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“No one did. Not even Sandriel.” Baxian laid a blanket over the next pallet. “From then on, I was on my own. Neither side of the family would take a half-breed, as they made sure to call me, so I learned how to fend for myself in the slums. How to keep hidden, how to listen for valuable information—how to sell that information to interested parties. I became good enough at it that I made a name for myself. The Snake, they called me, because I fucked over so many people. And Sandriel eventually heard about me and recruited me for her triarii—to be her spy-master and tracker. The Snake became the Helhound, but … I kept a few touches.”
The memory of Baxian’s reptilian armor flashed through Hunt’s mind.
“I hated it, hated Sandriel, hated Lidia, who I always thought could see through me, but … what else was I going to do with myself?” Baxian finished with all the pallets and faced Hunt. “Serving in Sandriel’s triarii was better than living in the slums, always looking over my shoulder for whoever wanted to knife me. But the shit she had us do …” He tapped his neck, the scar Hunt had given him. “I deserved this.”
“We all did fucked-up shit for Sandriel,” Hunt said roughly.
“Yeah, but you didn’t have a choice. I did.”
“You chose to turn away from it, to mitigate the damage when you could.”
“Thanks to Danika,” Baxian said.
“What better excuse than love?” Hunt asked.
Baxian smiled sadly. “I told her everything, you know. Danika, I mean. And she understood—she didn’t judge. She told me she had a half-human, half-Fae friend who had faced similar troubles. I think her love for Bryce allowed her to see past all my shit and still love me.”
Hunt smiled. “You should tell Bryce that.”
Baxian eyed him. “You guys … ah, you guys okay? Things seemed kind of rough for a while, down in the caves.”
“Yeah,” Hunt said, letting out a long breath. “Yeah, we are. We talked.”
“And the Hel stuff …” Bryce had filled everyone in about what the Princes of Hel had claimed about Hunt’s origins. “You doing okay with that?”
Hunt considered. “It seems secondary to everything else that’s going on, you know? Poor me, with my daddy issues. Daddies? I don’t even know.”
Baxian huffed a laugh. “Does it matter? Your exact genetic makeup?”
Hunt considered again. “No. That’s just stuff in my blood, my magic. It’s not who I am.” He shrugged. “That’s what Bryce says, anyway. I’m working on believing it.”
Baxian nodded to the halo on Hunt’s brow. “So how come you haven’t taken it off yet? They claimed you’ve had the power all along.”
Hunt glanced toward the raftered ceiling. “I will,” he hedged.
Baxian gave Hunt a look that said he saw right through him. That right now, Hunt needed a breather. Just some time to process everything. He wanted to be free of the halo, but to go full Prince of Hel or whatever … he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
But Baxian said, “Bryce is right, though. Who you are isn’t about what’s biologically in your system. It’s about who raised you. Who you are now.”
Hunt’s mother’s face flashed before his eyes, and he fixed the memory of her close to his heart. “Have you and Bryce been exchanging notes on how to give me a pep talk?”
Baxian laughed, then glanced around. “Where is she, anyway? Off making more gardens?”
Hunt laughed quietly. “Probably. But I came here to find you—we’re having a council of war in a minute, but I wanted to ask you something first.”
Baxian crossed his powerful arms, giving Hunt his full attention. “What?”
“Some shit’s going down soon. I need someone to run things if I’m not around.”
“And where would you be?”
“You’ll hear about everything from Bryce,” Hunt said, holding his stare. “But I need a second in command right now.”
Baxian raised his brows. For a moment, Hunt was in a war tent again, giving orders to his soldiers before battle. He shook off the chill of the memory and folded his wings.
Baxian smirked, though. “Who said you’re in charge?”
Hunt rolled his eyes. “My wife, that’s who.” But he pressed, “So … will you? I need someone who can fight. On the ground and in the air.”
