House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,160

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.

The fearless, fuzzy messengers were hard to resist, even for Hunt. While true animals and not shifters, they possessed an uncanny level of intelligence, thanks to the old magic in their veins. They’d found their place in the city by relaying tech-free communication between those who lived in the three realms that made up Crescent City: the mer in the river, the Reapers in the Bone Quarter, and the residents of Lunathion proper.

Tharion laughed at the naked delight on Bryce’s face. “Do you think the Reapers fall to pieces over them, too?”

“I bet even the Under-King himself squeals when he sees them,” Bryce said. “They were part of why I wanted to move here in the first place.”

Hunt lifted a brow. “Really?”

“I saw them when I was a kid and thought they were the most magical thing I’d ever seen.” She beamed. “I still do.”

“Considering your line of work, that’s saying something.”

Tharion angled his head at them. “What manner of work is that?”

“Antiquities,” Bryce said. “If you ever find anything interesting in the depths, let me know.”

“I’ll send an otter right to you.”

Hunt got to his feet, offering a hand to help Bryce rise. “Keep us posted.”

Tharion gave him an irreverent salute. “I’ll see you when I see you,” he said, gills flaring, and dove beneath the surface. They watched him swim out toward the deep heart of the river, following the same path as the otter, then plunge down, down—to those distant, twinkling lights.

“He’s a charmer,” Bryce murmured as Hunt hauled her to her feet, his other hand coming to her elbow.

Hunt’s hand lingered, the heat of it searing her even through the leather of the jacket. “Just wait until you see him in his human form. He causes riots.”

She laughed. “How’d you even meet him?”

“We had a string of mer murders last year.” Her eyes darkened in recognition. It’d been all over the news. “Tharion’s little sister was one of the victims. It was high-profile enough that Micah assigned me to help out. Tharion and I worked on the case together for the few weeks it lasted.”

Micah had traded him three whole debts for it.

She winced. “It was you two who caught the killer? They never said on the news—just that he’d been apprehended. Nothing more—not even who it was.”

Hunt let go of her elbow. “We did. A rogue panther shifter. I handed him over to Tharion.”

“I’m assuming the panther didn’t make it down to the Blue Court.”

Hunt surveyed the shimmering expanse of water. “No, he didn’t.”

“Is Bryce being nice to you, Athie?”

Seated at the front desk of the gallery showroom, Bryce muttered, “Oh please,” and kept clicking through the paperwork Jesiba had sent over.

Hunt, sprawled in the chair across the desk from her, the portrait of angelic arrogance, merely asked the fire sprite lurking in the open iron door, “What would you do if I said she wasn’t, Lehabah?”

Lehabah floated in the archway, not daring to come into the showroom. Not when Jesiba would likely see. “I’d burn all her lunches for a month.”

Hunt chuckled, the sound sliding along her bones. Bryce, despite herself, smiled.

Something heavy thumped, audible even a level above the library, and Lehabah zoomed down the stairs, hissing, “Bad!”

Bryce looked at Hunt as he