Hunt braced himself.

Micah said, “There were six cameras in the bar. They all captured what you did and said to Amelie Ravenscroft. She reported your behavior to Sabine, and Sabine brought it directly to me.”

Amelie flushed. “I just mentioned it to her,” she amended. “I didn’t howl like a pup about it.”

“It is unacceptable,” Sabine hissed to Micah. “You think you can set your assassin on a member of one of my packs? My heir?”

“I will tell you again, Sabine,” Micah said, bored, “I did not set Hunt Athalar upon her. He acted of his own free will.” A glance at Bryce. “He acted on behalf of his companion.”

Hunt said quickly, “Bryce had nothing to do with this. Amelie pulled a bullshit prank and I decided to pay her a visit.” He bared his teeth at the young Alpha, who swallowed hard.

Sabine snapped, “You assaulted my captain.”

“I told Amelie to stay the fuck away,” Hunt bit out. “To leave her alone.” He angled his head, unable to stop the words. “Or are you unaware that Amelie has been gunning for Bryce since your daughter died? Taunting her about it? Calling her trash?”

Sabine’s face didn’t so much as flinch. “What does it matter, if it’s true?”

Hunt’s head filled with roaring. But Bryce just stood there. And lowered her eyes.

Sabine said to Micah, “This cannot go unpunished. You fumbled the investigation of my daughter’s murder. You allowed these two to poke their noses into it, to accuse me of killing her. And now this. I’m one breath away from telling this city how your slaves cannot even stay in line. I’m sure your current guest will be highly interested in that little fact.”

Micah’s power rumbled at the mention of Sandriel. “Athalar will be punished.”

“Now. Here.” Sabine’s face was positively lupine. “Where I can see it.”

“Sabine,” Amelie murmured. Sabine growled at her young captain.

Sabine had been hoping for this moment—had used Amelie as an excuse. No doubt dragged the wolf here. Sabine had sworn they’d pay for accusing her of murdering Danika. And Sabine was, Hunt supposed, a female of her word.

“Your position among the wolves,” Micah said with terrifying calm, “does not entitle you to tell a Governor of the Republic what to do.”

Sabine didn’t back down. Not an inch.

Micah just loosed a long breath. He met Hunt’s eyes, disappointed. “You acted foolishly. I’d have thought you, at least, would know better.”

Bryce was shaking. But Hunt didn’t dare touch her.

“History indicates that a slave assaulting a free citizen should automatically forfeit their life.”

Hunt suppressed a bitter laugh at her words. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing for the Archangels for centuries now?

“Please,” Bryce whispered.

And perhaps it was sympathy that softened the Archangel’s face as Micah said, “Those are old traditions. For Pangera, not Valbara.” Sabine opened her mouth, objecting, but Micah lifted a hand. “Hunt Athalar will be punished. And he shall die—in the way that angels die.”

Bryce lurched a limping step toward Micah. Hunt grabbed her by the shoulder, halting her.

Micah said, “The Living Death.”

Hunt’s blood chilled. But he bowed his head. He had been ready to face the consequences since he’d shot into the skies yesterday, pastry box in his hands.

Bryce looked at Isaiah, whose face was grim, for an explanation. The commander said to her, to the confused Amelie, “The Living Death is when an angel’s wings are cut off.”

Bryce shook her head. “No, please—”

But Hunt met Micah’s rock-solid stare, read the fairness in it. He lowered himself to his knees and removed his jacket, then his shirt.

“I don’t need to press charges,” Amelie insisted. “Sabine, I don’t want this. Let it go.”

Micah stalked toward Hunt, a shining double-edged sword appearing in his hand.

Bryce flung herself in the Archangel’s path. “Please—please—” The scent of her tears filled the office.

Viktoria instantly appeared at her side. Holding her back. The wraith’s whisper was so quiet Hunt barely heard it. “They will grow back. In several weeks, his wings will grow back.”

But it would hurt like Hel. Hurt so badly that Hunt now took steadying, bracing breaths. Plunged down into himself, into that place where he rode out everything that had ever been done to him, every task he’d been assigned, every life he’d been ordered to take.

“Sabine, no,” Amelie insisted. “It’s gone far enough.”

Sabine said nothing. Just stood there.

Hunt spread his wings and lifted them, holding them high over his back so the slice might be clean.

Bryce began shouting something, but Hunt only looked at Micah. “Do it.”

Micah didn’t so much as nod before his sword moved.

Pain, such as Hunt had not experienced in two hundred years, raced through him, short-circuiting every—

Hunt jolted into consciousness to Bryce screaming.

It was enough of a summons that he forced his head to clear, even around the agony down his back, his soul.

He must have blacked out only for a moment, because his wings were still spurting blood from where they lay like two fallen branches on the floor of Micah’s office.

Amelie looked like she was going to be sick; Sabine was smirking, and Bryce was now at his side, his blood soaking her pants, her hands, as she sobbed, “Oh gods, oh gods—”

“We’re settled,” Sabine said to Micah, who punched a button on his phone to call for a medwitch.

He’d paid for his actions, and it was over, and he could go home with Bryce—

“You are a disgrace, Sabine.” Bryce’s words speared through the room as she bared her teeth at the Prime Apparent. “You are a disgrace to every wolf who has ever walked this planet.”

Sabine said, “I don’t care what a half-breed thinks of me.”

“You didn’t deserve Danika,” Bryce growled, shaking. “You didn’t deserve her for one second.”

Sabine halted. “I didn’t deserve a selfish, spineless brat for a daughter, but that’s not how it turned out, is it?”

Dimly, from far away, Bryce’s snarl cut through Hunt’s pain. He couldn’t reach her in time, though, as she surged to her feet, wincing in agony at her still-healing leg.

Micah stepped in front of her. Bryce panted, sobbing through her teeth. But Micah stood there, immovable as a mountain. “Take Athalar out of here,” the Archangel said calmly, the dismissal clear. “To your home, the barracks, I don’t care.”

But Sabine, it seemed, had decided to stay. To give Bryce a piece of her vicious mind.

Sabine said to her, low and venomous, “I sought out the Under-King last winter, did you know that? To get answers from my daughter, with whatever speck of her energy lives on in the Sleeping City.”

Bryce stilled. The pure stillness of the Fae. Dread filled her eyes.

“Do you know what he told me?” Sabine’s face was inhuman. “He said that Danika would not come. She would not obey my summons. My pathetic daughter would not even deign to meet me in her afterlife. For the shame of what she did. How she died, helpless and screaming, begging like one of you.” Sabine seemed to hum with rage. “And do you know what the Under-King told me when I demanded again that he summon her?”