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Bryce spat, “And you thought no one would figure this out? What about Briggs’s testimony?”
“Briggs is a raving fanatic who’d been caught by Danika before a planned bombing. No one would listen to his pleas of innocence.” Especially when his lawyer had been provided by Micah.
Bryce glanced up at the camera. As if checking that it was on.
Sabine whispered, “She’s been leading him along to get a full confession.”
Despite the terror tightening his body, pride flared through Hunt.
Micah smiled again. “So here we are.”
“You’re a piece of shit,” Bryce said.
But then Micah reached into his jacket pocket. Pulled out a needle. Full of clear liquid. “Calling me names isn’t going to stop me from using the Horn.”
Hunt’s breath sawed through his chest.
Micah advanced on her. “The Horn’s remnants are now embedded in your flesh. When I inject you with synth, the healing properties in it will target and fix whatever it finds to be broken. And the Horn will again be whole. Ready for me to learn if it works at last.”
“You’d risk opening a portal to another fucking world in the middle of Crescent City,” she spat, inching farther away, “just to learn if it works?”
“If I am correct, the benefits shall far outweigh any casualties,” Micah answered mildly as a bead of liquid gleamed on the syringe’s tip. “Too bad you will not survive the synth’s side effects in order to see for yourself.”
Bryce lunged for a book on a low-lying shelf along the stairs, but Micah halted her with a leash of wind.
Her face crumpled as the Archangel knelt over her. “No.”
This couldn’t happen; Hunt couldn’t let this happen.
But Bryce could do nothing, Hunt could do nothing, as Micah stabbed the needle into her thigh. Drained it to the hilt. She screamed, thrashing, but Micah stepped back.
His power must have lessened its hold on her, because she sagged to the carpeted steps.
The bastard glanced at the clock. Assessing how much time remained until she tore herself apart. And slowly, the wounds on her battered body began to seal. Her split lip healed fully—though the bone-deep gash in her thigh knit far more slowly.
Smiling, Micah reached for the tattoo on her exposed back. “Shall we?”
But Bryce moved again—and this time Micah’s power didn’t catch her before she grabbed a book from the shelf and clutched it tight.
Golden light erupted from the book, a bubble against which Micah’s hand bounced harmlessly off. He pushed. The bubble would not yield.
Thank the gods. If it could buy her just a few more minutes until help came … But what could an Aux pack do against an Archangel? Hunt strained against his invisible bonds. Scoured his memory for anything that could be done, anyone left in the fucking city who might help—
“Very well,” Micah said, that smile remaining as he again tested the golden barrier. “There are other ways to get you to yield.”
Bryce was shaking in her golden bubble. Hunt’s heart stopped as Micah strode down the mezzanine steps. Heading straight for where Syrinx cowered behind the couch. “No,” Bryce breathed. “No—”
The chimera thrashed, biting at the Archangel, who grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
Bryce dropped the book. The golden bubble vanished. But when she tried to rise on her still-healing leg, it collapsed. Even the synth couldn’t heal fast enough for it to bear weight.
Micah just carried Syrinx along. Over to the tank.
“PLEASE,” Bryce screamed. Again, she tried to move. Again, again, again.
But Micah didn’t even falter as he opened the door to the small stairs that led to the top of the nøkk’s tank. Bryce’s screaming was unending.
Declan switched the feed over to a camera atop the tank—just as Micah flipped open the feeding hatch. And threw Syrinx into the water.
