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“Trust her, Ember,” Randall said, but from the tightness in his voice, Hunt knew the man wasn’t too happy, either.
“When you’re ready, Athalar,” Bryce called to him.
“I thought you didn’t need me to fuel you up anymore,” Hunt said. “Especially with all that extra power you’ve got now.”
“I don’t want to try it on my own for this,” Bryce said. “Seems like a high-stakes situation to test out my new abilities.”
“I bet you could do it,” Hunt called over the wind, “but all right. On three.” Bryce stilled, squaring her shoulders.
Hunt rallied his lightning. Prayed to every god, even if they’d mostly fucked him over until this point. The power of his lightning was familiar, yet suddenly foreign. Helfire, Apollion had called it.
Answers—at long last, answers about why he was what he was, about why he and no one else had the lightning. Even the thunderbirds, made by Hel, had been hunted to extinction by the Asteri. With Sofie’s death, they were truly gone.
Though the Harpy’s resurrection—another thing that was his fucking fault—suggested that the Asteri now had other methods of raising the dead.
Only if they could get their hands on more of his lightning. He’d sooner die.
“One …,” Hunt breathed, and lifted a hand wreathed in lightning.
Lord of Lightning, the Oracle had called him.
“Two …”
Had the Oracle seen what he was, where his power came from, that day?
You remind me of that which was lost long ago. The thunderbirds, hunted to extinction.
Was that the wind ruffling her parka, or was Bryce shaking as she waited for the blow? Hunt didn’t give himself a moment to reconsider. To halt.
“Three.”
He launched a spear of lightning at his mate.
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As it had that day at the Asteri’s palace, when she had leapt from her own world to another, Hunt’s lightning lanced through Bryce’s back, through the Horn, into the star on her chest—and out into the Gate.
Ember shouted in fear, and even Randall stumbled back a step, but Hunt let his lightning flow into Bryce, kept a steady stream of it surging between them.
“Open,” Bryce said, her voice carrying on the wind. A sliver of darkness began to spread in the middle of the Gate.
Hunt funneled more lightning into her, and the sliver widened, inch by inch.
The Northern Rift had been fixed on Hel—until now. Until his power had passed through not only the Horn on Bryce, but the star on her chest, too—that link to a different world. Reorienting the Gate, as it had that day in the Eternal Palace, to open elsewhere. That was their theory, at least. No one had ever tried to manipulate the Northern Rift to open somewhere other than Hel, but—
“That’s enough, Hunt,” Ember warned.
Hunt ignored her and sent another spike of power into his mate. Bryce’s hair floated up, snow and ice drifting with it, but she maintained an eerie calm until the void filled the entirety of the massive Gate.
Hunt cut off his lightning, running to where Bryce stood before the wall of darkness.
Darkness—flecked by starlight.
A female with golden-brown hair sat in an armchair before a fireplace on the other side of it. All that darkness was the starry night beyond her windows.
And her face was a portrait of pure shock as Bryce lifted a hand in greeting and said, “Hello, Nesta.”
* * *
