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February 15 - February 20, 2022
The Asteri had probably realized what she’d discovered. They’d no doubt sent the Hind after her to stop her from telling anyone else.
She’d seen him kill efficiently with his power, but sometimes a gun was easier.
The power in her veins thrummed in time to her heart. A counter-beat. A bone-drum, a death knell. A warning.
But her brother said softly, “Make them pay.”
Sofie instantly spied the golden-haired female lounging in the front of the military convertible. A silver torque glimmered against her neck.
Too bad they didn’t know what Sofie truly was. Not a human, nor a witch. She let the power she’d gathered by the docks unspool. Crackling energy curled at her fingertips and amid the strands of her short brown hair. One of the dreadwolves understood then—matched what he was seeing with the myths Vanir whispered to their children. “She’s a fucking thunderbird!” the wolf roared—just as Sofie unleashed the power she’d gathered on the water flooding the square. On the dreadwolves standing ankle-deep in it. They didn’t stand a chance.
“Are you faster than a bullet, thunderbird?”
sinking sun insignia of the Lightfall unit.
Bryce arched a brow, grateful for the change of subject, and twisted toward where he’d pointed. On it, a powerful Fae male stood poised above an anvil, hammer raised skyward in one fist, lightning cracking from the skies, filling the hammer, and flowing down toward the object of the hammer’s intended blow: a sword. Its label read simply: Unknown sculptor. Palmira, circa 125 V.E.
towering statue of Luna aiming her bow toward the heavens, two hunting dogs at her feet and a stag nuzzling her hip.
Bryce looked up from her phone and grinned. “Badass warrior Jelly Jubilee.” There, hanging on the wall, was a rendering of a pegasus—though not a unicorn-pegasus, like Bryce’s childhood toy—charging into battle. An armored figure, helmet obscuring any telltale features, rode atop the beast, sword upraised. Bryce snapped a photo and sent it to Hunt. First Wars JJ, reporting for duty!
And considering that many of the bejeweled and shining nobility were staring at Bryce, it was a miracle Ember hadn’t flipped them off yet.
The shorter style suited him, but it was still a shock weeks later to find his hair neatly trimmed to his nape, with only a few pieces in the front still unruly enough to peek through the hole in his sunball hat. Tonight, however, he’d brushed it into submission, revealing the clear expanse of his forehead.
“I prefer to see people enjoying their lives. And you can’t assume that because they’re here, it means they don’t care. For all you know, a lot of them lost family and friends this spring. Sometimes people need stuff like this to feel alive again. To find a kind of release.”
I’m the Super Powerful and Special Magic Starborn Princess, remember?”
Every power broker on Midgard knew of Fury Axtar. What she was capable of, if provoked.
Hunt didn’t know why Ruhn’s apparent satisfaction surprised him. He’d expected wounded male pride, perhaps, at Bryce showing him up in his own home. Yet pride did shine from Ruhn’s face—for Bryce. Like the prince had been waiting for his sister to step into her power for a while now and he was honored to have her at his
side.
Bryce waved a hand. “I’ll take it on weekends and holidays, don’t worry.” Hunt tossed in, “And it’ll get two Winter Solstices, so … double the presents.” Ruhn and the others gawked at them like they had ten heads, but Bryce grinned at Hunt. He returned it with one of his own. He got her—her humor, her fears, her hedging. Whatever it was, Athalar got her.
They probably have a special task force: How to Fuck Over Bryce and Hunt in One Day.”
“Approachable Asshole, reporting for duty.”
“Males will always try to control the females who scare them. Marriage and breeding are their go-to methods.”
“If you’re looking for How Not to Be an Asshole, it’s shelved between Bye, Loser and Get the Fuck Out.”
Perhaps the answer wasn’t some big, life-altering thing. Maybe it could be as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.
Where the weary souls find relief from their suffering,
counter that made up Tempest in a Teapot, her favorite tea bar in the city.
“You’re a power player now, Bryce, whether you like it or not. And trust me, I get it—it sucks to want to be normal but to have all this other shit that keeps you from being that way.”
“People died so you could have this power. People have been dying in this battle for fifteen thousand years so we could reach this point. Don’t play the reluctant hero now. That is the cliché
“Hel’s armies shall strike at your command, Bryce Quinlan.”
Alphahole to the core, yet it warmed something in her.
Team Survive at All Costs—that was her team. She didn’t care if that made her a coward.
“Hard to enjoy being free,” Hunt countered darkly, “if you’re dead.” Cormac opened the door, stepping into the swirling shadows. “I can think of no better reason to yield my life.”
“Trouble was always going to come find us.”
“I’ve never stopped wanting it—wanting you. I thought it was obvious.”
Ruhn couldn’t fault him for trying. While he couldn’t read thoughts or invade people’s unguarded minds as some of his cousins could, he’d learned that he could talk to people on a sort of psychic bridge, as if his mind had formed it brick by brick between souls. It was perfect for a spy network.
Wings rustled nearby—not the soft feathers of his wings, but something leathery. Dry. Hunt stiffened, trying to shoot to his feet, but he couldn’t. His ass stayed planted in the chair, though no ties bound him. His booted feet were glued to the black floor. “Who’s there?” The darkness absorbed his voice, muffling it. The leathery wings whispered again, and Hunt twisted his head toward the sound. Moving his head was about the only thing he could manage. “A greater warrior would have freed himself from those bonds by now.” The soft, deep voice slithered over his skin. “Who the fuck are you?”
...more
blank postcard of an otter waving that said, Keep It Fuzzy, Lunathion!
“Power attracts power. It is her fate to be tied to a powerful male to match her own strength. I would rather not learn what comes of her union with the Umbra Mortis.”
He laid a hand over the glowing scar, light shining through his fingers. “Why does it do that?” “Maybe it likes you.” “It glowed for Cormac and Ruhn.” “I didn’t say it was smart.”
Hunt was the heart of a storm personified.
Hunt’s voice was a thunderclap as he said behind her, “Light it up, Bryce.”
To destroy monsters, we become monsters. Isn’t that what they say?”
An hour later, after a quick check of the program scanning the gallery footage for Danika, Ithan had headed for the Istros, grabbing an iced coffee on his way. He suppressed a smile as he handed over a silver mark to a whiskery otter whose name tag on his yellow vest said Fitzroy. Ithan parked his ass on a bench beside the Istros and stared across the river.
“I want to know what’s in it for me. What kind of life I can look forward to.” “It’s what you make of it,” Hunt said,
Stars glinted in Bryce’s hair. “Close your eyes, boys.”
“The Ocean Queen would not set herself up as a replacement for the Asteri. She remembers a time before the Asteri. When leaders were fairly elected. That is what she wishes to achieve once more.”
“She is a dragon. A creature of earth and sky, fire and wind. She should never have been contained or enslaved. I hope she stays free for the rest of her immortal life.”
“Everything I am is yours,” she said against his lips.
“Death is the only victor in war.”
