House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,188

couldn’t hide flashed across her brother’s face, but she turned, finding Hunt watching with crossed arms. “I’ll see you at the apartment,” she said to him, and didn’t bother to say more before launching back into a run.

It had been fucked up to not warn Hunt whom she was summoning. She’d admit it.

But not as fucked up as the Fae tests her father had declined to provide access to.

Bryce didn’t go home. Halfway there, she decided she’d head somewhere else. The White Raven was shut down, but her old favorite whiskey bar would do just fine.

Lethe was open and serving. Which was good, because her leg throbbed mercilessly and her feet were blistered from running in her stupid flats. She took them off the moment she hopped onto the leather stool at the bar, and sighed as her bare feet touched the cool brass footrest running the length of the dark wood counter.

Lethe hadn’t changed in the two years since she’d last set foot on the floor that lent itself to an optical illusion, painted with black, gray, and white cubes. The cherrywood pillars still rose like trees to form the carved, arched ceiling high above, looming over a bar made from fogged glass and black metal, all clean lines and square edges.

She’d messaged Juniper five minutes ago, inviting her for a drink. She still hadn’t heard back. So she’d watched the news on the screen above the bar, flashing to the muddy battlefields in Pangera, the husks of mech-suits littering them like broken toys, bodies both human and Vanir sprawled for miles, the crows already feasting.

Even the human busboy had stopped to look, his face tight as he beheld the carnage. A barked order from the bartender had kept him moving, but Bryce had seen the gleam in the young man’s brown eyes. The fury and determination.

“What the Hel,” she muttered, and knocked back a mouthful of the whiskey in front of her.

It tasted as acrid and vile as she remembered—burned all the way down. Precisely what she wanted. Bryce took another swig.

A bottle of some sort of purple tonic plunked onto the counter beside her tumbler. “For your leg,” Hunt said, sliding onto the stool beside hers. “Drink up.”

She eyed the glass vial. “You went to a medwitch?”

“There’s a clinic around the corner. I figured you weren’t leaving here anytime soon.”

Bryce sipped her whiskey. “You guessed right.”

He nudged the tonic closer. “Have it before you finish the rest.”

“No comment about breaking my No Drinking rule?”

He leaned on the bar, tucking in his wings. “It’s your rule—you can end it whenever you like.”

Whatever. She reached for the tonic, uncorking and knocking it back. She grimaced. “Tastes like grape soda.”

“I told her to make it sweet.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Because I’m so sweet, Athalar?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t drink it if it tasted like rubbing alcohol.”

She lifted her whiskey. “I beg to differ.”

Hunt signaled the bartender, ordered a water, and said to Bryce, “So, tonight went well.”

She chuckled, sipping the whiskey again. Gods, it tasted awful. Why had she ever guzzled this stuff down? “Superb.”

Hunt drank from his water. Watched her for a long moment before he said, “Look, I’ll sit here while you get stupid drunk if that’s what you want, but I’ll just say this first: there are better ways to deal with everything.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I mean it.”

The bartender set another whiskey before her, but Bryce didn’t drink.

Hunt said carefully, “You’re not the only person to have lost someone you love.”

She propped her head on a hand. “Tell me all about her, Hunt. Let’s hear the full, unabridged sob story at last.”

He held her gaze. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I’m trying to drink,” she said, lifting her glass to do so.

Her phone buzzed, and both of them glanced at it. Juniper had finally written back.

Can’t, sorry. Practice. Then another buzz from Juniper. Wait—why are you drinking at Lethe? Are you drinking again? What happened?

Hunt said quietly, “Maybe your friend is trying to tell you something, too.”

Bryce’s fingers curled into fists, but she set her phone facedown on the glowing, fogged glass. “Weren’t you going to tell me your heartbreaking story about your amazing girlfriend? What would she think about the way you manhandled me and practically devoured my neck the other night?”

She regretted the words the moment they were out. For so many reasons, she regretted them, the least of which being that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that moment