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Gods, that sounded stupid.

But Lidia’s mouth quirked upward, something like surprise in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, and walked into her room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

* * *

All day, Hunt had been practically counting down the minutes until he could get Bryce alone in their room, then get her naked. But now that he was lying in the too-narrow bunk with her, lights out and the only sound their breathing … he didn’t know where to start.

That fucked-up conversation between them earlier didn’t help. He’d told her his truth, and she didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t accept it.

But it was his fault—out of all of them, he should have known better than to lead them down this road again. He didn’t get how she couldn’t see that.

“Can I be honest about something?” she said into the darkness. She didn’t wait for his answer before she said, “Aside from dangling the Autumn King’s notes in front of Morven, I don’t have a solid game plan for dealing with him. Or a solid backup plan should he not go for the notebooks.”

Hunt put aside thoughts of their earlier fight and said, “Oh, I know. You didn’t have nearly as much insufferable swagger about this as you usually do when you have a genius secret plan.”

She whacked his shoulder. “I mean it. Aside from the Autumn King’s notes, my only other bargaining chip with him is my breeding potential. And since you and I are married …”

“Are you asking for a divorce?”

She chuckled. “No. I’m saying that I’ve got no worth to these shitheads. Since my uterus is … spoken for.”

“Mmm. Sexy.” He nipped at her ear. “I missed you.” They could get into the nitty-gritty of their argument later. Tomorrow. Never.

He trailed a hand down her hip, her thigh. His cock stirred at the softness of her, the sweet smell of lilac and nutmeg.

“As much as I want to bang your brains out, Athalar,” she said, and Hunt laughed into her hair, “can we just … hold each other tonight?”

“Always,” he said, heart aching. He tucked her in tighter, so fucking grateful for her scent in his nose, the lushness of her body against his. He didn’t deserve it. “I love you.”

She pressed even closer, arm wrapping around his waist. “I love you, too,” she whispered back. “Team Caves, all the way.”

He huffed a laugh. “Let’s get T-shirts.”

“Don’t tempt me. If Avallen wasn’t a backwater island with no interweb, I would have already ordered them to arrive at Morven’s castle.”

He grinned, that weight in his chest lifting for a precious moment. “There’s really no interweb?”

“Nope. The mists block all. Legend has it that even the Asteri can’t pierce them.” She made a silly little eerie woooooo noise and wriggled her fingers. Then she paused, as if considering, before adding, “Vesperus mentioned things called thin places—wreathed in mist. The Prison in the Fae world was one. And it seems too coincidental that the ancient Starborn Fae also established a stronghold in a place wreathed by mist that keeps out enemies.”

Hunt’s brows rose. “How can the mists possibly keep a wall up against the Asteri?”

“The better question is why would the Asteri leave Avallen alone for so long if it is capable of keeping them out.”

Hunt pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I suspect you’ll find out the answers in the most dramatic way possible.”

She snuggled closer to him, and he held her tighter. “You know me well, Athalar.”

* * *

Ithan didn’t dare point the Godslayer Rifle at the Astronomer. But he remained poised to do so as Jesiba said, “What is this about?”

The crowd—draki, vamps, daemonaki, and many others he couldn’t name—was silent as death. They had all come to witness this retribution. Ithan’s mouth dried out.

The Astronomer’s slate-gray eyes blazed with hatred. “The wolf stole something of mine.”

Jesiba shrugged. “The matter of the sprites and the dragon has been settled between us.”

“Do not toy with me, Jesiba,” the Astronomer snapped. “We both know he took more than those firelings.”