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Bryce rolled her eyes. “Does everyone in this city think I’m dumb?”
“I mean it. Beyond the shit you do for work, if you’re looking for someone strong enough to summon a demon like that, don’t take that necklace off.” At least he could remind her to be smart.
She just opened the door. “If you hear anything about the Viper Queen, call me.”
Ruhn stiffened, his heart thundering. “Do not provoke her.”
“Bye, Ruhn.”
He was desperate enough that he said, “I’ll go with you to—”
“Bye.” Then she was down the stairs, waving in that annoying-as-fuck way at Declan and Flynn, before swaggering out the front door.
His friends threw inquisitive looks to where Ruhn stood on the second-floor landing. Declan’s whiskey was still raised to his lips.
Ruhn counted to ten, if only to keep from snapping the nearest object in half, and then vaulted over the railing, landing so hard that the scuffed oak planks shuddered.
He felt, more than saw, his friends fall into place behind him, hands within easy reach of their hidden weapons, drinks discarded as they read the fury on his face. Ruhn stormed through the front door and out into the brisk night.
Just in time to see Bryce strut across the street. To Hunt fucking Athalar.
“What the actual Hel,” Declan breathed, halting beside Ruhn on the porch.
The Umbra Mortis looked pissed, his arms crossed and wings flaring slightly, but Bryce just breezed past him without so much as a glance. Causing Athalar to slowly turn, arms slackening at his sides, as if such a thing had never happened in his long, miserable life.
And wasn’t that enough to put Ruhn in a killing sort of mood.
Ruhn cleared the porch and front lawn and stepped into the street, holding out a hand to the car that skidded to a screeching halt. His hand hit the hood, fingers curving. Metal dented beneath it.
The driver, wisely, didn’t scream.
Ruhn strode between two parked sedans, Declan and Flynn close behind, just as Hunt turned to see what the fuss was about.
Understanding flashed in Hunt’s eyes, quickly replaced by a half smile. “Prince.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Hunt jerked his chin toward Bryce, already disappearing down the street. “Protection duty.”
“Like Hel you’re watching her.” Isaiah Tiberian had failed to mention this, too.
A shrug. “Not my call.” The halo across his brow seemed to darken as he sized up Declan and Flynn. Athalar’s mouth twitched upward, onyx eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.
Flynn’s gathering power had the earth beneath the pavement rumbling. Hunt’s shit-eating grin only spread.
Ruhn said, “Tell the Governor to put someone else on the case.”
Hunt’s grin sharpened. “Not an option. Not when it plays to my expertise.”
Ruhn bristled at the arrogance. Sure, Athalar was one of the best demon-hunters out there, but fuck, he’d even take Tiberian on this case over the Umbra Mortis.
A year ago, the Commander of the 33rd hadn’t been dumb enough to get between them when Ruhn had launched himself at Athalar, having had enough of his snide remarks at the fancy-ass Spring Equinox party Micah threw every March. He’d broken a few of Athalar’s ribs, but the asshole had gotten in a punch that had left Ruhn’s nose shattered and gushing blood all over the marble floors of the Comitium’s penthouse ballroom. Neither of them had been pissed enough to unleash their power in the middle of a crowded room, but fists had done just fine.
Ruhn calculated how much trouble he’d be in if he punched the Governor’s personal assassin again. Maybe it’d be enough to get Hypaxia Enador to refuse to consider marrying him.
Ruhn demanded, “Did you figure out what kind of demon did it?”
“Something that eats little princes for breakfast,” Hunt crooned.
