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She said quietly, “I need to find who did this, Hunt.”
He met her raw, aching stare. “I know.”
“No,” she said hoarsely. “You don’t. I don’t care what Micah’s motives are—if I don’t find this fucking person, it is going to eat me alive.” Not the murderer or the demon, but the pain and grief that he was only starting to realize dwelled inside her. “I need to find who did this.”
“We will,” he promised.
“How can you know that?” She shook her head.
“Because we don’t have another choice. I don’t have another choice.” At her confused look, Hunt blew out a breath and said, “Micah offered me a deal.”
Her eyes turned wary. “What sort of deal?”
Hunt clenched his jaw. She’d offered up a piece of herself, so he could do the same. Especially if they were now gods-damned roommates. “When I first came here, Micah offered me a bargain: if I could make up for every life the 18th took that day on Mount Hermon, I’d get my freedom back. All two thousand two hundred and seventeen lives.” He steeled himself, willing her to hear what he couldn’t quite say.
She chewed on her lip. “I’m assuming that make up means …”
“Yes,” he ground out. “It means doing what I’m good at. A death for a death.”
“Micah has more than two thousand people for you to assassinate?”
Hunt let out a harsh laugh. “Micah is a Governor of an entire territory, and he will live for at least another two hundred years. He’ll probably have double that number of people on his shit list before he’s done.” Horror crept into her eyes, and he scrambled for a way to get rid of it, unsure why. “It comes with the job. His job, and mine.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s awful, but he offered me a way out, at least. And when the killings started again, he offered me a different bargain: find the murderer before the Summit meeting, and he’d reduce the debts I owe to ten.”
He waited for her judgment, her disgust with him and Micah. But she angled her head. “That’s why you’ve been a bullish pain the ass.”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “Micah ordered me not to say anything, though. So if you breathe one word about it—”
“His offer will be rescinded.”
Hunt nodded, scanning her battered face. She said nothing more. After a heartbeat, he demanded, “Well?”
“Well, what?” She again began walking toward her bedroom.
“Well, aren’t you going to say that I’m a self-serving piece of shit?”
She paused again, a faint ray of light entering her eyes. “Why bother, Athalar, when you just said it for me?”
He couldn’t help it then. Even though she was bloodied and covered in debris, he looked her over. Every inch and curve. Tried not to think about the hot-pink underwear beneath that tight green dress. But he said, “I’m sorry I thought you were a suspect. And more than that, I’m sorry I judged you. I thought you were just a party girl, and I acted like an asshole.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a party girl. I don’t get why the world thinks there is.” But she considered his words. “It’s easier for me—when people assume the worst about what I am. It lets me see who they really are.”
“So you’re saying you think I’m really an asshole?” A corner of his mouth curled up.
But her eyes were dead serious. “I’ve met and dealt with a lot of assholes, Hunt. You’re not one of them.”
“You weren’t singing that tune earlier.”
She just aimed for her room once more. So Hunt asked, “Want me to get food?”
Again, she paused. She looked like she was about to say no, but then rasped, “Cheeseburger—with cheese fries. And a chocolate milkshake.”
Hunt smiled. “You got it.”
The elegant guest room on the other side of the kitchen was spacious, decorated in shades of gray and cream accented with pale rose and cornflower blue. The bed was big enough for Hunt’s wings, thankfully—definitely bought with Vanir in mind—and a few photos in expensive-looking frames were propped next to a lopsided, chipped ceramic blue bowl, all adorning a chest of drawers to the right of the door.
He’d gotten them both burgers and fries, and Bryce had torn into hers with a ferocity that Hunt had seen only among lions gathered around a fresh kill. He’d tossed the whining Syrinx a few fries under the white glass table, since she sure as shit wasn’t sharing anything.
Exhaustion had set in so thoroughly that neither of them spoke, and once she’d finished slurping down the milkshake, she’d merely gathered up the trash, dumped it into the bin, and headed to her room. Leaving Hunt to enter his.
