Bryce huffed a laugh. “You’re trouble.”

“It’s my middle name, actually.”

Hunt rolled his eyes. But Bryce sat beside the male, apparently not caring that the water would surely soak into the green dress she wore beneath the leather jacket. She pulled off her beige heels and dipped her feet in the water, splashing softly. Normally, he’d have dragged her away from the river’s edge, and told her she’d be lucky to lose just the leg if she put a foot in the water. But with Tharion beside them, none of the river’s denizens would dare approach.

Tharion asked Bryce, “Are you in the 33rd or the Auxiliary?”

“Neither. I’m working with Hunt as a consultant on a case.”

Tharion hummed. “What does your boyfriend think of you working with the famed Umbra Mortis?”

Hunt sat down on the male’s other side. “Real subtle, Tharion.”

Yet Bryce’s mouth bloomed into a full smile.

It was a near-twin to the one she’d given him this morning, when he’d popped his head into her room to see if she was ready to leave. Of course, his eyes had gone directly to the left nightstand. And then that smile had turned feral, like she knew exactly what he was wondering about.

He certainly had not been looking for any of her sex toys when he’d opened up the linen closet last night. But he’d spied a flash of purple sparkles, and—fine, maybe the thought had crossed his mind—he’d just pulled down the box before he could really think.

And now that he knew where they were, he couldn’t help but look at that nightstand and imagine her there, in that bed. Leaning against the pillows and—

It might have made sleeping a shade uncomfortable last night.

Tharion leaned back on his hands, displaying his muscled abdomen as he asked innocently, “What did I say?”

Bryce laughed, making no attempt to hide her blatant ogling of the mer’s cut body. “I don’t have a boyfriend. You want the job?”

Tharion smirked. “You like to swim?”

And that was about as much as Hunt could take with only one cup of coffee in his system. “I know you’re busy, Tharion,” he said through his teeth with just enough edge that the mer peeled his attention away from Bryce, “so we’ll keep this quick.”

“Oh, take your time,” Tharion said, eyes dancing with pure male challenge. “The River Queen gave me the morning off, so I’m all yours.”

“You work for the River Queen?” Bryce asked.

“I’m a lowly peon in her court, but yes.”

Hunt leaned forward to catch Bryce’s stare. “Tharion’s just been promoted to her Captain of Intelligence. Don’t let the charm and irreverence fool you.”

“Charm and irreverence happen to be my two favorite traits,” Bryce said with a wink for Tharion this time.

The mer’s smile deepened. “Careful, Bryce. I might decide I like you and bring you Beneath.”

Hunt gave Tharion a warning look. Some of the darker mer had done just that, long ago. Carried human brides down to their undersea courts and kept them there, trapped within the massive air bubbles that contained parts of their palaces and cities, unable to reach the surface.

Bryce waved off the awful history. “We have a few questions for you, if that’s all right.”

Tharion gestured lazily with a claw-tipped, webbed hand. The markings on the mer were varied and vibrant: different coloring, stripes or specks or solids, their tails long-finned or short or wispy. Their magic mostly involved the element in which they lived, though some could summon tempests. The River Queen, part mer, part river-spirit, could summon far worse, they said. Possibly wash away all of Lunathion, if provoked.

She was a daughter of Ogenas, according to legend, born from the mighty river-that-encircles-the-world, and sister to the Ocean Queen, the reclusive ruler of the five great seas of Midgard. There was a fifty-fifty chance the goddess thing was true of the River Queen, Hunt supposed. But regardless, the residents of this city did their best not to piss her off. Even Micah maintained a healthy, respectful relationship with her.

Hunt asked, “You see anything unusual lately?”

Tharion’s tail idly stirred the sparkling water. “What kind of case is this? Murder?”

“Yes,” Hunt said. Bryce’s face tightened.

Tharion’s claws clicked on the concrete. “Serial killer?”

“Just answer the question, asshole.”

Tharion peered at Bryce. “If he talks to you like that, I hope you kick him in the balls.”

“She’d enjoy it,” Hunt muttered.

“Hunt has learned his lesson about pissing me off,” Bryce said sweetly.

Tharion’s smile was sly. “That is a story I’d like to hear.”

“Of course you would,” Hunt grumbled.

“Does this have to do with the Viper Queen pulling in her people the other week?”

“Yes,” Hunt said carefully.

Tharion’s eyes darkened, a reminder that the male could be lethal when the mood struck him, and that there was a good reason the creatures of the river didn’t fuck with the mer. “Some bad shit’s going down, isn’t it.”

“We’re trying to stop it,” Hunt said.

The mer nodded gravely. “Let me ask around.”

“Covertly, Tharion. The less people who know something’s happening the better.”

Tharion slipped back into the water, again disturbing the poor crab who’d clawed his way back to the quay. The mer’s powerful tail thrashed, keeping him effortlessly in place as he surveyed Hunt and Bryce. “Do I tell my queen to pull in our people, too?”

“Doesn’t fit the pattern so far,” Hunt said, “but it wouldn’t hurt to give a warning.”

“What should I be warning her about?”

“An old-school demon called the kristallos,” Bryce said softly. “A monster straight from the Pit, bred by the Star-Eater himself.”

For a moment, Tharion said nothing, his tan face going pale. Then, “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’ll ask around,” he promised again. Far down the river, motion drew Hunt’s eye. A black boat drifted toward the mist of the Bone Quarter.

On the Black Dock, jutting from the city’s bright shoreline like a dark sword, a group of mourners huddled beneath the inky arches, praying for the boat to safely bear the veiled pine coffin across the water.

Around the wooden vessel, broad, scaled backs broke the river’s surface, writhing and circling. Waiting for final judgment—and lunch.

Tharion followed his line of sight. “Five marks says it tips.”

“That’s disgusting,” Bryce hissed.

Tharion swished his tail, playfully splashing Bryce’s legs with water. “I won’t bet on your Sailing, Legs. I promise.” He flicked some water toward Hunt. “And we already know your boat is going to tip right the fuck over before it’s even left the shore.”

“Funny.”

Behind them, an otter in a reflective yellow vest loped past, a sealed wax message tube held in its fanged mouth. It barely glanced their way before leaping into the river and vanishing. Bryce bit her lip, a high-pitched squeal cracking from her.