House of Flame and Shadow (Crescent City Series)

Ithan knew he’d have no luck convincing a Reaper on his own. At least without risking getting his soul sucked out and eaten. But fortunately, there were plenty of Reapers who would answer Jesiba Roga’s summons. Unfortunately, one arrived at the morgue within an hour of Jesiba’s request to the Under-King.

Ithan kept reminding himself of every exit, of his strength, of where the knife in his boot was, of how quickly he could summon claws or shift—

The male Reaper was relatively fresh, judging by the way he’d strutted—only a hint of a glide—into the morgue. This one seemed inclined to play rock star, with his torn black jeans dangling precariously off his prominent hip bones and an array of tattoos scattered over his unnervingly pale torso. No shirt to be seen. He’d bothered with ass-kicking black boots, left partially untied at the tops, and he’d strapped twin black leather bracelets at his wrists.

Gods, Bryce would have had a field day with this guy—his long golden hair was very carefully mussed. That is, until she beheld the acid-green eyes, and the throat that revealed precisely where his death blow had been. The wound had sealed over, but the scars remained.

“Thank you for coming,” Hypaxia said, standing beside the examination table with queenly grace. “This will only take a few moments.”

The Reaper glanced between her and Ithan, but sauntered over to the table, hopping on with a thud that set the metal shuddering. “Heard you defected, witchy-witch.” His voice was a hoarse, wicked rasp. It might have been dismissed as a result of the death wound to his throat, but it was typical of a Reaper. Exactly how Sigrid’s voice had sounded—

“Welcome to the House,” the Reaper continued, bluish lips quirking up in a sneer. He nodded to Ithan. “What’s a wolf pup doing here?”

Ithan mastered his primal fear of the creature before them and crossed his arms. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re Holstrom, right?” That sneer didn’t fade. If this shithead said anything about Connor—

“I was in the Aux,” the Reaper said, tapping one of his tattoos. “Lion-shifter pack.”

Oh shit. Ithan had heard of this guy. A low-level lion who’d shown up with his pack a few months ago on a routine Aux inspection of a vampyr nest in the Meat Market. The wounds on his neck corresponded with what the vamps had done to the guy. But to have chosen to become a Reaper, in the same House as the ones who’d killed him …

From the gleam in the Reaper’s eyes, Ithan couldn’t help but wonder if he had turned Reaper not to elude true death, but to one day exact vengeance.

Hypaxia approached the Reaper and said, “May I touch your head?”

The Reaper kept his eyes on the former queen. “Touch me all you want, sweetheart.”

For fuck’s sake. Ithan suppressed a growl, but Hypaxia remained unruffled as she placed her brown hands on his shining golden hair.

Ithan refrained from reaching for the knife in his boot as the Reaper inhaled deeply. Getting a whiff of her scent? Or preparing to eat her spirit? “Your soul smells like rain clouds and mountain berries.” The creep licked his lips. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

How Hypaxia kept her hands on his head, Ithan had no idea. He was half inclined to rip the shithead’s arms out of their sockets and use them to beat the guy senseless.

The Reaper inhaled again. “A little bit of witch, a little bit of necromancer, huh?”

“She needs to concentrate,” Ithan said through his teeth.

The Reaper slid those acid-green eyes over to him. He asked Hypaxia, “Am I distracting you, honey?”

She didn’t answer. The expression on her face was distant as she focused on what lay within the Reaper’s mind.

The Reaper inhaled deeply again, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Gods, your scent’s like fucking wine—”

“We’re done, thank you,” Hypaxia said politely, stepping back and making notes on the papers stacked on her desk. “Please give my regards to your master.”

The Reaper stared at her for a long moment, practically feral. Ithan barely breathed, ready to pounce, even though this lowlife was unkillable—

“I’ll see you around,” the Reaper said, more of a promise than a parting, and hopped off the table. He strutted again for the doors, this time with a bit of that Reaper’s floating gait, as if trying to show off for the witch.

Only when he left did Ithan let out a long breath. “What a fucking creep.”

Hypaxia leaned against the examination table. “Your guess was right, though. He didn’t have the parasite.” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t sense anything like one, anyway. I didn’t sense anything living inside him at all.”

“So what now?”

“I compare what I detected in him to what I discovered in your blood. See what stands out. See if I can isolate where in you the parasite lies.”

Good. At least he’d contributed that much.

“How could you stand it?” Ithan asked, unable to contain his curiosity. “Being that close to him?”

“I’ve had to endure plenty of uncomfortable situations and difficult people in my life,” Hypaxia said, pushing off the table and walking to the computer. She clicked the monitor on. “A lonely, scared Reaper, new to the afterlife, doesn’t bother me.”

“Lonely? Scared?” Ithan choked on a laugh.

But Hypaxia glanced over a shoulder, her face unreadable. “You couldn’t see it? What lay beneath the bravado? His clothes and attitude show how desperately he’s trying to cling to his mortal life. He’s frightened out of his mind.”

“You pity him.”

“Yes.” She turned back to her computer. “I pity him, and all Reapers.”

Sigrid included, no doubt. Guilt tightened his chest, but Ithan said, “Most half-lifes seem to enjoy terrorizing the rest of us.”

“They might, but their existence is what their name implies: It is half a life. Not true living. It seems sad to me.”

Ithan considered. “You’re … you’re a really good person.” She chuckled. “I mean it,” he insisted. “The witches are worse off without you.”

She glanced over a shoulder again, and this time her eyes were full of sorrow. “Thank you.” She nodded to the door. “I need to focus for a while. Without your, ah … hovering.”

He saluted her. “Message received. I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

“Queen of all this, huh?”

Bryce didn’t stop sorting through the trunks of supplies Fury had brought on the helicopter, even though her friend’s question came with a shit-eating grin.

“Did you get the goggles?” Bryce asked, pushing past a layer of winter hats. All the snow gear was there, just as she’d requested. On short notice, Fury had pieced together a remarkable array of jackets, pants, hats, gloves, underlayers—everything they’d need to survive the subzero temperatures of Nena.

Bryce intended to leave Avallen as soon as her parents had a rest from the helicopter journey—as soon as they were able to get Cooper settled with Baxian, and process all she’d told them upon their arrival.

Her parents sat in the grass on the other side of the field, talking quietly, Syrinx lounging in Randall’s lap. So Bryce gave them space, using the time to check the gear Fury had brought—not that she didn’t trust Fury to have thought of every detail.

But she should check, anyway. Just to make sure that they had all the gear they might need. So many things could go wrong, and she was taking her human parents with her, she was really going to do this—

A slender brown hand touched Bryce’s wrist. “B—you okay?”

Bryce looked up at last, finding Juniper standing beside her, a deep frown on her beautiful face. A few feet away, Fury stood with crossed arms, brows high.

Bryce sighed, turning from the three massive trunks that would be loaded onto the helicopter looming behind them.

Her friends were safe here. It should have eased something in her chest—a gift from Urd, Hunt had claimed—but seeing them here …

There was a fourth trunk, resting in the grass close to the helicopter. Fury had only been able to gather so much before the quick takeoff from Valbara, but still … there were a considerable number of weapons here.

Handguns. Rifles. Knives.

A joke, really, considering that they were going up against six intergalactic, nearly all-powerful beings. Most of the weapons would be for the others—to buy them any shot at surviving.

Everything else would come down to her.

Fury and Juniper were watching. Waiting. Like they could see all of that on her face. Just as Juniper, that bleak winter, had sensed from Bryce’s tone alone that despair had pushed her to the brink.

Juniper—whose last audiomail to Bryce had been so angry, after Bryce had done such an unforgivable thing by calling the director of the Crescent City Ballet. Only love and relief showed on her face now.

Juniper silently opened her arms, and Bryce rushed into them.

Her throat closed up, eyes stinging, at her friend’s warmth, her scent. Fury’s scent and arms wrapped around them a moment later, and Bryce shut her eyes, savoring it.

“I’m so sorry you both got dragged into this,” Bryce said hoarsely. “June, I’m sorry for all of it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Juniper’s arms tightened around her. “We’ve got bigger problems to face—you and I are good.”

Bryce pulled back, glancing between her two friends. She’d updated them, and her parents—Cooper in tow—about as much as she could.

Fury frowned. “I should be coming with you guys. I’m of more use in the field.”

Bryce would have given anything to have someone as talented as Fury watching her back. But this wasn’t about Bryce’s own safety, her own comfort.

“You’re precisely where you should be,” Bryce insisted. “When people hear that Fury Axtar’s guarding Avallen, they’ll think twice before fucking with this place.”

Fury rolled her eyes. “Babysitting.”

Bryce shook her head. “It’s not. I need you guys here—helping any of the people who can make it. Helping Baxian.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fury said, jerking her chin toward the rest of their friends, standing on the other side of the helicopter. “I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to grilling Baxian about him and Danika.”

They stared toward the handsome male, who must have sensed their attention and turned from where he’d been talking to Tharion and Ruhn. Baxian winced.

Juniper laughed. “We won’t bite!” she called to the Helhound.

“Liar,” Fury muttered, earning another laugh from Juniper.

Baxian wisely went back to his conversation. Though Bryce didn’t fail to notice how Tharion poked the angel shifter in the side, grinning.

“I can’t believe she never told us about him,” Juniper said quietly, sadly.

“Danika didn’t tell us a lot of stuff,” Bryce said with equal softness.

“Neither did you,” Fury teased, nudging Bryce with an elbow. “And again: Queen of Avallen?”

Bryce rolled her eyes. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

“Oh, not for all the gold in the world,” Fury said, dark eyes dancing with amusement. “This is your shitshow to run.”

Juniper scowled at her girlfriend. “What Fury means is that we have your back.”

Bryce kissed June’s velvet-soft cheek. “Thanks.” She looked between her friends again. “If we don’t make it back …”

“Don’t think like that, B,” Juniper insisted, but Fury said nothing.

Fury had dealt in the shadows of the empire for years. She was well aware of the odds.

Bryce went on, “If I don’t make it back, you’ll be safe here. The mists will allow any true refugee through—but I’d still keep an eye out for any Asteri agents. There are plenty of natural resources to sustain everyone, and yeah, there’s no firstlight to fuel your tech, but—”

Juniper laid a hand on Bryce’s wrist again. “We got this, B. You go do … what you need to do.”

“Save the world,” Fury said, chuckling.

Bryce grimaced. “Yeah. Basically.”

“We got this,” Juniper repeated, hand tightening on Bryce’s wrist. “And so do you, Bryce.”

Bryce took out her phone. Popped it free of the case, revealing the photograph she’d tucked in there of them. Of how it had been when there were four. “Keep this for me,” she said, handing it to Fury. “I don’t want to lose it.”

Fury studied the photo—how happy they’d all been, how seemingly young. She folded Bryce’s fingers around the photo. “Take it.” Fury’s eyes shone bright. “So we’ll all be with you.”

Bryce’s throat tightened again, but she slid the photo into the back pocket of her jeans. And allowed herself to look at June and Fury one last time, to memorize every line of their faces.

Friends worth fighting for. Worth dying for.

Ember Quinlan was waiting on the hill where Bryce and her friends had risen from beneath the Cave of Princes.

Ember peered at the grassy ground, face tight. No trace of the caves remained. “So his body is just … under there.”

Bryce nodded. She knew who her mother meant. “Ruhn decapitated him and, um, impaled his head before the ground swallowed him. There’s no chance of him coming back.”

Ember didn’t smile as she stared at the earth, the Autumn King’s corpse far beneath it.

“I spent so long running from him, fearing him. To imagine a world where he doesn’t exist …” Her mom lifted her eyes to Bryce’s face, and at the pain and relief in them, Bryce threw her arms around her and held tight.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ember whispered. “Not for … dealing with him, but for all of it. I’m so, so proud, Bryce.”

Bryce couldn’t stop the stinging in her eyes. “I could only do it because I was raised by a badass mom.”

Ember chuckled, pulling back to clasp Bryce’s face in both hands. “You look different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Good. Like a functioning adult.”

Bryce smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

Ember wrapped her arms around Bryce and squeezed. “But it doesn’t matter if you’re Queen of the Fae or the Universe or whatever crap …” Bryce laughed at that, but Ember said, “You’ll always be my sweet baby.”

Bryce hugged her mother tightly, all thoughts of the hateful male lying dead far below them fading away.

In the distance, the helicopter started roaring again, this time piloted by Randall, thanks to his compulsory years in the peregrini army. All humans were forced to serve. The skills he’d learned during those years remained useful, especially now, but Bryce knew the experience weighed on his soul.

Bryce looked up at last from her mother’s embrace and saw Hunt motioning for them to get on board—obnoxiously tapping his wrist, as if to say, Time is of the essence, Quinlan!

Bryce scowled, knowing that with his angel-sharp eyes he could see it from this distance, but she held her mom for another moment. Breathed in her mom’s smell, so familiar and calming. Like home.

Ember hugged her back, content to be there—to hold her daughter for one moment longer.

This was what really mattered in the end.