She held up a finger. “I’m writing back to my cousin. Give me two seconds.” The satyr was trembling enough that Hunt almost felt bad. Almost, until—

“Ten, ten, damn you! Ten!”

Bryce smiled. “No need to shout,” she purred, pressing a button that had her phone ringing.

“Yes?” The sorceress picked up after the first ring.

“Call off your dogs.”

A breathy, feminine laugh. “Done.”

Bryce lowered the phone. “Well?”

The satyr rushed to the back, hooves thumping on the worn floors, and procured a wrapped bundle a moment later. It reeked of mold and dirt. Bryce lifted a brow. “Put it in a bag.”

“I don’t have a—” Bryce gave him a look. The satyr found one. A stained, reusable grocery bag, but better than holding the slab in public.

Bryce weighed the salt in her hands. “It’s two ounces over.”

“It’s seven and seven! Just what you asked for! It’s all cut to sevens.”

Seven—the holy number. Or unholy, depending on who was worshipping. Seven Asteri, seven hills in their Eternal City, seven neighborhoods and seven Gates in Crescent City; seven planets, and seven circles in Hel, with seven princes who ruled them, each darker than the last.

Bryce inclined her head. “If I measure it and it’s not—”

“It is!” the satyr cried. “Dark Hel, it is!”

Bryce tapped some buttons on her phone. “Ten grand, transferred right to you.”

Hunt kept at her back as she strode out, the satyr half-seething, half-trembling behind them.

She opened the door, grinning to herself, and Hunt was about to start demanding answers when she halted. When he also beheld who stood outside.

The tall, moon-skinned woman was dressed in a gold jumpsuit, emerald hoop earrings hanging lower than her chin-length black bob. Her full lips were painted in purple so dark it was nearly black, and her remarkable green eyes … Hunt knew her by the eyes alone.

Humanoid in every aspect, but for them. Green entirely, marbled with veins of jade and gold. Interrupted only by a slitted pupil now razor-thin in the warehouse lights. A snake’s eyes.

Or a Viper Queen’s.

19

Bryce shouldered the canvas bag, surveying the Viper Queen. “Nice outfit.”

The serpentine shifter smiled, revealing bright white teeth—and canines that were slightly too elongated. And slightly too thin. “Nice bodyguard.”

Bryce shrugged as those snake’s eyes dragged over every inch of Hunt. “Nothing going on upstairs, but everything happening where it counts.”

Hunt stiffened. But the female’s purple lips curved upward. “I’ve never heard Hunt Athalar described that way, but I’m sure the general appreciates it.”

At the near-forgotten title, Hunt’s jaw tightened. Yes, the Viper Queen had likely been alive during the Fall. Would have known Hunt not as one of the 33rd’s triarii or the Shadow of Death, but as General Hunt Athalar, High Commander of all the Archangel Shahar’s legions.

And Bryce had strung him along for two days. She glanced over a shoulder, finding Hunt assessing the Viper Queen and the four Fae males flanking her. Defectors from her father’s court—trained assassins in not just weapons, but the queen’s specialty: venoms and poisons.

None of them deigned to acknowledge her.

The Viper Queen tilted her head to the side, the razor-sharp bob shifting like black silk. On the ground below, patrons milled about, unaware that their ruler had graced them with her presence. “Looks like you were doing some shopping.”

Bryce gave a half shrug. “Bargain hunting is a hobby. Your realm is the best place for it.”

“I thought your boss paid you too well for you to stoop to cutting costs. And using salts.”

Bryce forced herself to smile, to keep her heartbeat steady, knowing full well the female could pick up on it. Could taste fear. Could likely taste what variety of salt, exactly, sat in the bag dangling from her shoulder. “Just because I make money doesn’t mean I have to get ripped off.”

The Viper Queen glanced between her and Hunt. “I heard you two have been spotted around town together.”

Hunt growled, “It’s classified.”

The Viper Queen arched a well-groomed black eyebrow, the small beauty mark just beneath the outer corner of her eye shifting with the movement. Her gold-painted nails glinted as she reached a hand into the pocket of her jumpsuit, fishing out a lighter encrusted with rubies forming the shape of a striking asp. A cigarette appeared between her purple lips a moment later, and they watched in silence, her guards monitoring every breath they made, as she lit up and inhaled deeply. Smoke rippled from those dark lips as she said, “Shit’s getting interesting these days.”

Bryce pivoted toward the exit. “Yep. Let’s go, Hunt.”

One of the guards stepped in front of her, six and a half feet of Fae grace and muscle.

Bryce stopped short, Hunt nearly slamming into her—his growl likely his first and last warning to the male. But the guard merely gazed at his queen, vacant and beholden. Likely addicted to the venom she secreted and doled out to her inner circle.

Bryce looked over her shoulder at the Viper Queen, still leaning against the rail, still smoking that cigarette. “It’s a good time for business,” the queen observed, “when key players converge for the Summit. So many ruling-class elites, all with their own … interests.”

Hunt was close enough to Bryce’s back that she could feel the tremor that ran through his powerful body, could have sworn lightning tingled over her spine. But he said nothing.

The Viper Queen merely extended a hand to the walkway behind her, gold nails flashing in the light. “My office, if you will.”

“No,” Hunt said. “We’re going.”

Bryce stepped closer to the Viper Queen. “Lead the way, Majesty.”

She did. Hunt was bristling at her side, but Bryce kept her eyes on the swaying, glossy bob of the female ahead of them. Her guards kept a few feet behind—far enough away that Hunt deemed it safe to mutter, “This is a terrible idea.”

“You were bitching this morning that I wasn’t doing anything of value,” Bryce muttered back as they trailed the Viper Queen through an archway and down a back set of stairs. From below, roaring and cheers rose to meet them. “And now that I am doing something, you’re bitching about it, too?” She snorted. “Get your shit together, Athalar.”

His jaw tightened again. But he glanced at her bag, the block of salt weighing it down. “You bought the salt because you knew it’d attract her attention.”

“You told me that it’d take weeks to get a meeting with her. I decided to bypass all the bullshit.” She tapped the bag, the salt thumping hollowly beneath her hand.

“Cthona’s tits,” he muttered, shaking his head. They exited the stairwell a level down, the walls solid concrete. Behind them, the roar of the fighting pit echoed down the corridor. But the Viper Queen glided ahead, passing rusty metal doors. Until she opened an unmarked one and swept in without so much as looking back. Bryce couldn’t help her smug smile.

“Don’t look so fucking satisfied,” Hunt hissed. “We might not even walk out of this place alive.” True. “I’ll ask the questions.”