House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

Ruhn seemed to force himself to look at Bryce as he said, “It’s true.” So he’d seen her glare, then. “The sword’s as much yours as it is mine.” 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.”

“You do remember that Bryce and Athalar are together?” Ruhn said. “Try to get between them, and you’ll get a refresher course on why he was called the Umbra Mortis.”

“Okay, okay,” Bryce cut in. “Let’s just say that we made a thousand dog jokes about Ithan, and he made a thousand Fae asshole jokes about you two idiots, and we now all thoroughly hate each other, but we can be adults and eat our food.”

“We were never going to be allowed to live like normal people,” Bryce breathed, and Hunt ran a hand through her hair, savoring the silken strands. “Trouble was always going to come find us.” He knew she was right. They weren’t the sort of people who could live ordinary lives. Hunt fought past the shaking in his bones, the roaring in his mind.

Hunt had managed to prop himself up on his elbows when Ithan yelled from the other side of the apartment, “Please: have sex a little louder! I didn’t hear everything that time!”

He kissed her temple, breathing in her scent. “Of everything I’ve ever been called, Quinlan, your mate will be the one I truly cherish.”

The two hounds of the Shepherd merged back together, anticipating the next strike. Hunt’s voice was a thunderclap as he said behind her, “Light it up, Bryce.”

Ruhn glared at her as Hunt continued to glow and menace. It means that he’s going ballistic in the way that only mates can when the other is threatened. It’s what happened then, and what’s happening now. You’re true mates—the way Fae are mates, in your bodies and souls. That’s what was different about your scent the other day. Your scents have merged. As they do between Fae mates. She glared right back at her brother. So what? So find some way to calm him down. Athalar’s your fucking problem now.

Bryce grinned winningly at the kid. “You’re part of the Quinlan-Silago clan now. We’re a crazy bunch, but we love each other. Tell Randall to make you chocolate croissants on Sundays.”

Cormac hadn’t just gone rogue. He’d never intended to get out of here alive.

The male stepped forward, tucking in his wings. He smiled slightly and said in the Old Language, in a voice like glorious night, “Hello, Bryce Quinlan. My name is Rhysand.”