Fury shook slightly—as if even she had forgotten what he could do. What he’d done to Sandriel with primal satisfaction, sinking into a place of such rage that there had only been his lightning and his enemy and the threat she posed to Bryce. But Fury said, “The helicopter is landing on the roof now.”

Hunt nodded and ordered the remaining angels without looking at them, “We move out.”

Not one of them objected to his command. He hadn’t given a shit that they’d bowed—whatever the fuck that meant. He’d only cared that they flew to Lunathion as fast as they could.

Fury was already at the exit, phone at her ear. Hunt strode after her, through the room full of rustling wings and stomping feet, but looked back over his shoulder. “Danaan, Ketos—you in?” He needed them.

Ruhn shot to his feet without question; Tharion waited until he got the nod from the River Queen’s daughter before rising. Amelie Ravenscroft stepped forward, ignoring Sabine’s glare, and said, “I’m going with you, too.” Hunt nodded again.

Flynn was already moving, not needing to voice that he’d join his prince—to save his princess. Declan pointed to the screens. “I’ll be your eyes in the field.”

“Good,” Hunt said, aiming for the door.

The Autumn King and the Prime of the wolves, the only City Heads present, remained in the pit, along with Sabine. Jesiba and Hypaxia would have to keep them honest. Neither of the females so much as acknowledged the other, but no animosity sparked between them, either. Hunt didn’t care.

He silently scaled the stairs toward the roof, his companions behind him. They were thirty minutes by helicopter from the city. So much could go wrong before they reached it. And when they got there … it would be pure slaughter.

The helicopter’s blades whipped Fury’s black hair as she crossed the landing pad. Flynn trailed close behind, sizing up their ride, and let out an impressed whistle.

It wasn’t a luxury transport. It was a military-grade helicopter. Complete with two gunners on either door and a cache of assorted guns and weapons in duffels strapped to the floor.

Fury Axtar had not come to this meeting expecting it to be friendly. She grabbed the headset from the departing pilot before slinging her slender body into the cockpit.

“I’m with you,” Hunt said, gesturing to the helicopter as the angels took off around them. “My wings can’t handle the flight yet.”

Ruhn leapt into the helicopter behind Flynn and Amelie, Tharion claiming the left gunner. Hunt remained on the roof, shouting orders to the departing angels. Establish a perimeter around the city. Scout team: investigate the portal. Send survivors to triage at least five miles beyond city walls. He didn’t let himself think about how easy it was to slip back into a commander’s role.

Then Hunt was in the helicopter, taking up the right gunner. Fury flicked switch after switch on the control panel. Hunt asked her, his voice hoarse, “Did you know about what happened on the roof with Bryce and Juniper?”

It had fucking gutted him to hear Bryce allude to it—that she’d considered jumping. To hear that he’d come so close to losing her before he even knew her. Ruhn turned toward them, his agonized face confirming that he felt the same.

Fury didn’t stop her prep. “Bryce was a ghost for a long while, Hunt. She pretended she wasn’t, but she was.” The helicopter finally pulled into the air. “You brought her back to life.”

90

Bryce’s entire body trembled as she leaned against the glowing quartz of the Gate, exhaustion rooting her to the spot.

It had worked. Somehow, it had worked.

She didn’t let herself marvel over it—or dread its implications, when her father and the Asteri found out. Not when she had no idea how long her starlight would remain glowing in the Gate. But maybe it would hold long enough for help to come. Maybe this had made a difference.

Maybe she had made a difference.

Each breath burned in her chest. Not much longer now. For help to come, for her end, she didn’t know.

But it would be soon. Whichever way it ended, Bryce knew it would be soon.

“Declan says Bryce is still at the Old Square Gate,” Fury reported over a shoulder.

Hunt just kept his eyes on the star-filled horizon. The city was a dark shadow, interrupted only by a faint glowing in its heart. The Old Square Gate. Bryce.

“And Hypaxia says Bryce can barely move,” Fury added, a note of surprise in her flat voice. “It looks like she’s drained. She’s not going to be able to get to the next Gate without help.”

“But the light from the Gate is keeping her safe?” Ruhn called over the wind.

“Until the demons stop fearing the Starborn light.” Fury switched the call to the helicopter’s speakers. “Emmet, radar’s picking up three war machines from the west. Any read on them?”

Thank fuck. Someone else was coming to help after all. If they could bring Bryce to each Gate and she could just muster enough starlight to flow through the Horn, they’d stop the carnage.

Declan took a moment to reply, his voice crackling through the speakers above Hunt. “They’re registering as imperial tanks.” His pause had Hunt’s grip tightening on the gunner.

Hypaxia clarified, “It’s the Asterian Guard. With brimstone missile launchers.” Her voice sharpened as she said to the Autumn King and Prime of the wolves, “Get your forces out of the city.”

The blood in Hunt’s veins went cold.

The Asteri had sent someone to deal with the demons. And with Bryce.

They were going to blast the city into dust.

The brimstone missiles weren’t ordinary bombs of chemicals and metal. They were pure magic, made by the Asterian Guard: a combination of their angelic powers of wind and rain and fire into one hyperconcentrated entity, bound with firstlight and fired through machinery. Where they struck, destruction bloomed.

To make them even deadlier, they were laced with spells to slow healing. Even for Vanir. The only comfort for any on their receiving end was that the missiles took a while to make, offering reprieve between rounds. A small, fool’s comfort.

Fury flicked buttons on the switchboard. “Copy Asterian Units One, Two, and Three, this is Fury Axtar speaking. Pull back.” No answer. “I repeat, pull back. Abort mission.”

Nothing. Declan said, “They’re the Asterian Guard. They won’t answer to you.”

The Autumn King’s voice crackled through the speakers. “No one at Imperial Command is answering our calls.”

Fury angled the helicopter, sweeping southward. Hunt saw them then. The black tanks breaking over the horizon, each as large as a small house. The imperial insignia painted on their flanks. All three gunning for Crescent City.

They halted just outside its border. The metal launchers atop them angled into position.

The brimstone missiles shot from the launchers and arced over the walls, blazing with golden light. As the first of them hit, he prayed that Bryce had left the Gate to find shelter.

Bryce choked on dust and debris, chest heaving. She tried to move—and failed. Her spine—

No, that was her leg, pinned in a tangle of concrete and iron. She’d heard the boom a minute ago, recognized the golden, arcing plume as brimstone thanks to news coverage of the Pangeran wars, and had sprinted halfway across the square, aiming for the open door of the brick music hall there, hoping it had a basement, when it hit.