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Micah said coldly, “Danika Fendyr.”
Bryce backed up a step, into Tharion’s grip. “That’s not possible.”
Hunt said with a gentleness that decimated her, “Danika sold it, Bryce. It’s why she was spotted on that boat with the crate of it. I figured it out nearly a week ago. She stole the formula for it, sold the stock, and—” He stopped himself.
“And what?” Bryce whispered. “And what, Hunt?”
“And Danika used it herself. Was addicted to it.”
She was going to be sick. “Danika would never have done that. She never would have done any of this.”
Hunt shook his head. “She did, Bryce.”
“No.”
When Micah didn’t interrupt them, Hunt said, “Look at the evidence.” His voice was sharp as knives. “Look at the last messages between you. The drugs we found in your system that night—that was standard shit for you two. So what was one more kind of drug? One that in small doses could give an even more intense high? One that could take the edge off for Danika after a long day, after Sabine had ripped her apart yet again? One that gave her a taste of what it’d be like to be Prime of the wolves, gave her that power, since she was waiting to make the Drop with you?”
“No.”
Hunt’s voice cracked. “She took it, Bryce. All signs point to her killing those two CCU students the night the Horn was stolen. They saw her stealing the Horn and she chased them down and killed them.”
Bryce remembered Danika’s pallor when she’d told her about the students’ deaths, her haunted eyes.
“It’s not true.”
Hunt shook his head. As if he could undo it, unlearn it. “Those drug lords I killed said Danika was seen around the Meat Market. Talking about synth. It was how Danika knew Maximus Tertian—he was an addict like her. His girlfriend had no idea.”
“No.”
But Hunt looked to Micah. “I assume we’re going now.” He held out his wrists. For cuffs. Indeed, those were gorsian stones—thick, magic-killing manacles—gleaming in Isaiah’s hands.
The Archangel said, “Aren’t you going to tell her the rest?”
Hunt stilled. “It’s not necessary. Let’s go.”
“Tell me what,” Bryce whispered. Tharion’s hands tightened on her arms in warning.
“That he already knows the truth about Danika’s murder,” the Archangel said coldly. Bored. As if he’d done this a thousand times, in a thousand variations. As if he’d already guessed.
Bryce looked at Hunt and saw it in his eyes. She began shaking her head, weeping. “No.”
Hunt said, “Danika took the synth the night she died. Took too much of it. It drove her out of her mind. She slaughtered her own pack. And then herself.”
Only Tharion’s grip was keeping her upright. “No, no, no—”
Hunt said, “It’s why there was never any audio of the killer, Bryce.”
“She was begging for her life—”
“She was begging herself to stop,” Hunt said. “The only snarls on the recording were hers.”
Danika. Danika had killed the pack. Killed Thorne. Killed Connor.
And then ripped herself to shreds.
“But the Horn—”
“She must have stolen it just to piss off Sabine. And then probably sold it on the black market. It had nothing to do with any of this. It was always about the synth for her.”
