri send them right to the rebel front. Have them slaughter their
own kind. Kill the very people fighting for their freedom.”
“Did you have to serve?” Nesta asked, eyeing Bryce.
“No,” Bryce said thickly. “My mom worked out an arrangement
with my biological father, who’s Fae. He got me appointed to full
civitas status—and thus exempt from the draft. He’s a waste of breath,
in general, but my mom was willing to risk contacting him, letting him
into our lives again, for my sake. So I could avoid going to the front.”
She’d never stop being grateful to her mother for it.
“But your mother, as a human, had to serve, I assume,” Nesta said,
her face full of pity.
“No,” Bryce said again. “To preserve the brightest human minds,
the Asteri offer a test to place out of the draft. Score among the highest,
and you’re deemed valuable enough to not have to serve. My mom took
the test at age sixteen, pretty much aced it, and was allowed to skip the
service. My father—stepfather, I mean—missed the cutoff by a single
point. They shipped him off to the front two weeks later. It, uh … it
wasn’t easy for him.”
Randall had long struggled with the weight of his years as a sniper.
He still went to therapy twice a week for it, still sometimes lost himself
to the horrors he’d endured and inflicted on others.
 Gods, Bryce hoped he was safe. Hoped he was able to dust off those
killing skills he’d paid for so dearly to keep her mom and Cooper safe.
“Your mother must be quite intelligent, then,” Nesta said. “And
resilient.”
“Yeah,” Bryce said, her chest aching. “She’s a pain in the ass, but I
owe a lot of who I am to her. Your mom must be proud of all your …
badassery, too.”
Nesta’s back stiffened. “My mother would be thrashing in her grave
if she knew I was a warrior—if she knew I wore trousers every single
day and that I’m mated to a Fae male. I can’t tell what would have
horrified her more: me marrying a poor human man or becoming what I
am now.”
Bryce winced. “She sounds like she was a real winner. No offense.”
Nesta’s mouth twisted to the side in a wry smile. “No offense
taken.”
Bryce jerked her chin toward Azriel. “You’ve got the broody look of
someone with an awful mother, too. Care to share?”
Nesta snorted. “Az never talks about his mother, and neither will our
friends, so I’m guessing she’s even worse.”
The Illyrian snarled softly, “My mother is anything but awful.”
Nesta tensed, like she was surprised she’d gotten such a response
from him. “I was joking. Az, I didn’t even know—”
“I don’t want to discuss this,” Azriel cut her off coldly.
Bryce didn’t miss the wounded gleam in Nesta’s eyes. Attempting
to salvage the conversation, she said, “Well, for what it’s worth my best
friend Danika, had a shitty mom, too.”
“I don’t have a monopoly on that,” Nesta said flatly, still mastering
herself after Azriel’s outburst.
Bryce offered a smile. “Danika said it built character.” And at
Nesta’s shuttered expression, she found herself saying. “I think she was
right—in a way. I think her mother’s cruelty made her a kinder, more
thoughtful person. She saw how Sabine treated others, and was so
disgusted by it that she wanted to become the opposite. Danika lived in
terror of turning into her mother.”
 Nesta didn’t say anything, but—there. A shallow nod. Like she
understood. Like she lived with that fear every day.
The water drip-drip-dripped again in the heavy silence.
“So that … phone of yours,” Nesta said suddenly, as if eager to change
the subject for all their sakes. “You said earlier it has music inside it?”
Bryce fished the phone from her back pocket, its answering glare
harsh against the softness of her starlight. “Yeah. I’ve got my entire
music library on here.”
The clock on her phone read 3:56 in the morning. Her head spun.
Was that the time here? Or at home? What day was it here—or there?
How long had Hunt and Ruhn been—
She pushed the thoughts from her mind.
“Can I … hear some of your music?” Nesta’s question was tentative,
as if she was uncomfortable making such a personal request.
Bryce flashed her a half smile. “Sure. What kind of music do you
like?”
At their confused silence Bryce pushed. “Classical, dance, jazz …
okay, those words clearly mean nothing to you.”
“Put on the music that represents your world best,” Nesta said.
“I think Midgard could descend into another war over that,” Bryce
said. “But I’ll play you my favorite, at least.”
She grimaced at the dwindling battery, well aware that playing
music would drain it, but the yearning for a taste of home overcame her
apprehension.
Bryce scrolled through her music until she pulled up the folk duo
that had immediately leapt to mind: Josie and Laurel. Her hand shook a
little with the sheer magnitude of picking which of their many songs to
play, which song to be the first of theirs heard on this planet. Her
favorites always shifted depending on her mood, her current phase of
life. In the end, she went with her gut.
“Stone Mother” began playing, its rolling, thumping drums
offsetting the wild, yet mellow, guitars. And then Josie’s voice filled the
tunnel, sharp and yet soaring, accented by Laurel’s sweet, clear
backups. The sound was foreign, earthy—haunting. In the span of a few
notes, Bryce was back in her childhood bedroom in Nidaros, sprawled
on the carpet, letting the sound of the music run over her for the first
time.
Then she was in the dry hills of Valbara, surrounded by olive trees.
Then the palm-lined quay along the Istros. Then with Danika. Then
alone.
Then with Hunt.
This song had carried her through it all—through the years of pain
and emptiness and rebuilding. It had carried her from light into darkness
and then back into the light.
The wraith-like harmonies echoed off the stones, until the rock
sounded as if it was singing.
And when it was done, silence resumed. Nesta’s eyes were wide.
“That was beautiful,” she said eventually. “I couldn’t understand a word
of it, but I felt it.”
Bryce nodded, aching with thoughts of home, of the faces the song
had brought to mind. “That’s a kind of folksy, country sound. But this is
what we call classical music—the stuff performed in grand halls. My
friend Juniper dances to this kind of thing in the Crescent City Ballet. I
used to dance, too, but … long story. This was one of my favorite
dances. It’s from a ballet called The Glass Coffin.” Bryce hit play again,
and the violins began.
Again Nesta was silent, Knees now clutched to her chest, staring
into the darkness. As if she was dedicating every inch of herself to
listening.
“This sounds like some of our music,” Azriel murmured. Nesta
shushed him.
Bryce tapped her foot along to the melody, reading the expressions
stealing across Nesta’s face as the music played. Wonder and curiosity,
joy and—longing. Nesta seemed to be thrumming with the music,
though she didn’t move at all. Like she was coming alive merely
listening to the sound.
When the piece finished, its thunderous finale crashing through the
cavern, Nesta met Bryce’s stare and said, “I like to dance, too.” It was a
small piece of herself, but willingly given. Bryce felt her heart warm
toward the warrior, just a bit.
 “Yeah?’
But Nesta pointed to the phone again. “Play more, please.”
So Bryce did.

Two hours later, they were walking again. Maybe Azriel had been
interested enough in the music that he’d let them linger. Bryce had
played them a sample of every genre she could think of. Nesta had
clapped her hands over her ears at the screaming, wailing death metal,
but Azriel had chuckled.
He’d probably get along with Ruhn and his idiot friends.
Nesta had loved the classical stuff the best, and both of them had
been intrigued by the pulsing, thumping club music. “That is what you
dance to in your world?” Nesta asked. Bryce hadn’t been able to tell if
she was intrigued or dismayed. Azriel, at least, had seemed on board.
But now they were silent again, walking past carving after carving.
They had to be getting close to … whatever waited at the end of this
tunnel.
What if they walked and walked and found nothing, though? At
what point would they decide to give up? Bryce’s star still blazed
pointing the way ahead, but what if they weren’t reading it correctly?
Maybe her instincts had been wrong.
Maybe she hadn’t really been sent here by Urd. Maybe it was all
one big cosmic fuckup.
A giant accident.
Bryce’s throat tightened. She’d tried not to think about what was
happening to Hunt and Ruhn, but in the ongoing gloom of the tunnels,
her fear crept in again. Were they safe? Were they even alive?
“The music in your world,” Nesta said suddenly, interrupting
Bryce’s doom spiral. “It’s all simply available to anyone?”
“In a way? There’s a sort of … nonphysical library made by
machines that can store all the information in the world. Music, art,
books—anything. So yeah, you can find any song, any piece of music,
and listen to it whenever you want.”
“You have wonders in your world, “ Nesta said.
 Azriel added from a few steps behind them, “And terrors.”
Bryce grunted her agreement. “I’m sure you do, too.”
“We do,” Azriel said quietly.
Bryce filled in the gap of what he wouldn’t reveal. “But you’ve
never seen things like guns or bombs, right?” She assumed they hadn’t,
since they’d seemed so shocked when she’d shown them her memories
in the Veritas orb.
“Did the Asteri invent those weapons?” Azriel asked darkly.
“No. Some other sick fuck did,” Bryce muttered. “But they’re
everywhere now.”
“They should all be destroyed.”
“Yes. They bring nothing good into the world.” Bryce angled her
head to the side. “So you guys have swords and stuff?”
“Something like that,” Azriel hedged. He clearly wasn’t going to
enlighten her about their defenses.
“And your magic is …”
“Don’t push it,” Azriel said, a hint of that earlier chill entering his
voice.
Nesta’s lips thinned at the tone, like she was remembering it, too.
Like it didn’t sit right with her.
“Okay, okay,” Bryce said. “But it’d be cool to know something
about your world. Or about you.”
They were both silent.
Bryce asked Nesta, “You have a mate, right?” She nodded to Azriel.
“Do you?”
“No,” Azriel said quickly, flatly.
“A partner or spouse?”
“No.”
Bryce sighed. “Okay, then.”
Azriel’s wings twitched. “You’re incurably nosy.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me.” Bryce winked
at him. “Look, I just … I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
Azriel didn’t answer, but Nesta said, “Yes. We are.”
Bryce ran a hand over one of the carvings—a young girl sitting on a
toadstool, a hound sprawled on the ground beside her. “It’s crazy to me
that in fifteen thousand years, we’ve developed all sorts of tech and
your world is still, you know, like this.” She motioned to their clothes,
the cave. At Nesta’s narrowed eyes, Bryce quickly added, “I’m simply
wondering why similar changes didn’t happen here. I mean, we had the
Asteri, but a lot of our inventions didn’t come from them.”
“Maybe it was the result of so many different worlds blending
together in Midgard,” Nesta mused. “Each brought all of its learning.
United, they figured it out. Separate, perhaps they wouldn’t have.”
“Maybe. But we also had firstlight—a communal source of power.
You don’t have that here. Just individual power.” Granted Midgard’s
communal power was thanks to the Asteri. Was it a good or a bad
thing? Bryce didn’t know where to even begin sorting that out. Her
feelings about it were a messy tangle of gratitude and rage.
Nesta asked, “Without firstlight, would your world become like
ours, do you think?”
Bryce considered. “I don’t see another way to power our cars or
phones, so … Probably.”
Azriel asked. “Do the guns need firstlight?”
“No,” Bryce said. “And some of the bombs don’t need it, either.”
The weight of the darkness pressed in. “Those evils will remain in
Midgard forever, even without firstlight.”
“And people would still kill each other, even without those
weapons,” Nesta said gravely. “The wicked will always find a way to
hurt and harm.”
“Is this the part where you remind me that you guys will always find
a way to hurt and harm me if I step out of line?”
“Yes,” Azriel said softly. “But this is also the part where I tell you
that we’re the ones who usually try to find a way to stop those wicked
people.”
“Isn’t that a little revealing?” Bryce teased. “You’re supposed to
maintain the image of the big, bad assholes. Not tell me you’re a bunch
of crime-fighting do-gooders.”
“You can do good,” Azriel warned, “while still being bad.”
Bryce whistled. “I know a number of males back home who could
only dream of delivering that sentence with such cool.”
 Nesta chuckled. “I know a good number, too.”
Azriel threw Nesta an incredulous look. But Nesta was grinning at
Bryce.
Bryce ginned back. “Male egos: a universal constant.”
Nesta laughed again. “If you weren’t our captive,” she said shaking
her head, “I think I might like to call you a friend, Bryce Quinlan.”
Bryce didn’t know why the words hit something deep in her.
“Yeah,” Bryce said hoarsely. “Likewise.”
They walked in silence again, but it was no longer tense. There was
something … lighter in it. If only for the moment. Like they weren’t her
captors, but rather her companions.
Fine. In this world, at least, the Fae weren’t so bad. They clearly had
their share of Fae assholes here, too, but Nesta … Bryce didn’t mind
her.
It was uncomfortable, really. Bryce had always prided herself on
resenting any and all Fae, her brother and his idiot friend being the rare
exceptions, but these two strangers, and what she’d pieced together
about the people around them …
They seemed like decent, caring people who loved each other.
She wasn’t even sure the Fae of Midgard knew what the word love
meant. The Autumn King’s definitions of it had left a small scar on her
mom’s face.
But these Fae were different.
Did it matter? The Fae in Midgard weren’t her problem, and she
didn’t want them to be but what if they could be more? Was such a
change possible?
“Do you like it?’ Bryce asked Nesta suddenly. “Being Fae?”
“I didn’t at first,” Nesta said plainly. “But now I do.”
Azriel seemed to be listening closely.
Nesta went on, “I’m stronger, faster. Harder to kill. I don’t see a
downside to that.”
“And the near-immortal life span isn’t so bad, huh?” Bryce teased.
“I’m still adjusting to the idea of that,” Nesta said, eyes on the
tunnel ahead. “That time is so … vast. The day-to-day versus the sprawl
of centuries.” She slid her attention to Azriel. “How do you deal with
it?”
He was quiet for a moment before saying, “Find people you
love—they make the time pass quickly.” He caught Nesta’s eyes, and
said a shade apologetically, “Especially if they’ll forgive your
occasional snapping at them over things that aren’t their fault.”
Something seemed to soften in Nesta’s eyes—relief, perhaps, at the
extended olive branch. She said quietly, tentatively, “Nothing to forgive,
Az.”
But his words had lightened some of the remaining tension. And his
next ones finished the job entirely as he winked at Nesta. “And I’ve
been told having children makes the time fly, too.”
Nesta rolled her eyes, but Bryce didn’t miss the gleam in them.
Nesta was willing to play—to get back to their normal dynamic. She
admitted. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to raise a child.”
She pointed to herself. “Raised by a terrible mother, remember?”
“Doesn’t mean you’ll be one,” Azriel said gently.
Nesta was quiet for a heartbeat, then acknowledged, “My mother
was even worse to Feyre—and my sister has turned out to be …” She
searched for the word. “A perfect mother.”
“There’s no such thing as a perfect mother,” Bryce cut in. “Just so
you know.”
“Your own mother sounds pretty perfect,” Nesta said dryly.
“Gods, no,” Bryce said, laughing. “But she’d be the first to say so.
Perfect is an unfair ideal to hold anyone to. My mom taught me that,
actually.”
Bryce swallowed hard, thinking of Ember. Had the Asteri hunted
her down and killed her? If Bryce ever got home … would her mother
be there?
Nesta laid a hand on Bryce’s shoulder—it seemed consoling,
somehow. Like she sensed all that coursed through Bryce’s mind, the
panic now thudding in her heart.
“What is it?” Bryce asked, glancing at the female.
Nesta nodded to Bryce’s pocket. “Could we hear some more of your
music?”
 It was a friendly offer—definitely intended to pull Bryce out of her
brooding. A kindness from a female clearly not accustomed to such
displays. Bryce fished out her phone again.
The battery was inching toward the red zone. It would be dead soon.
But for this … she could spare it.
“What do you want to hear?” Bryce asked, opening her music
library.
Nesta and Azriel swapped glances, and the male answered a bit
sheepishly, “The music you play at your pleasure halls.”
Bryce laughed. “Are you a club rat, Azriel?”
He glowered at her, earning a smirk from Nesta, but Bryce played
one of her favorite dance tunes—a zippy blend of thumping bass and
saxophones, of all things. And as the three of them walked into the
endless dark, she could have sworn she caught Azriel nodding along to
the beat.
She hid her smile and played song after song, until the battery on
her phone drained to the dregs. Until the last, beautiful link to Midgard
went dark and died.
No more music. No more pictures of Hunt.
But the music seemed to linger, like a ghostly echo through the
caves.
And with each mile onward, she could hear Azriel humming softly
to himself. The rolling, wild melody of “Stone Mother” flowed off his
lips, and she could have sworn even the shadows danced at the sound.
 Ember & Randall Bonus Chapter

-Ember-
Ember Quinlan stared at the Fae female standing on the ornate red rug
before a crackling fireplace. For a heartbeat, she could have sworn
silver flames also crackled in the young female’s eyes. It startled Ember
enough to pause.
Just a heartbeat, then—
Ember whirled to where the portal had been, to where Nena’s snow
and ice had been, flakes of which were still melting in her black hair.
Randall’s rifle clicked—safety off. Ember didn’t need to look at her
husband to know he had it aimed at the female monitoring them with
such stillness.
The portal was gone. Only the room, this world, remained. A room
with red stone walls, deep-cushioned wood furniture, and an entire wall
of books. Windows lined the other wall, all of them shut against the
night and revealing a glittering city far below. Not a modern, glaringly
bright city, but rather one of low buildings and golden lights. A hint of
gleaming river wound like a snake through its heart.
Bryce had left her. Left them. Had thrown her and Randall in here,
and closed the portal.
And now Bryce was—
The Fae female spoke, voice cool and flat, in a language Ember
didn’t recognize. Because it wasn’t one of Midgard’s languages. It was
a language of another place, another world—
“Open that portal,” Randall growled in their own language, and
Ember turned to see her husband still aiming the rifle at the female’s
pretty face. But the female glanced to the wall of windows. To the
blackness sweeping from the horizon.
Even Ember’s mortal blood knew it wasn’t a storm. It was
something far, far worse.
 The female spoke again, voice still unruffled. She nodded to the
rifle, motioning with a hand in a put it down gesture.
Randall did no such thing. “Open that portal,” he ordered again.
The darkness on the horizon was racing toward them. The fine hairs
on Ember’s arm rose.
“Lower your gun,” Ember whispered to Randall.
“What?” Randall didn’t lower the rifle as he slid his gaze to her.
“Lower your fucking gun,” Ember breathed as the darkness raged
closer, blotting out the city lights, but he didn’t have time to lower it
before darkness exploded through the windows.

“You had no right,” a Fae male thundered behind a shut door. Ember
had heard Nesta call him Rhysand. She and Randall listened from a
red-stoned hall, guarded by a solemn, dark-haired male with dragon
wings.
Ember understood the words only because in those initial moments
after the dark storm had ruptured the windows and burst into the room,
she and Randall had been questioned. Since it was clear they didn’t
understand the language, the male who had appeared from the heart of
the star-flecked storm had given them both a silver bean and mimed
eating it.
Ember had swallowed it, because the gray-eyed
female—Nesta—had said “Bryce” and mimed eating the bean, then
pointed to her mouth. Ember remembered that her daughter had
mentioned eating some sort of magical thing here that had allowed her
to understand and speak to these people in their own language. So
Ember had swallowed it, and Randall followed her lead.
They’d blacked out, and awoken here, in the hall, right as the doors
to the study were shutting. Ember had gotten a peek at the new
arrivals—just quickly enough to see Nesta cloistered with Rhysand, a
short-haired female, and a broad-shouldered male with dragon wings
like the warrior in the hall beside them.
Ember and Randall hadn’t dared talk. Not as wisps of the raging
argument filtered out through the keyhole.
 “You had no right,” Rhysand growled again, his voice reverberating
through the stone. His power made the Autumn King seem like a child
in comparison.
“I had every right,” Nesta countered icily. “The Trove answers to
me, obeys me.”
“You transferred a deadly weapon into the very world where the
enemies who have been seeking it have been camped out for millennia,
right into the hands of the one person who could open a portal to our
world with half a thought. What were you thinking?” The last words
were a roar.
The other male in the room murmured, “Rhys.”
A low, vicious snarl was the only reply.
The other female voice—dry, sharp—said, “Before you fillet her,
Rhysand, I would hear the girl’s reasoning for handing over the Mask.”
“There is no excuse for it,” Rhysand snapped. “And when Feyre
gets here—“
“I don’t answer to my sister or to you,” Nesta retorted. “I am not
your subject to punish as you please.”
Ember glanced to their guard. The handsome male on Randall’s
other side, his dark armor adorned with blue stones, remained stoic.
“You have jeopardized this entire world,” Rhysand shouted. You
might not answer directly to me, but you will answer to every being
here for what you did.”
“She was desperate,” Nesta said, and Ember’s heart strained. “She
was willing to leave her parents as collateral, for fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t give a shit who she left or what she claimed. You handed
over the Mask—“
“She begged me to keep them, even if I wouldn’t give her the
Mask.”
Ember glanced at Randall. Pure pain and grief filled her husband’s
eyes. Bryce had … traded them. For that glittering gold thing she’d
glimpsed passing from Nesta to her daughter.
And oh gods, Cooper—
Ember clutched the silver amulet of the Embrace around her neck,
closing her eyes and murmuring a prayer.
Merciful Cthona dwelling beneath, protect our son, take him into your
care—
In these week, however brief, the gangly, near-skeletal boy who’d
shown up on her doorstep with such haunted, bleak eyes had become a
son. From the worry now filling Randall’s eyes, Ember could only
guess that his thought had drifted in the same direction.
Bryce had left Cooper behind. Had taken them, but left the boy, left
him vulnerable and alone again—
Red washed over vision. Bryce had been talking with Cooper,
laughing with him on Avallen. She’d been acting normally and yet
she’d known she planned to do this, to leave him behind.
The beautiful, winged male glanced warily toward Ember, as if
sensing her wrath.
In the study, Nesta was saying, “If there is a chance of defeating the
Daglan—the Asteri—why not give Bryce the edge she needs?”
“Because they will kill her and take the Mask and Horn and open a
fucking gate to this world!” Rhysand bellowed. “You should have killed
Bryce the moment she opened that portal,” he raged on. “The moment
she appeared, you should have been swinging Ataraxia at her fucking
throat—”
“She deserved the honor of being heard out,” Nesta snapped back.
“After all we went through, she deserved that.”
“She deserved to be obliterated for putting us at such risk—a
second time!” Rhysand yelled.
“Argue later,” the other female advised. “We need to deal with the
parents first.”
Ember stiffened, and Randall reached for a knife that was no longer
there. They’d awoken to find his rifle and his knife gone. Along with
the secret one he kept in his boot.
The study doors blew open, banging so hard against the stone walls,
that Ember could have sworn even their guard winced.
“Azriel.” Rhysand’s commanding voice boomed from within the
study. “Bring them.”
Azriel—the male who Bryce had traveled with in the caves. He was
now motioning them forward, his face like ice.
 Every step seemed to take too long as Ember and Randall, their
guard flanking them, walked into the study. It was smaller than the
room they’d arrived in. Too small, considering all the hulking males
now occupying it. Rhysand had wings, too, like Azriel and the other
male, but he also had the pointed ears of the Fae.
And the other, shorter female … her chin-length bob swayed as she
turned, revealing silver eyes that marked every detail of Ember’s being,
right down to the dregs of her soul.
Rhysand loomed like a roiling storm in the center of the room. Even
the fire seemed to cringe from him. Nesta stood a few feet away,
blue-gray eyes wary—no hint of that silver flame. She clenched her
hands, but her face was nearly vacant. The handsome, broad-shouldered
male at her side was thin-lipped with concern—or anger. Maybe both.
None of the strangers seemed particularly … chill. Rhysand’s
violet-blue eyes swept over Randall, then Ember. Randall tensed, like
he’d leap between Ember and any threat, as he’d done so many times
throughout their lives together.
But Ember seethed at Rhysand, “Don’t bother obliterating my
daughter.” Fury blazed through her. “When I get back to Midgard, I’m
going to do it myself

* * *

“Did you know Bryce was planning this?”

“I don’t know how many more ways I can say this,” Ember
reiterated to Rhysand five minutes later, “No.”
Randall added, jaw tight, “She tricked us—made us think we were
headed up to Nena for a mission, but it was to dump us here.”
They’d had to strip off their heavy winter coats thanks to the
warmth of the room, but now, in her T-shirt and jeans, Ember felt a bit
bare, surrounded by warriors armed to the teeth. Only the short female
wore normal clothes.
That is, if the fine silk attire could be considered normal. If the
necklace of rubies around her throat was a common thing.
 “And where is she going now?” Azriel asked with soft venom.
“Now that she has the Mask”—a withering glare at Nesta, whose face
was carefully blank—“where is Bryce going?”
“I don’t know,” Ember insisted. “I didn’t even know she wanted the
Mask—she didn’t tell us about this Trove of yours. She and Hunt must
have planned this in secret.”
Because it had been Athalar’s storm wind that had shoved them in
here. And if Ember ever got her hands on the Umbra Mortis …
“Yet you brought one of your guns with you,” Rhysand said, his
accent tripping over the term. “You must have known you were heading
into trouble.”
“Nena is … not a nice place,” Randall said. “You’d be an idiot to go
up there unarmed.”
Rhysand fell silent, gaze sliding to the petite, dark-haired female.
She sighed at the ceiling and said, “They are humans, Rhysand. We can
contain them here.”
Randall shot Ember a look, as if to warn her to stay quiet. But she’d
spent her whole life hearing that bullshit—she wasn’t about to tolerate it
now.
“Right,” Ember bit out. “We’re just pathetic, weak, stupid humans.
Little more than chattel to you.”
Ember could have sworn Nesta was watching her curiously.
But Rhysand said quietly, “If Amren offended you, it was not
intended. We all have a deep respect for humans here.”
For some reason, Ember believed him. Amren inclined her head in
apology.
“We won’t cause you any trouble,” Ember said, turning up her
palms in what she hoped translated to a pleading gesture in this world.
“We don’t even want to be here.”
“I am not concerned about your presence here.” Rhysand said, any
hint of the warm sincerity hardening to ice. “I’m concerned about your
daughter. If our ancient enemies get their hands on her, on the weapons
she bears, on the people she loves …” He shook his head, the firelight
dancing on his blue-black hair. “How hard would it be to break her? She
has already proven that she will do anything to save her loved ones.” He
gestured to Ember, to Randall. “If the Daglan—the Asteri, as you call
them—capture her mate, her brother … won’t she betray us to save
them?”
“You don’t know our daughter,” Randall said firmly.
Ember’s stomach turned, though, at the thought of the methods the
Asteri would use to hurt Bryce. It had been bad enough hearing from
Fury that Hunt and Ruhn were in the Asteri dungeons, with no word of
where Bryce had gone. Ember hadn’t slept for days. Had barely eaten a
bite until she’d gotten the news that Bryce had reappeared and wanted
them in Avallen immediately.
Rhysand said calmly to Randall, “I don’t know your daughter, but
my companions spent enough time with her lately to give me an idea.
She’s softhearted yet ruthless. Scheming yet impulsive. Determined and
stubborn. And with a dangerous tendency toward recklessness.”
“She’s been like that since she was a baby,” Ember said, rubbing her
temples. “Imagine all that in a one-year-old.”
Randall cleared his throat in warning, but she could have sworn
Rhysand’s mouth twitched upward. Like he could indeed imagine such
a thing. Maybe he’d lived through something similar.
The male at Nesta’s side—her mate, if Ember were to make a
guess—said casually, even as the worry in his hazel eyes belied his
tone. “It’s late, Rhys. Let them rest, and we’ll meet again in the
morning.”
Rhys nodded without looking at the warrior, and focused all his fury
on Nesta. To her credit, the female stood stiff-backed, chin high.
Imperious and unbending. Ember couldn’t help but admire her.
Rhysand’s violet-blue eyes guttered into pure darkness at the
challenge in Nesta’s expression, her stance. A predator recognizing a
worthy opponent—and unsheathing its talons. His hands curled at his
sides, as if invisible claws were forming.
Nesta’s mate shifted an inch closer to her, his eyes darting between
the two of them, torn. Like he didn’t know who to side with in the
brewing fight. “I’m fine, Cassian,” Nesta muttered.
Rhysand didn’t take his eyes off Nesta as he ordered, “Report to my
office at dawn. We’ll finish this then.”
 He stalked out of the chamber, the doors slamming behind him on a
night-flecked wind.
In the ensuing quiet, Amren nodded to Nesta. “Find a room for your
… guests, girl. And pray to the Mother that your sister changes
Rhysand’s mind tonight.”
With that, they prowled from the room as well, leaving only heavy,
fraught silence in their wake.

“You two can stay here.” Nesta opened the door to a cozy bedroom
overlooking the small city beyond. “There are wards on every inch of
this place and the House is alive, so you can’t get out unless we allow it,
but … it’s better than a dungeon.”
They’d taken Bryce to their dungeons. Furious as she was with her
daughter another sort of fury came over Ember at the thought.
“Thank you,” Ember said a shade stiffly to the female. Randall
didn’t speak as he assessed every exit and potential weapon. “Wait,”
Ember said. “This house is alive?”
“In a way,” Nesta said, waving a slender hand. “It reports to me.
This is my home.” She sounded thin, brittle. After the verbal lashing
she’d taken in the study …
“Thank you,” Ember said quietly. “For sticking your neck out for
us.”
Nesta shrugged with one shoulder, turning to leave. “If you’re
hungry, simply ask the house aloud and food will appear.”
“Convenient,” Randall murmured from where he stood at the
window.
“Thank you,” Ember said again. “If there was a way for us to get
back, we’d go, but without Bryce …” She shook her head. “I could kill
her for this, you know. I could kill her for this.”
“Your daughter loves you,” Nesta said hoarsely. “She loves you
enough to send you away in order to keep you from harm.”
“She used us as a bargaining chip,” Ember corrected.
 “No,” Nesta said. “She wanted the Mask to fight your Asteri, but I
think she mostly opened the portal to send you here. Out of harm’s
way.”
“She left our son behind,” Randall growled with uncharacteristic
menace.
“I’m sure she has some plan for his protection,” Nesta said. “Your
daughter seems to be very … resourceful.”
Ember huffed. “You don’t know the half of it. Try setting a curfew
for that girl.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Nesta’s face. “I’ll check in on you after
breakfast.” Her shoulders curved inward as she aimed for the door.
“Are you in trouble?” Ember ventured. Nesta’s meeting with
Rhysand first thing in the morning clearly wouldn’t be a pleasant one.
“No more than usual,” Nesta said nonchalantly, but Ember could
sense the lie.
“We really won’t cause any problems here,” Ember said, “as we
promised earlier. I just want to get home to Midgard.”
“I don’t think you will get home—unless your daughter succeeds in
her impossible task.”
Ember’s heart crumpled. But she said, “If anyone can find a way to
take down the Asteri, it’s Bryce.”
Another ghost of a smile. “I’m inclined to agree.”
It was comforting, somehow—that this stranger from another world
had faith in her wild, willful daughter. The wild, willful daughter who
had felt like a mirror to herself sometimes, if Ember was being honest.
“Did Bryce … behave herself here?”
“No,” Nesta said. “She tried to feed me and Azriel to an oversize
worm.”
Randall choked, but didn’t turn from the windows as he said, “Of
course she did.”
Ember rubbed her eyes. “Gods, she must have driven you up the
wall.”
“Indeed.” Nesta’s smile was slow, barely a lift of the corners of her
lips. Like she wasn’t someone who smiled easily or regularly. A
warrior, yes—but she seemed young, despite those Fae ears. The way
Bryce, with her own pointed ears, seemed young, though Fae could still
look twenty-five when they were three hundred years old. The gods
knew the Autumn Kind had still looked young—had still seemed barely
into his thirties when Bryce had—
Her daughter had …
It had been Ruhn, Ember reminded herself. Ruhn had made the
killing blow.
But it still felt like Bryce’s kill somehow. She’d confronted the
Autumn King, taken on all his hatred and misery. Ember still didn’t
quite know how to process it.
Nesta had that look, too. Like she was processing a lot of things.
And maybe it was some motherly instinct, but Ember found herself
saying, “Tomorrow, if you walk out of your morning meeting alive …
I’d like to sit down and talk with you, Nesta.”
Nesta remained silent a beat, no doubt weighing the request.
At last, her mouth curved upward again in that ghost of a smile. “I’d
like that, too.”

“You should sleep, Em.”

Randall’s voice rumbled across the bed. Despite the clearly
un-modern settings, the bed was comfortable enough to rival any
mattress in Midgard. But it still offered Ember no shot finding restful
oblivion.
“I don’t know how you can even try to sleep,” she hissed, kicking at
the heavy down blankets. “We’re in another world, for fuck’s sake.”
“Which is why we should rest while we can—so we have strength
and focus tomorrow.”
Ember blew out a long breath. “Do you trust these people?”
Randall was silent for a moment, thinking it through in that quiet,
considerate, merciless way of his. “I trust Bryce’s trust in them. I don’t
think our daughter would have sent us into the hand of brutal murderers,
when her intention was to keep us safe.”
Ember sniffed. “You sure about that? She threatened to shove me
into the kiln once.”
 Randall chuckled, turning onto his side and propping his head up
with a hand. Gods, even after all these years, he was still handsome
enough to make her toes curl. “I’ll remind you that you first threatened
to toss JJ into said kiln if she didn’t clean her room.”
Despite herself, Ember laughed softly at the memory. But the
amusement faded as she said, “Our baby’s going to try to take on the
Asteri, Randall.”
“Rigelus won’t know what hit him.”
Ember sat up, glaring at him.
He sat up, too, taking her hand in his, face grave. “I know what
she’s up against. But I also know that if there is anyone on Midgard
who can do this, it’s Bryce. And I’m not saying that as her dad. Have
faith in her, Ember.”
Ember nodded, sighing. “I do. I’m just …”
“Terrified.”
Ember nodded again, throat closing up. “Do you think Cooper—“
“He’s fine. The kid’s smart and capable. And he’s got Fury Axtar
and Baxian Argos looking after him.”
“I will never forgive Bryce for this.” Ember bit back a sob.
Randall stroked a loving, reassuring hand down her hair.
“Honestly? I hope to the gods we get the chance to tell Bryce how
pissed we are at her.”
“I know.” Tears stung her eyes, and Ember couldn’t help her
shuddering gasp. A moment later, Randall’s arms wrapped around her,
tugging her tight against him. He kissed her temple. “We’ll see her
again.” He kissed her once more, gently easing her back down beside
him. “I promise. We’ll see them both again.”

Ember and Randall had just sat down for breakfast in the dining
room—guided by a silent Azriel—when Rhysand landed on the
Veranda beyond the glass doors. His vast wings were like storm clouds
in the morning light. A heartbeat later, Cassian landed, Nesta in his
arms. Both looking stone-faced. Pissed.
 Rhysand snarled something that had Nesta’s shoulders tensing; her
head bowing.
And Ember found herself pushing out of her chair, stalking for the
doors. Randall tried to grab her, but he was too late. And Azriel didn’t
stop her as Ember flung open the glass doors and asked Rhysand, “Isn’t
it a little early to be biting people’s heads off?”
The trio froze. Rhysand slowly turned toward Ember. His eyes were
black pits. “I don’t recall asking you to join our conversation.”
Ember kept her chin high. “You interrupted my breakfast. If you
wanted privacy, you should have gone somewhere else.”
Was that amusement shining in Cassian’s eyes? Ember didn’t dare
take her attention off Rhysand to confirm. Randall appeared at her side,
a hand on her back in warning as he said, “We’ll leave you to it.”
But Ember refused to move, even as a part of her quailed in terror,
and said, “Nesta made a choice to harbor us—she made a choice to give
Midgard a shot at freedom. To give my world hope. What kind of
person are you to rip her to shreds for it?”
“Em,” Randall cautioned.
Rhysand crossed his muscular arms. “Are you calling me a monster,
Ember Quinlan?”
“I’m saying give it a fucking rest,” Ember snapped. Behind her, she
could have sworn Azriel choked. But she jerked her chin toward Nesta.
“Lay off her.”
Rhysand held her stare.
For a moment, an eternity. Stars seemed to flicker into existence in
his eyes. Like the vastness of night lay within, sweet and terrible,
beautiful and harrowing.
But Ember withstood it. She’d seen and faced true evil. Bore a mark
on her cheek forever because of it.
Something seemed to soften in Rhysand’s stare—like he saw that.
His gaze slid over to Randall. “With a wife and a daughter like yours, I
don’t know how you’re still standing.”
Randall said with that causal charm, “Honestly, most days I don’t
know, either.”
 Rhysand blinked at Randall—and then laughed. A moment later,
Cassian and Azriel chuckled as well.
Typical males. No matter what planet they were on.
Ember didn’t smile, though. Her gaze landed on Nesta. The Fae
female wasn’t laughing, either. Her blue-gray eyes remained fixed on
Ember. Swimming with emotion.
Surprise. Gratitude. Longing.
And it was that same mother’s instinct that had guided her last night
that had Ember extending a hand toward Nesta and saying, “Come. Eat
breakfast with me.”
Nesta took her hand, her fingers surprisingly cold. Like the flight up
here had chilled them. Ember gave them a squeeze. “Don’t let him push
you around,” Ember advised the female.
“Don’t worry,” Nesta said, even if that bruised look lingered in her
eyes. “My sister—Rhy’s mate—gave him that exact same lecture
twenty minutes ago.”
Ember hissed, “So he brought you back up here to lecture you away
from her?”
Nesta snorted. “No. Feyre put an end to the argument. I’m not going
to be executed. Not today, at least.”
At Ember’s horrified expression, Nesta amended, “They wouldn’t
kill me. I don’t think. But … it’s complicated. I doubt anyone will be
forgiving me anytime soon.”
Ember nodded toward Cassian. “What about your mate?”
The pain in her eyes—the guilt—seemed to deepen. “Cassian’s the
most furious with me of anyone.” A muscle ticked in her jaw. Like she
was holding back a giant wave of raw emotion. Only a wall of steel kept
it at bay.
Ember squeezed Nesta’s hand again. “If there’s anything I can do to
help, anything you need me to say to take some of the blame away from
you …”
Nesta gave her a half smile. “Handing Rhys his ass just now was
good enough for me.” She steered Ember toward the breakfast laid out
for them.
 Ember glanced over a shoulder, to where Randall stood with
Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian. All the males were now smiling, thank
the gods. “Seems like Randall’s doing a good job of winning them over.
Probably by telling them how difficult I make his life.”
Nesta snorted again. “Complaining about mates: it’s practically a
competitive sport for them.”
Ember chuckled. “Seems like Midgard and this place have some
things in common, then.” She angled her head, taking in the beautiful,
ancient-looking city far below, the river wending through it, and what
seemed to be the distant sparkle of the sea. “What is this place, anyway?
And why are all of you so attractive?”
Nesta smirked, looping her arm through Ember’s before she said,
warmth finally entering her tone, “Welcome to the Night Court, Ember.
You’ll fit right in here.”
 Ruhn & Lidia Bonus Chapter

-Ruhn/Lidida-

The modern art gallery off Archer Street was empty, save for the snobby
draki receptionist who’d buzzed them in through the glass doors. Bryce
had recommended the place, and as Ruhn and Lidia surveyed the array
of paintings of bug-eyed cats and statues of rotten banana peels, he
could only wonder if his sister had been fucking with him.
“This is …” Lidia had walked up to a painting of a dog walking its
owner. “Art?”
Ruhn grunted. “Apparently.”
Across the immaculate gallery, the receptionist sniffed but didn’t
look up from his laptop. Would the asshole have even let them in if he
hadn’t recognized them? It was impossible to go anywhere in this city,
on this continent, on this entire fucking planet without being
recognized. Certainly not after the events of last month.
Life hadn’t gone back to normal, not really, but tonight was
supposed to be Ruhn’s attempt at it.
“You really want to hang something like this in the living room?”
Lidia motioned to a painting of one of those bug-eyed cats sitting on top
of a trash can, a rat dangling from its mouth.
“Not your thing?”
She scowled. “I’m not entirely sure what my artistic taste is, but I
know it’s not this.”
He considered her words. “You don’t know what kind of art you’re
into?”
She shook her head, her long golden hair flowing with the
movement. Gone was the chignon. He’d spent hours running his hands
through the silken strands of her hair, learning what made her lush body
literally burn with desire.
“I was raised to appreciate only classical, imperial artwork—as was
befitting a female of my heritage.”
 He winced. He’d thought his childhood had been oppressive, but at
least his father, piece of shit that he was, hadn’t stifled Ruhn’s interests.
“So no teenage bedroom full of band posters for you?”
She chuckled, crossing her arms as she moved to the next painting.
Her jeans did wonders for her ass, and her tight black cashmere sweater
left little to the imagination when it came to the breasts he couldn’t stop
touching. Tasting.
He couldn’t get enough of her. Even living together these past
several weeks, working together most days in the Aux … he couldn’t
stop wanting her, needing her. It wasn’t just her body, though. It was
Lidia herself—her wit, her dry humor, her bravery and selflessness and
compassion.
He didn’t care how much Flynn and Dec teased him. He was
unabashedly, unrelentingly in love with this female. With his mate.
“I’ve never had the opportunity,” Lidia said as she studied the next
cat portrait, “to express myself through art. Not even by decorating.”
Ruhn peered at the massive black-and-white painting of a cat
vomiting up a planet that resembled Midgard. “If you want to go wild
and paint the apartment black and tape up band posters, I won’t object.
But if you hang up one of these monstrosities, we might have a
problem.”
Lidia snorted, turning back to him. Gods, she was beautiful. Even
more so now that she was in civilian clothes, no trace of the Hind to be
found. Heat stirred in his gut, and from the way her golden eyes
warmed, she knew what he was thinking. But Lidia said, “I was
provided a suite of rooms at my father’s estate. It never crossed my
mind, even as a child, that I might make the space my own. The rooms
belonged to my father. They were to look the way he wanted them to
look, just as I was to look the way he wanted me to.”
The heat cooled in her eyes, and Ruhn sauntered over, sliding an
arm around her waist. “And the day you had Ophion squash him, he
finally looked the way you wanted him to look.”
She choked. “That’s not funny.”
Ruhn pressed a kiss to her brow, breathing in her beckoning scent.
“You laughed. Admit it: that sound was a laugh.”
 She nudged him with a hip. “You’re a bad influence.”
“That’s the best thing anyone’s ever said about me.”
Lidia pulled away, and for a moment, Ruhn let himself admire her.
His mate. His brave, lovely, brilliant mate.
Somehow, they’d made it. Somehow, they were standing in this
weird gallery, shopping for artwork for their apartment. They were here,
doing a relatively mundane thing, and the Asteri were dead. Pollux was
dead. Mordoc was dead.
His father was dead.
And Ruhn was no longer Crown Prince Ruhn, but simply Ruhn
Danaan. Well, technically, he was now Commander Danaan of the
Crescent City Aux, but he only liked to bust that one out when Aux
grunts were mouthing off.
Life was weirdly normal and yet … not. How long would this
gallery last? Or the streetlamps outside? Or what about the cars, idling
in traffic? Or the phone buzzing in his pocket—
Ruhn drew his stare from Lidia’s, realizing he’d been free-falling
into her eyes, and pulled out his phone.
It was Flynn, who was technically on duty right now. Ruhn had
instructed the asshole not to bother him on his night off under any
circumstances. Any.
So Ruhn answered with a terse “What.”
“There’s, uh … a problem.”
Ruhn gripped the phone so hard the plastic groaned. “Is Rigelus
back from the dead?”
“No.”
“Then leave me the fuck alone.” Ruhn hung up.
Lidia arched a brow. “You didn’t want to know?”
Ruhn put a hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the next
piece of art. And fine, maybe his hand slid south a bit. To the beginning
of the luscious curve of her ass.
Maybe her back arched a little bit, too. Like she remembered how
he’d worshipped that spectacular ass last night—
His phone rang again. Dec this time.
Ruhn growled deep in his throat and answered, “What.”
 “I really think you might want to check this out.”
“Call Athalar.”
“Athalar is on the Depth Charger with your sister and the Ocean
Queen right now. You’re closer.”
“It’s also my night off—“
“We’re at the eastern night garden in FiRo. Just get down here.” Dec
ended the call.
Ruhn blew out a long breath. Lidia’s brows were raised, a half smile
gracing her full mouth. “My plan for tonight was to take you art
shopping,” he said, “then go out to a fancy dinner, and then fuck for ten
hours straight.” She laughed, the sound full of joy, of life. So Ruhn
wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing that beautiful, smiling
mouth once, twice. “Rain check?”
She kissed him back. “As long as we get in at least two hours of
straight fucking, I’m good.”
It was Ruhn’s turn to laugh, and as he steered them toward the glass
exit, leaving the horrific cat art behind, he knew that it didn’t matter
what he was doing with his night, so long as Lidia was by his side.

Traffic was bad enough that they opted to walk over to Five Roses
instead of sitting in a taxi for an hour.
“I’m shocked anyone’s using their car right now,” Lidia murmured
as they passed yet another avenue crammed bumper-to-bumper.
“They’re wasting firstlight.”
“I’m guessing they’re Firstlight Zero deniers.”
There was a growing group of people who outright refused to
believe the firstlight would run out eventually, who thought it was all
some giant government conspiracy led by a cabal of nefarious
people—Ruhn and Lidia among them—to switch over to a different
power source that they had business stakes in, and would profit from.
It was delusional, ridiculous shit. And yet plenty of people bought
it, denying even the possibility of the very real end coming, a big
fucking Firstlight Zero power reading. Their resources were finite now,
and if they didn’t stop expending and start conserving, they’d reach
Firstlight Zero way faster than the experts had calculated.
Traffic thinned out a bit in FiRo, mostly because the Fae had
instituted so many zoning laws and regulations against low-end
restaurants, bars, and hotels that there wasn’t much to draw tourists and
unwanted people into their blooming paradise of villas and private
gardens after sunset. An issue Ruhn had promised himself he’d deal
with later, once they’d figured out how to avoid losing all their tech and
reverting to reading by candlelight and cooking over hearths.
Lidia’s slender hand slid into his as they turned onto a calm,
villa-lined block, the olive trees whispering in the crisp autumn night.
“I’ve been thinking,” She said, quietly enough that he knew whatever it
was, it was serious.
“Yeah?” He squeezed her hand, letting her know he was there.
Lidia paused at the end of the street, a block away from the night
garden. The golden light from the streetlamps danced in her hair as she
lifted her other hand to his cheek. Ruhn closed his eyes, savoring her
featherlight touch. Lidia said, “You’re so … pretty.”
Ruhn opened his eyes, laughing. “That’s what you’ve been thinking
about?”
Joy sparked in her gaze. “No. I mean, yes. I was thinking about
something else, but then you looked like … you, and …” She rose onto
her toes and kissed him, teeth clamping on his new lip ring, tugging
lightly. Teasingly.
Before he could yank her against him and thoroughly explore her
mouth, Lidia pulled back, running her fingers over the buzzed side of
his head. “Before you distracted me with all this …” She traced her
fingers over the tattoos crawling up the column of his throat.
Ruhn grinned. He’d started getting his tattoos inked on his skin
again—mostly new designs, but he’d had some of the old ones
re-created. The skin on one hand was still a paler hue compared to the
skin on the other—a slight reminder of what he’d endured in those
Asteri dungeons.
Lidia’s hand stilled on the side of his neck. There was such love and
joy and hope in her eyes that his breath stalled in his chest. She smiled
again, like she sensed that. She peered down at their linked hands. “I’ve
been thinking that … I’d like to marry you.”
The world slipped out from underneath him. The stars overhead
seemed to gleam brighter, drawing closer. Were his knees shaking?
Lidia burst out laughing. “Your face! Ruhn—what does that mean?”
“You … want to marry me?” The words caught in his throat,
snagging.
She lowered her gaze for a moment, as if unsure. “Do you want to
marry me?”
He blinked. “Is that a serious fucking question?”
She glared daggers at him. “Yes. I mean, we’re mates, and I thought
it might be—“
Ruhn kissed her deeply.
“I want to marry you,” he said between kisses, nipping at her lips. “I
want you to marry me. More than anything.” She laughed again, and he
swallowed the sound as he kissed her harder, deeper.
She wanted to marry him. Loved him enough to make it permanent
beyond even their mating bond. To … become a family.
Tears pricked in his eyes. He’d never realized how much he wanted
one. Yes, Bryce was his sister, and he had his mother, but it wasn’t the
same, somehow, as this thing he was to begin with Lidia. It didn’t
matter if they had kids, or if her sons were enough—he and Lidia would
be a family.
She retreated, scanning his face, noting the tears forming. She
kissed one away. “I love you, you know that?”
Ruhn cradled her face gently in his hands. “You’re sure? You want a
wedding and all that crap?”
Amusement danced over her features. “I don’t think I want a big,
fancy, wedding, but … a small party with our friends, maybe?”
“Whatever you want. I don’t care. I mean—not that I don’t care, but
I’m cool with anything, so long as we wind up legally wed at the end of
it.”
She grinned, taking his hand again and leading him back into a
walk. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing,” she said after a minute as the
sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine greeted them, and the
bioluminescent garden glowed mere steps away.
“Why?” They crossed the quiet street, the slick cobblestones stained
green and blue by the light of the shining plants and flowers.
He was so busy trying to read her face that he didn’t turn until she
pointed into the garden. To where Flynn and Dec stood in suits, Bryce
and Hunt grinning with them.
“Because I thought we’d get married right now.”

It was the most romantic, insane thing Ruhn had ever done—and he
hadn’t even planned it.
That was all Lidia: Flynn and Dec had lured him over here at her
direction with their vague “problem.” Not wanting to use up any extra
firstlight, Lidia had chosen the night garden for its natural source of
illumination. She’d gotten Bryce and Athalar, who had pretended to be
summoned by the Ocean Queen, to be over here all afternoon and
evening setting up the long table under a massive moon magnolia tree.
Ithan, Tharion, and Isaiah were now grinning at him. Along with
Hypaxia and Brann and Actaeon, and—
At that point Ruhn started crying. He didn’t notice who else sat
there; he just knew they were all there to celebrate him—and Lidia.
A black-robed Priestess of Cthona married Lidia and Ruhn beneath
that moon magnolia, the plate-sized blooms each glowing as brightly as
the celestial orb they’d been named after. He didn’t need time to think,
or prepare, or second-guess. Nothing had ever felt more right. It didn’t
matter that they were both in their casual clothes, or that Ruhn hadn’t
showered since yesterday.
All that mattered was that Lidia was there with him under the moon
magnolia, her hand in his as he slid the titanium ring—which she’d
procured herself, of course—onto her finger.
Titanium—the strongest of the wedding metals. Meant to symbolize
the unbreakable nature of a couple’s bond. After what they’d been
through. Ruhn suspected a new sort of metal would have to be invented
to embody the strength of their bond, but he’d take titanium for now.
 And as Lidia slid a matching titanium ring onto Ruhn’s finger, he
wondered if they’d also need to invent a new word for love, to embody
what overflowed from his heart.

“So all that bullshit you spun about going to the Depth Charger,” Ruhn
said to Bryce later as they sat at one end of the long table, sipping
sparking wine—courtesy of the Autumn King’s dwindling stash, his
sister had boasted—“was a cover for this?”
Bryce, wearing a painted-on red dress that he had caught Athalar
ogling at least twice, swigged from her flute of wine. “Oh we went to
the Depth Charger.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, to where
Lidia was sitting with Brann and Ace a few seats away. “We had to go
get them. I’m thinking I could start a new business: Magical Starborn
Princess Sullen Teenager Transportation Services.”
Ruhn chuckled. “Where are Renki and Davit?”
Bryce smiled. “Lidia invited them, too, but they’d thought it’d be
good for the boys to try out a quick solo trip. We’re bringing them back
tomorrow morning.”
Ruhn watched his mate—his wife—talking with her sons. That
quiet, radiant joy glimmered from her.
If she’d introduced the boys to Hypaxia—their aunt—Ruhn had
missed it. The new Head of Flame and Shadow was already gone, no
doubt to deal with yet another crisis either within her House or in the
city.
“The kids are staying with us,” Bryce went on. “So they don’t have
to listen to you and Lidia being gross all night.”
Ruhn glowered at his sister. “Thanks, I think?”
But he really couldn’t have asked for anything better. The boys
would be a floor away from them—and yeah, they wouldn’t use the
guest bedroom that Lidia had already decorated for them, but there
would be time for that.
So Ruhn amended, with a warm smile, “Thanks—truly.”
 Bryce kissed his cheek. “Anything for my big brother.” She gestured
down the table toward Lidia. “I’m happy for you guys—really fucking
happy, Ruhn.”
“I’m happy for us, too.” Brann said something that had Lidia
bursting into laughter. Even Ace offered up a hint of a smile.
Ruhn glanced back at his sister, finding her eyes gleaming with
silver. “Don’t you dare cry,” he warned her. “Or I’ll start crying again.”
Bryce threw her arms around him and held him tight. “You deserve
to be happy, Ruhn,” she said thickly. “More than anyone I know.”
He just hugged her back, letting the embrace convey all that was in
his heart.

* * *

Ruhn found himself passed around from friend to friend for the next
hour, losing sight of his bride for a good chunk of that time. When he’d
finally had enough of being without her, he found Lidia talking quietly
to Naomi Boreas.
“You guys are talking shop?” Ruhn asked, sliding an arm around
Lidia’s shoulders. “At our wedding? Really?”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Is there something else we should be
discussing? Our hair and nails?”
Ruhn didn’t dare answer that one, so he just grinned his most
charming grin. Naomi winked at Lidia before walking away. They’d
become good friends these last several weeks, and Ruhn was glad of it.
He knew Bryce was trying to get the two of them—and Hypaxia—to
join her, Fury, and Juniper in some sort of Badass Females Only social
group, but conflicting schedules and putting out constant fires had
intervened. Gods help everyone else when they finally managed to
make it happen, though.
Ruhn pulled Lidia a few feet farther into the garden, night crocuses
glowing a deep amethyst at their feet. “Lidia, I don’t have words for
what tonight was. Is. What it means to me.”
Her soft smile was a thing of remarkable beauty. “I was so nervous
you’d say no.”
 “To marrying you? Seriously?”
She shrugged. “I’d hoped you’d say yes, but you do have all those
tattoos and that lip ring, and—“
He laughed. “And that means I’m anti-marriage?”
“You’re unconventional. I worried that marriage might be too
normal for you.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Your sister. She told me that if I proposed to you, you’d cry like a
baby and say yes.” Lidia cocked her head. “Which you did.”
Ruhn glared over a shoulder at Bryce, now sitting on Athalar’s lap
and chatting animatedly with Fury and June. “She knows me well,
huh?”
When he looked back at Lidia, she was grinning at him again. Right
as—
“Is that music?”
As if on cue, a trio of musicians appeared near the head of the table.
Real musicians, to avoid using firstlight from speakers or their phones.
And when they began playing a slow, sweet song …
“Dance with me, Ruhn.”
He gaped at his wife. “You really coordinated this down to the last
detail.”
She brushed invisible dust off her shoulders. “I coordinated the hit
on the Spine—a wedding was nothing.” But she lowered her hand to
take his. “I never got to dance with you in the garden at the Autumnal
Equinox. Consider this my way of apologizing for bailing on you.”
Ruhn kissed her—gently, lightly. “You do owe me for that, I guess.”
Her arms twined around his neck, and as her body lined up against
his, as they fell into the melody, everything else faded away.
“I’m so grateful,” Ruhn said, seeing her and only her. “So damn
grateful that Cormac gave me that comm crystal.”
“Technically, he blackmailed you into taking it,” she said dryly.
“True.” But Ruhn still offered up a prayer of thanks to the dead
Avallen Prince, wherever his soul now resided. Hopefully he’d been
reunited with Sofie Renast at last.
 “I’m grateful, too,” Lidia said quietly. “For all of it, good and bad.
Because it brought me to you. It brought us to this—to right now.”
There was nothing more to say, not after that. So Ruhn held her
tighter, and they danced in contented, joyous silence under the moon
magnolia as the distant stars wheeled overhead.
So much of the future was undecided—he knew a great deal of
hardship was coming their way. But for right now, for this moment,
with Lidia in his arms, surrounded by their friends …
For right now, for the first time in his life, everything was perfect.
 Bryce & Hunt Bonus Chapter

-Bryce-
“There’s no way your mom will let us do this.”
“What my mom doesn’t know won’t kill her.”
“Bryce.”
It was Hunt’s warning tone that had Bryce turning from the
evergreen garland she’d spread across the kitchen table of her parents’
house, half of the pine needles blanketing the linoleum floor at her feet.
Her mate lounged against the pink plastic counter that hadn’t been
updated since it was installed in the house a century ago. Bryce was
sure any interior designer worth their salt would keel over dead at the
sight of it—and the matching cabinets—but Bryce loved it. Loved every
inch of this house, tucked among towering conifers on a hill just outside
of Nidaros. Close enough to walk into the small town, but far enough
away to avoid the snooping eyes and ears of any passing neighbors.
Which was pretty much everybody in this town. Bryce had no idea
how her mother had survived it—the local gossips had lost their minds
when she’d shown up twenty-odd years ago, a half-Fae toddler in tow,
under Randall’s protection.
Well, she knew how her mom had survived it: by picking a house on
the outskirts of town, shielded by those centuries-old pines.
“What?” Bryce frowned at Hunt. She motioned to the garland
snaking across the chipped wood table—another thing that had come
with the house. “She’ll love this.”
“You’re using her … babies”—Hunt choked on the word—“to adorn
a decoration for the temple.”
“So?” Bryce grabbed the hot-glue gun. “It’s free advertising for
her.”
Hunt pushed off the counter, wings rustling, and picked up one of
the offending objects. “It’s sacrilege.”
“Is it, though?” Bryce surveyed the tray of tiny ceramic infants
lolling in beds of lettuce or flower petals or little birds’ nests. “The
Winter Solstice is all about the death and rebirth of Solas and his final
embrace with Cthona before dying. Hence the baby.”
“Yeah, but that offspring is meant to be Midgard. Not …
lettuce-babies.” Hunt eyed the figurine in his hand, a bald infant with
arms and legs like overstuffed sausage links. “Some people might get
offended.”
“Some people might also think it’s funny.”
At his pointed silence, Bryce sighed, setting down the glue gun.
Hunt slid into the chair across from her. He wore his favorite white
sunball hat backward and a thick green sweater that did wonders for his
broad shoulders, but his face was stony, dark eyes wary.
Bryce angled her head to the side. “Don’t we all need something to
laugh about?” She pointed to the brass-plated light fixture above the
table. “We’re quickly approaching Firstlight Zero.”
In Nidaros—on all of Midgard—firstlight was used sparingly these
days. Most people only turned on what lights they needed, in the room
they were currently in. Charging phones: limited to a quarter power
max. No TV. Unless it was absolutely, one hundred percent necessary,
the majority of people on the planet were doing their best to conserve
what firstlight remained while the scientists and engineers and
magic-wielders raced around the clock to find an alternate energy
source. And some way to retrofit all their tech to use it.
Bryce didn’t want to think about it. Not for the three days she’d be
here with her family. So she tucked it away, along with all the other
thoughts that plagued her about what had gone down this fall, about
what they’d been dealing with since she’d shoved the Asteri into a black
hole.
These three days were for her and Hunt, for Cooper and her parents.
And Syrinx, lounging at her feet, snoring lightly, wearing a little red
solstice vest that Randall had knitted for the chimera.
“Where’d you go?” Hunt asked, and Bryce blinked.
“Huh?”
“You’re glaring at those … things.”
 Bryce snorted and lifted a baby—one bawling from inside a
peapod—and dangled it in front of Hunt’s face. “These things? Do they
creep you out?”
Hunt winced away from the figurine. “Yes. Partly because they’re
weird, and partly because your mom, of all people, makes them.”
Bryce dropped her voice to an eerie whisper. “They sing at night, if
you listen closely.”
Hunt grimaced. “Don’t even start.”
Bryce chuckled, setting the figurine down again and surveying the
garland. She’d only glued one baby on it before Hunt had intervened.
“So you really think we should just bring this to the temple with no
extra pizzazz?”
“Yes. I think you should do exactly what your mother asked you to
do before she left.”
He was dead serious. Hunt had faced down the Asteri, jumped into
space and careened toward a black hole, and yet he was still scared of
Ember Quinlan.
Bryce supposed that made her mate a very wise male. And she’d be
wise to listen to his warning, too. So she began placing the figurines
back in the tray she’d grabbed from her mother’s workshop—more of
an attached shed, really—the ceramics clinking delicately against each
other. “We’ll leave that terror on there, and see if anyone notices
tonight.”
Hunt rolled his eyes. “I’ll pray to Cthona that you don’t get us
chased out of town.”
“The pitchfork cabinet’s right next to the temple altar, you know.”
“Hilarious.”
“No, it really is,” she said, standing with the tray in hand, trying her
best not to joggle it too much. If she destroyed the figurines, her mom
might actually kill her.
Granted, her mom would have killed her for taking the dozen or so
figurines from her workshop and gluing them to a garland, too, but
Bryce had been willing to pay that price for her mom’s last-minute
demand that she help with the temple decorations for the solstice
ceremony.
 After teleporting in late the previous night, Bryce and Hunt had
awoken this morning to find her mom and Randall already out of the
house, with only a note from Ember on the kitchen table.
We’re in town, helping set up for the ceremony tonight. Take Cooper
to lunch—I know he wants to spend some time with you, and this
holiday is a big deal for him.
That, of course, was no burden. At lunch, the teen had been a little
quieter than the boy she’d come to know and love over the last few
months, but she didn’t blame him. He’d lost his entire family, and
though he’d been welcomed into a new one, the holiday was sure to
bring up painful memories.
So Bryce and Hunt had let Cooper be as quiet as he wanted while
they grabbed sandwiches at the local diner. And pretended that every
patron and passerby on the street wasn’t gawking at them.
Save the world, get stared at for the rest of their lives. That seemed
to be the deal.
But it had been the second part of her mom’s note that had prompted
Bryce to see red.
Also, I volunteered you and Athalar for the temple-decorating
committee, so send that mate of yours to cut down some branches and
tie them together into a garland. The temple will expect you there
around three to hang it up.
Randall walked Syrinx and gave him his breakfast. And his second
breakfast.
You’re welcome.
Hunt checked his watch—an analog one, since he didn’t want to
waste phone battery. “We gotta head out. Done throwing your temper
tantrum?”
Bryce glared at him over a shoulder and lifted the tray of figurines
as she continued toward the pottery studio. “Keep it up, Athalar, and I’ll
put one of these under your pillow tonight.”
His eyes flared with alarm. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Bryce crooned in a baby’s singsong voice, “Come play with us,
Hunt.”
Hunt flipped her off, but she noted his pale face with satisfaction.
“It was just a little surprise for the eagle-eyed,” Bryce hedged as she
and her family walked down the snowy road to her parents’ house under
a crisp, starry sky. Her breath curled in front of her, and even with a
heavy coat and gloves, the cold seeped into her.
Ember stomped through the icy snow at Bryce’s side, clad in a red
peacoat. “You’re lucky the High Priestess and Priest didn’t call upon
Cthona and Solas to damn you.” Randall, Hunt, and Cooper, the
cowards, kept a few paces back. Ember hissed, “I’ll never hear the end
of this from Milly Garkunos.”
“Then finally tell Milly to shut the fuck up and leave you alone,”
Bryce said, teeth chattering.
Ember’s eyes flashed. “Bryce Adelaide Quinlan. That woman has
been very kind to you. When we moved to this town—”
“I know, I know,” Bryce said, slowing her pace to try to slip into the
protective wall of males walking behind them. She could have sworn
the three of them all slowed further. When she glowered at Hunt, her
mate only stared at the night sky like it was the most interesting thing
he’d ever seen. So Bryce recited to Ember, “When we got here, Milly
was the only person who would check in on us, bring us food,
supplies—”
“What about me?” Randall cried with false outrage.
Ember waved dismissively at her husband. “You didn’t count.”
Hunt clapped a consoling hand on Randall’s shoulder. Cooper just
snickered.
Ember sniffed. “Well, what’s done is done, and we’re lucky the
High Priestess and Priest thought it was amusing.”
Bryce threw Hunt a Told you so look. He stuck out his tongue.
Umbra Mortis, folks.
A small house with white siding and a half-sagging front porch
appeared between the trees, a lone candle—the sacred candle of the
solstice—burning in the window to light the way home.The tradition
wasn’t particularly fire-safe, but most families scraped together enough
money to buy a protection spell from a sprite so they wouldn’t come
home from the temple to find their home in cinders.
Solas’s light had been extinguished with the setting sun, and that
lone candle stood for the one kernel of him that survived. A kernel of
hope, to be fully rekindled with the rising of the sun at dawn—with
Solas’s rebirth from Cthona’s dark embrace through the long night of
her mourning vigil.
The symbol of that embrace was prominent all over the town at this
time of year: the circle sinking—or rising—between two mountain
peaks. Also known as Solas’s face between Cthona’s tits. Though
Ember hadn’t been too pleased when Bryce had phrased it that way as a
teen when describing the Embrace amulet her mother always wore.
Bryce glanced at Hunt and found his attention now on the candle in
the window. The one light in the darkness. His face was tight, eyes
haunted.
She dropped back a few steps, and Randall and Cooper walked to
Ember’s side, giving them privacy. When the others were far enough
ahead, Bryce asked her mate, “What’s up?”
Hunt’s gray feathers fluttered in the frigid wind. “Just a bad
memory.”
“Of what?” Sometimes he’d open up to her about things from his
past that still ate at him. Sometimes he wasn’t ready, and she let him
know that was absolutely fine. She’d be there to listen whenever he
needed her:
But Hunt slid his gaze to her. “Of you. In space. Glowing against
that black hole.”
Bryce blocked out the surge of memories, of old terror, and reached
a gloved hand for his. “We have a lot to be grateful for this solstice,”
she said, voice thick.
He squeezed her hand. “We have a lot to be grateful for every single
day.”
Bryce paused Hunt with a tug on his hand, turning to face him. She
cupped his cheek, his skin warming her fingers even through her gloves.
“I’m grateful for you,” she said, rising onto the toes of her snow boots
to press a kiss to his mouth. She pulled away just enough so that their
clouded breath mingled between them.
Unconditional and unending love softened his eyes. “This is the first
solstice I’ve had with a family—with my family—since … my mom."
Her heart strained. She hadn’t thought of that. That this solstice was
a big deal not only for Cooper, but for Hunt, too. And the way he called
her and her parents family …
She kissed him again, deeper this time. “I better make it special for
you, then.”
He nipped her bottom lip. “I think we’re going to have to fuck out
here, though.”
She blinked. “What? Why?”
Hunt kissed her again, a swift, wicked promise. “I can’t fuck you in
your bedroom with all those Starlight Fancy ponies staring at me.”
Bryce laughed, and the sound rang out through the trees, bright as
the silver bells the priest and priestess had rung at the temple at the
ceremony’s end. Tonight, the High Priest and Priestess would have their
own joining, to reenact the return of Solas to Cthona’s side.
Hunt slid an arm around Bryce’s shoulders, tucking her into his side
as they approached the house. Randall was unlocking the front door,
Cooper hopping from foot to foot against the cold. Ember was watching
Bryce and Hunt, though—and from the smile on her mom’s face, Bryce
knew her mom was happy for her, scolding about the lettuce-baby aside.
And with her mate walking beside her, with her family now entering
the dark house ahead …
Bryce realized she was happy for herself, too.

“I’m never eating another chocolate croissant,” Hunt groaned at dawn

the next morning.
“I didn’t tell you to eat the whole tray,” Bryce said, nudging her
mate with an elbow.
“You also didn’t tell me that Randall is a ridiculously good baker,”
Hunt grumbled, folding a wing around Bryce. They stood on the front
porch with steaming mugs of coffee—fresh from the fancy machine
Bryce had shown her parents how to use again this morning—and
watched the rising sun.
They’d all been out here fifteen minutes ago, coffee and pastries in
hand, to salute the rebirth of Solas. Inside the house, Cooper was busy
helping Randall prep a breakfast feast. An obscene amount of food, but
Milly Garkunos was coming over, so Ember was in a tizzy.
She was currently vacuuming the living room for the second time
that morning.
Bryce huffed a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Hunt asked, peering down at her.
“I’m thinking about Milly Garkunos,” Bryce said, looking around at
the snow sparkling in the morning sun. “If my mom is the only person
who you’re afraid of in the entirety of the universe”—Hunt didn’t
disagree—“then what does it mean that my mom is afraid of Milly?”
Hunt chuckled, his laugh rumbling through her. He took a long sip
from his coffee. “Maybe we should have sicced Milly on Rigelus and
the other Asteri.”
Bryce grinned. “They’d have jumped right into that black hole, just
to avoid her.”
Hunt laughed, the sound dancing off the pines, the snow. “Would’ve
spared us a lot of trouble.”
Bryce clinked her mug against Hunt’s. The scents of sage, pork, and
garlic floated out toward them. Randall had to be cooking sausage.
“Maybe I’ll send Milly down to Crescent City to sort out all those
shitheads.”
His amusement dimmed, as if he’d remembered what awaited them
after this too-short break. “I don’t think those shitheads are ready for the
likes of Milly Garkunos.”
Bryce winked at her mate. “I don’t think you are, either.”
“That bad, huh?”
Bryce drained the rest of her coffee, savoring its swift burn down
her throat. “She has an angel fetish.”
Hunt stared at her.
Bryce patted Hunt’s arm. “She’s got the 35th’s charity calendar on
her kitchen wall. Hunky Angels of the North.”
 Hunt’s expression grew more horrified with every word out of her
mouth.
Bryce yanked open the front door, releasing an enticing river of
smells: sausage, eggs, maple syrup, bread. She drawled, “I promised
Milly that for her solstice present, I’d get you to take your shirt off and
do push-ups for her.”
“You didn’t.”
Bryce waggled her eyebrows. “Or did I?”
His answering growl sent her racing inside, laughing madly.

It turned out that Milly was so overwhelmed by Hunt’s mere presence

that she barely said a word at breakfast, or during the exchange of gifts
afterward. The gray-haired human woman only offered a few vague
comments about the unusually cold winter and kept her mouth shut,
sneaking glances at Hunt now and then.
It had been an absolute delight to watch Hunt squirm, trying to
pretend he didn’t know the old lady was drooling over him. Bryce
hadn’t dared look across the table at Cooper—it was clear that he’d
burst out laughing at the slightest provocation.
Only Ember seemed relieved at Milly’s unusual silence, filling the
quiet with chatter about the ceremony last night, the need for a new roof
at the school, and wondering how many people would show up for the
solstice luncheon at the rec hall that afternoon—an event Bryce was
skipping, thank the gods.
Cooper had received no such mercy from Ember, and had given
Bryce a pleading look as he, Ember, and Randall had headed off ten
minutes ago.
Now, sitting cross-legged on the twin bed in her tiny childhood
bedroom, Bryce surveyed the small heap of presents she’d gotten from
her family and smiled. “They went all out.”
“A perk of saving the world,” Hunt said from where he lounged on
the floor, idly flipping through the coffee table book Ember had gotten
him: Human Pottery Through the Ages.
The gift, of course, had come with a note :
 So you might have some more appreciation for your mother-in-law’s
craft.
Bryce had refrained from telling Ember that craft was a generous
way to describe the lettuce-babies. It was solstice morning, after all.
Bryce ran a hand over the album on the bed beside her. Cooper,
Randall, and Ember had all gotten her a signed first edition of Josie and
Laurel’s debut record, signed by the folk duo themselves.
It must have cost a fortune, and Bryce had been beyond words at the
sight of their signatures scrawled there. “I should return this and give
them the money back.”
She had more money than she knew what to do with now. Her
parents had refused to take a single copper of it. Put it to Cooper’s
college fund, Randall had suggested. So Bryce had. It had still barely
made a dent in what she inherited. From the Autumn King, even after
what she’d already given away. And then there was everything Jesiba
had left her. A total of assets so great that Bryce had needed to sit down
upon hearing the lawyer read the amount.
“Your parents would be deeply offended,” Hunt said, shutting the
book with a thump. “You’re their child—it brings them joy to give you
things like that.”
She frowned doubtfully.
Hunt sat up, peering at her. “Maybe it’s something you have to
experience yourself to get.”
“Is that your way of saying you want to start making babies, Hunt
Athalar?”
Hunt tipped his head back and laughed, and damn if it wasn’t the
sexiest thing she’d seen all day. “I don’t think Midgard is ready for our
babies, Quinlan.”
She might have laughed too had a dark, glittering sort of sensuality
not entered his eyes. “Are you?” Her heart thundered. They hadn’t
discussed it yet—and both of them remained on their respective
contraceptives.
He rose with preternatural grace and sat beside her on the bed,
which she hadn’t realized was ridiculously small until they’d had to
sleep in it these last two nights. She’d nearly shoved him to the floor
last night just to get some measure of space to turn over.
And now, sitting beside him … gods, it felt like that first time they’d
ever sat close, their thighs brushing, in the library under Griffin
Antiquities.
Hunt said a shade hoarsely, “I think we should wait until after the
firstlight situation gets sorted out.” He cleared his throat. “And you
already have your, uh, flock to tend to.” He nudged her with a knee.
“Is it a flock?” Bryce asked. “Or a herd?”
“Flerd?”
Bryce laughed. Avallen would be their next stop, to visit the six
pegasuses who were now its star residents. “Yeah, the flerd is enough
for now. They’re a bunch of demanding assholes.”
“Well, I hate to add to the flerd, but …" He strode to his weekend
bag and pulled out a shoebox-sized present. He tossed it to her. “Here
you go.”
“I was wondering why you didn’t leave anything under the window
this morning.” Another solstice fire hazard: placing presents under the
candle in the window to open in the morning after the celebratory
breakfast.
Bryce tore off the glittery white gift wrapping, and at the first hint of
rainbow cardboard beneath—
The sound that came out of her was on the same register as a
screeching teakettle.
“You didn’t!” she screamed, ripping away more paper to reveal, in
its full glory, a mint-condition Jelly Jubilee—still in her original
packaging.
“Where did you find this?” Bryce asked, gawking at the box, at her
grinning mate, at the sparkly purple unicorn-pegasus, her glossy lilac
mane curled to perfection. Not like the hot mess her original JJ had
become, thanks to years of hard play when Bryce was a kid.
Hunt grinned. “Fury. She knows a guy who knows a guy.”
“Who trades in rare dolls?”
“I didn’t ask questions,” Hunt said, his face beautiful, so full of joy
at her joy. “I just handed over the money.”
 Bryce cuddled the box to her chest, then winced and set it down.
She petted the plastic cover gently instead. “This will be an heirloom
for our children, and our children’s children’s children.”
Hunt snorted. “Sure. They’ll all fight over who gets the
mint-condition JJ.”
“This thing has to be worth—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Her heart filled to the point of pain. “Thank you. This is …” She
kissed his cheek, savoring the warm, soft skin under her lips. “Thank
you.”
Hunt just smiled, and with that smile … Bryce bit her lip, scooting
back on the bed, away from him. He watched her every movement as
she spread out, legs opening slightly.
“And where’s my present?” Hunt’s voice had dropped an octave.
Bryce stretched her arms up, sliding under the pillow above her head,
offering the entire length of her body in invitation. “Come and get it.”
Heat flared in his eyes, and her body tightened as he crawled over
her. His wings blocked out the sunlight trickling in through the window.
“Would you like me to unwrap—”
But Bryce had slid her hand out from under the pillow and was now
extending it—what was inside it—to Hunt.
“I told you yesterday to look under your pillow, Hunt,” she purred.
Hunt jumped back so fast, he nearly tumbled off the bed. “What the
fuck!”
Bryce laughed, holding out the lettuce-baby figurine she’d had her
mother make specially for him. “It’s your present.” She sat up, blinking
innocently. “You didn’t think that sex was your only present, did you?”
He looked torn between laughing and running out of the room.
Away from the small monstrosity in her hand. “Is that …”
She kissed the head of the figurine. “A little sunball hat. Turned
backward.”
He paled. “And are those—”
“Little gray wings, the exact right shade of storm-cloud gray.”
“You turned me into a fucking lettuce-baby?”
 Bryce cast her voice into a mocking falsetto, tilting the figurine this
way and that as she said: “I’m the Umbra Mortis. Enemies cower before
me!”
With that, Bryce tossed the figurine to Hunt. He caught it, but
gingerly. Like he was scared it’d bite him. He cringed down at his face,
turned into cherubic serenity. “This is the most disturbing thing I’ve
ever seen.”
She grinned. “A successful solstice present, then.”
Hunt gaped at her, then burst out laughing. She had no warning
before he leapt onto her, burying his face in her neck. “I love you, you
sadistic asshole.”
She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his feathers. “Right
back at you.”
His lips found her throat, and he pressed a kiss there. Every muscle
and nerve in her body came alert. He noted it—probably the shift in her
scent, too—and pressed his hips into hers. Let her feel what was
hardening between his legs. “How long’s that luncheon at the rec hall?”
“They’ll be back in two hours,” Bryce said, blood sparking.
“Good,” he said with dark promise, and drove his lengthening cock
against her again. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.
“I thought you didn’t want to fuck in here,” Bryce said breathlessly.
A storm wind blasted through the room, turning all the Starlight Fancy
dolls—none of them good enough to come with her to Crescent City but
all still too precious to throw out—toward the wall. The
lettuce-baby-Hunt slid under the bed. “Problem solved.”
Hunt’s hand slid up Bryce’s stomach to cup her breast, to knead it
through her cream-colored sweater.
“It’s a solstice miracle,” she whispered.
Hunt lifted his head, his gaze finding hers. Only love shone there.
“It is,” he said thickly, and Bryce knew he wasn’t talking about the toys.
This—them. Being here, together.
That was the miracle.
So Bryce kissed her mate with all the love shining in her heart. No
matter what waited ahead, no matter what trials and hardships … they’d
face it together. And that was a gift she’d be grateful for every single
day for the rest of her existence. “Happy Solstice, Hunt.”