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“I don’t know. I assumed you cursed at the stars and brooded and plotted revenge on all your enemies.”
She didn’t know the half of it. But Hunt let out a low chuckle. “Again, sorry to disappoint.”
Her eyes crinkled with amusement, the last of the day’s sun lighting them into liquid gold. He forced himself to monitor the streets around them.
They were a block from Bryce’s apartment when Hunt’s phone rang. She tensed, peering at his screen the same moment he did.
The phone rang a second time. They both stared at the name that popped up, pedestrians streaming past.
“You gonna answer it?” Bryce asked quietly.
It rang a third time.
Hunt knew. Before he hit the button, he knew.
Which was why he stepped away from Quinlan, putting the phone to his ear just as he said blandly, “Hi, boss.”
“I have work for you tonight,” Micah said.
Hunt’s gut twisted. “Sure.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting your fun with Miss Quinlan.”
“We’re good,” Hunt said tightly.
Micah’s pause was loaded. “What occurred in the lobby this morning is never to happen again. Understood?”
“Yes.” He bit out the word. But he said it—and meant it—because the alternative to Micah was now staying at the Governor’s residence in the Comitium. Because Sandriel would have drawn out his punishment for refusing to bow, for embarrassing her, for days, weeks. Months.
But Micah would give him this warning, and make him do this job tonight to remind him where the fuck he stood in the pecking order, and then that would be that.
“Good,” Micah said. “The file’s waiting at your room in the barracks.” He paused, as if sensing the question now burning through Hunt. “The offer still stands, Athalar. Don’t make me reconsider.” The call ended.
Hunt clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt.
Quinlan’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Everything okay?”
Hunt slid the phone into his pocket. “It’s fine.” He resumed walking. “Just legion business.” Not a lie. Not entirely.
The glass doors to her building opened. Hunt nodded toward the lobby. “You head up. I’ve got something to do. I’ll call if we get the date and time for Briggs.”
Her amber eyes narrowed. Yeah, she saw right through it. Or rather, heard everything he wasn’t saying. Knew what Micah had ordered him to do.
But she said, “All right.” She turned toward the lobby, but added over her shoulder, “Good luck.”
He didn’t bother answering before he shot into the skies, phone already to his ear as he called Justinian to ask him to play sentry for a few hours. Justinian whined about missing the sunball game, but Hunt pulled rank, earning a grumbled promise that the angel would be at the adjacent rooftop in ten minutes.
Justinian arrived in eight. Leaving his brother-in-arms to it, Hunt sucked in a breath of dusty, dry air, the Istros a teal ribbon to his left, and went to do what he did best.
“Please.”
It was always the same word. The only word people tended to say when the Umbra Mortis stood before them.
Through the blood splattered on his helmet, Hunt regarded the male cougar shifter cowering before him. His clawed hands shook as he left them upraised. “Please,” the man sobbed.
Every utterance dragged Hunt further away. Until the arm he outstretched was distant, until the gun he aimed at the male’s head was just a bit of metal.
A death for a death.
