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She met her friend’s dark stare. “I’m over it,” she said again.
Fury sighed. “All right.” Her phone buzzed and she peered at the screen before saying, “I’ll be back in a week. Let’s hang then, okay? Maybe without screaming at each other.”
“Sure.”
Fury stalked for the door, but paused on the threshold. “It’ll get better, Bryce. I know the past two years have been shit, but it will get better. I’ve been there, and I promise you it does.”
“Okay.” Bryce added, because real concern shone on Fury’s normally cold face, “Thanks.”
Fury had the phone to her ear before she’d shut the door. “Yeah, I’m on my way,” she said. “Well, why don’t you shut the fuck up and let me drive so I can get there on time, dickbag?”
Through the peephole, Bryce watched her get onto the elevator. Then crossed the room and watched from the window as Fury climbed into a fancy black sports car, gunned the engine, and roared off into the streets.
Bryce peered at Syrinx. The chimera wagged his little lion’s tail.
Hunt had been given away. To the monster he hated and feared above all others.
“I am over it,” she said to Syrinx.
She looked toward the couch, and could nearly see Hunt sitting there, that sunball cap on backward, watching a game on TV. Could nearly see his smile as he looked over his shoulder at her.
That roaring fire in her veins halted—and redirected. She wouldn’t lose another friend.
Especially not Hunt. Never Hunt.
No matter what he had done, what and who he’d chosen, even if this was the last she would ever see of him … she wouldn’t let this happen. He could go to Hel afterward, but she would do this. For him.
Syrinx whined, pacing in a circle, claws clicking on the wood floor.
“I promised Fury not to do anything stupid,” Bryce said, her eyes on Syrinx’s branded-out tattoo. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do something smart.”
71
Hunt had a night to puke out his guts.
One night in that cell, likely the last bit of security he’d have for the rest of his existence.
He knew what would happen after the Summit. When Sandriel took him back to her castle in the misty, mountainous wilds of northwestern Pangera. To the gray-stoned city in its heart.
He’d lived it for more than fifty years, after all.
She’d left the photo feed up on the hallway TV screen, so he could see Bryce over and over and over. See the way Bryce had looked at him by the end, like he wasn’t a complete waste of life.
It wasn’t just to torture him with what he’d lost.
It was a reminder. Of who would be targeted if he disobeyed. If he resisted. If he fought back.
By dawn, he’d stopped puking. Had washed his face in the small sink. A change of clothes had arrived for him. His usual black armor. No helmet.
His back itched incessantly as he dressed, the cloth scraping against the wings that were taking form. Soon they’d be fully regenerated. A week of careful physical therapy after that and he’d be in the skies.
If Sandriel ever let him out of her dungeons.
She’d lost him once, to pay off her debts. He had few illusions that she’d allow it to happen again. Not until she found a way to break him for how he’d targeted her forces on Mount Hermon. How he and Shahar had come so close to destroying her completely.
It wasn’t until nearly sunset that they came for him. As if Sandriel wanted him stewing all day.
Hunt let them shackle him again with the gorsian stones. He knew what the stones would do if he so much as moved wrong. Disintegration of blood and bone, his brain turned into soup before it leaked out his nose.
