Bryce and Hunt: HOSAB Bonus Chapter

Bryce had barely settled in to work at her desk when her phone rang. She saw who was calling and grimaced.

“Cormac. To what do I owe this pleasure?” “I need you to attend a luncheon with me.”

“Here in the real world, we say, Let’s do lunch.”

A pause, and Bryce smiled. The Avallen Prince said tightly, “It’s a formal luncheon at Lord Hawthorne’s house. I’ve just been informed that you must attend with me.”

Bryce straightened. “Informed by whom?” “My father.”

It was her turn to pause. “What did my father have to say about it?”

“Nothing. He’s not invited.” A small mercy. “The Hawthornes and the Donnalls go back generations. This is between our families only. And since you are supposedly about to become part of mine …” She

could hear the sneer in his voice. “You are expected to be there.”

She debated objecting, but … she surveyed her desk, her tiny office. So at odds with the stirring forces around them. With her entire life. She’d take any distraction that was offered, even if it meant mingling with the Fae. “Do I need to look fancy?”

Thirty minutes later, Bryce found herself beside Cormac as entered the opulent villa in the heart of FiRo. A mere two block from her father’s house, and nearly identical: pale marble, olive and orange trees, beds of lavender swaying beneath them, aquamarine fountains sparkling in the sunlight… everything screamed money.

It was hard to believe Flynn had grown up here. A stiff-backed butler ushered them through the shining halls, as immaculate and impersonal as a museum. No TVs hung on the walls, no sound systems, nothing beyond the occasional firstlight to indicate that this place existed in the current century.

But Cormac’s brows were high. Impressed.

As the butler strode ahead, Bryce muttered to the prince, “I should have known this would be up your alley. Anti-tech living at its finest.” She gestured to a closed wooden door as they passed. “Dungeon’s down there. If you go now, you can probably beat the crowd for the two o’clock peasant flogging.”

Cormac gave her a sidelong, withering look and said with equal quiet, “I suggest you curb that irreverent humor before we enter the dining room. You are here as a representative of your bloodlineand our people.”

Bryce lifted her eyes to the ornately carved cornices, silently beseeching Cthona for strength.

Soft voices flitted down the hallway before the butler passed through the open doors of the dining room.

Bryce tensed for a heartbeat at the voices. Not just Fae awaited her in that room. They were Fae nobility. She glanced down at her lacy white dress and golden sandals. Clean. No wrinkles or dirt. She’d changed, grateful she’d left the outfit in her office

closet in case of an important meeting.

“You look fine,” Cormac murmured without shifting his gaze to her.

“I don’t give a shit,” she hissed back. But … these were her father’s people. Who had never known she was her father’s daughter before last spring, but … she’d seen their stares in the streets since then. Would never forget that they locked down their villas—this villa–when the in the demons attacked, shutting out anyone fleeing in sets. How many had died on the sidewalk just be these cates, begging for mercy?

As the butler ing room, listing extracted her pl butler announced their arrival to the crowd in the dinsom listing all ten of Cormac’s royal names and titles, Bryce ted her phone from her purse and pulled up Hunt’s contact es and info.

Or it had said Hunt this morning. Now his contact was listed under: Hunt, Whose Bones I Want to Jump Immediately.

She swallowed her laugh. When had he changed that? Though, after that kiss in the alley yesterday, she couldn’t disagree. She quickly typed out a message.

You’ll never guess where I am. Nice contact name, btw. Totally accurate.

“Put that away,” Cormac ordered under his breath as the butler finished the grand announcement. “It’s rude.”

Bryce checked her phone one more time-Hunt had answered, In a meeting. Call you in an hour.

She sent him an answering Ok! before silencing her phone and slipping it into her bag with a glare at Cormac.

The butler stepped aside, bowing low and motioning for them to come forward. Bryce took a steeling breath and stepped into the long, bright space that opened into the rear garden. Cormac put a hand on her lower back, guiding her in, and she debated shoving that hand off her.

A room full of people stared. No one smiled at her. Fine. She didn’t bother to smile back.

Cormac nudged her along, approaching a tall, handsome Fae male who was the spitting image of Flynn. A little older, but nearly identical, from the brown hair to the green eyes. Lord Hawthorne. She

couldn’t help but admire his slim-fitting charcoal suit, though she loathed herself for it. A slim, blond Fae female in a white sheath dress stood beside him, narrow-faced and cold-eyed. Lady Hawthorne.

Flynn, gods bless him, loitered by the floor-to- ceiling windows that overlooked the beds of lavender, knocking back a glass of champagne. She’d never seen him in a suit, but… Well, should it surprise her, given how many crazy things seemed to be happen. ing lately?

She and Cormac halted before their hosts. Lord and Lady Hawthorne bowed their heads.

Bryce tried not to blink. Right. She was … a princess. Or at least an unofficial one, engaged to a real prince.

Solas roast her alive.

Lord Hawthorne assessed Bryce, distaste filling his gaze, but he said nothing. The crowd still stared. She didn’t look to confirm how many were smirking at her cold reception.

“I believe the term you’re looking for is Your Highness,” the younger Flynn drawled, swaggering

toward them, handing his empty champagne flute to a waiting server. The words and motion set the crowd of about two dozen people chatting and mingling again, and though they appeared to be distracted, Bryce knew all eyes and ears remained fixed on them. Flynn didn’t seem to give a shit as he came up to

Bryce’s other side and kissed her cheek. “Hey, B.”

His mother’s nostrils flared. Either at the brazen show of affection or at her precious son deigning to touch a piece of trash.

Perhaps Flynn had done so for both reasons. It wasn’t every day that her heart softened a bit toward her brother’s friend, but she couldn’t help the rush of gratitude she felt.

Cormac, however, made a good show of exposing his teeth. “Lord Tristan.” The greeting was a warning. Back the fuck off.

Flynn did no such thing. They were allies in this room full of snakes.

So Bryce said to Flynn’s parents, offering them a close-lipped smile, “Good to see you.”

Flynn’s mother merely looked Bryce over with that cool disdain. His father frowned deeply.

Cormac cut into the stiff silence. “Thank you for hosting this luncheon. I’m honored.”

“Of course.” Flynn’s mother shifted from icy aloofness to all smiles as she faced the prince. “It was our lovely Sathia’s idea. She is so thoughtful.” Flynn snorted at the mention of his younger sister a warning glare from his father.

They might have looked alike in body and face, but the two males have been more different. Rumor had it the house’s spectacular gardens were the result of the elder Lord Hawthorne’s earth magic, but how a male so hard-hearted could produce such lovely things was beyond Bryce.

Cormac inclined his head, scanning the room until he found the petite, dark-haired Fae female holding court amid a cluster of fae males. And enjoying every second of it, from the coy smile on her pretty, heart- shaped face.

“Sathia never turns down a chance to trawl for suitors,” Flynn id cheerfully, and his mother glared

again, bristling. “Maybe she’ll get lucky this time and actually snare some poor bastard.”

“You are to be on your best behavior, boy,” his father growled. Bryce had picked up enough over the years to know that while Lord Hawthorne had never been in the Aux, he was a highly trained warrior. From his broad shoulders and the menace in that growl, Bryce didn’t doubt it.

Bryce threw Flynn a sympathetic look.

But it was Cormac who replied with bland politeness, “I shall go make my greetings to her. It’s been too long since we last saw each other.”

Flynn’s mother smiled broadly, practically foaming at the mouth, but when she caught Bryce smirking, cold reproach shone in her eyes. All right, then.

Bryce looped her arm through Flynn’s and announced to Cormac, “You go say hi. I have some things to discuss with Flynn.”

Cormac gave her a warning look that told her she was here to further their ruse. not be antisocial, but she’d already made a quick retreat with Flynn toward the windows.

Flynn swiped two flutes of champagne off a passing server, handing one of them to Bryce. She sipped from it. Damn, they’d brought out the good stuff for this. Bryce halted at the floor-to-ceiling windows and surveyed the room before saying to Flynn, “Your mom’s a real charmer. The other guests eyed them from across the room, but kept Bryce ignored them all.

Flynn swigged from his glass. “She’s pissy that you snatched Cormac before my sister could get her claws in him. She’s alwave thought Sathia would be a princess. So has Sathia.”

“What about Ruhn?”

Flynn gave her a glare that nearly matched his mother’s.

“Friends don’t let friends marry assholes.” Bryce laughed. “Your sister’s that bad, huh?”

“I’ve made sure Ruhn is well aware of what Sathia wants.” Flynn shrugged. “To be honest, Sathia’s fine. She survives in whatever way she can, I guess. And I can’t fault her ambition. At least she knows what she wants from life.”

Bryce decided against asking Flynn if he knew what he wanted from his own. “Why does Sathia even want to be a princess? She has plenty of power and money.” Adding a title would be a step up, yes—but it would also come with far more work and responsibilities.

“I don’t know. I never asked. Maybe she likes the sparkly crowns.” Flynn drank again. “I’m surprised you allowed the Prince of Assholes to drag you here.” “Part of the deal. Keeping up appearances and

whatnot.”

Flynn snorted. “Yeah, same.” Flynn might act the playboy, but there were some duties even he couldn’t shirk. She watched his carefully neutral face, the boredom he plastered there. Who was the male beneath all that? Beneath the partying and irreverence?

She arched a brow. “You really hate all this, don’t you?”

His brows lifted. “Why are you so surprised?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like I owe you an apology for not realizing it earlier.”

He winked. But his amusement faded as he said a shade quietly, “That’s why Ruhn and I became friends, you know. Because we both hate this crap. We have ever since we were kids.

“What about Dec?”

“His family’s rich, but they’re not nobility. They don’t run in these circles. And Dec got to have a normal childhood because of it.” A soft laugh. ” Why do you think he’s the most well-adjusted of all of us? His parents actually give a shit about him.”

It was as personal as they’d ever gotten. Flynn continued, “So Ruhn and I – and Dec – we made our own family.” Another wink. It was as personal Ruhn and and D. “And now you’re in it.”

“I’m touched. Really.”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, champagne on his breath, “You ever want to know how the Fae measure up to the angels, come me, B. I don’t bite. Unless you ask real nice.”

She yanked back. “Take your self-destructive bullshit elsewhere.”

He laughed—but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. She knew he hadn’t meant a word of it. Knew he was feeling trapped and pissed at having to be here and was acting out in any way he could.

Indeed, his mother was beckoning him over to where she spoke to a pale, meek-looking Fae female. Flynn groaned under his breath. “Duty calls.” He drained his champagne and didn’t say goodbye before sauntering to his mother’s side. The Fae girl blushed at whatever he said with that charming, boyish smile of his, ducking her head and mumbling an answer.

Bryce snorted. Good luck to her. And to Flynn.

“Rough day, huh?” Hunt asked her two hours later as he slid onto the barstool beside her at the gastropub off Archer Street.

Bryce held up a shot of espresso in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other. “I couldn’t decide what I needed more: stuff to numb my soul, or stuff to wake me up from that funeral of a luncheon.”

Hunt laughed, wing brushing over her bare arm in a casual, warming touch. She couldn’t help the shiver that went down her skin in answer. “It was that bad?” She knocked back the espresso as Hunt signaled the bartender for a coffee of his own. “Spending time in a room full of people who hate me isn’t exactly my idea

of fun.”

He rested his arms on the black marble bar. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said.

He did. If anyone got it, it was Hunt. Bryce leaned into shoulder, sighing deeply. “Am I pathetic for still letting them m get to me?”

Hunt pulled back to survey her. She didn’t balk from searching expression on his face. “You’re talking to the guy who recently got tossed in the Comitium dungeon for beating up some one who still gets to me after centuries of telling myself to ignore him. So if you’re pathetic, I’m a sad fucking loser.”

She huffed a laugh, leaning back into him. “You’re my favorite person.”

“Likewise, Quinlan.” He slid an arm around her, and Bryce savored the unfailing strength of him. Not

a strength to overpower her, but a strength that complemented her own-that bolstered it and helped it thrive. It was hard not to thank Urd every single day for sending Hunt her way.

They sat like that until the bartender brought over Hunt’s coffee, and Hunt removed his arm to sip from the hot drink. Bryce watched him, noting the slight tension in his shoulders, his wings. She asked carefully, “What sort of meeting were you in?”

Yeah, his wings shifted at that. “Sad fucking loser, remember?”

“Pollux, then?”

“Yeah.” A muscle ticked in Hunt’s cheek. “Staff meeting with Celestina. Pollux was … being Pollux. Trying to rile me. And Isaiah and Naomi. But mostly me.”

“No wonder you flew over here so fast when I asked you to meet me.”

Hunt threw her a half grin. “Oh, not at all. I was just hoping you were down for a bathroom hookup.”

Bryce laughed. “I’d be game for that, too, Athalar.”

Heat sparked in his dark eyes. “Yeah?” He set down his coffee.

Something low in her belly tightened in answer. She traced her finger over the countertop. “After that lunch, I need to do a little … venting.”

He tracked the sweep of her finger over the marble, his voice dropping an octave as he said, “I’ve only got ten minutes before I need to head back to the Comitium.”

“I’m sure we can find we can find something to keep us occupied,” she purred, basking in the raw desire of his gaze.

“Then head to the bathroom, Quinlan,” he said in that low growly voice that raked fingers down her skin. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She hopped off her stool, already slickening between her and whispered in Hunt’s ear, “That’s exactly where I want That’s thighs, and whisp you, Athalar.”

A soft snarl of pure need answered her, but Bryce was already o for the bathroom at the back of the pub. Knowing his gaze son her, she might have swished her

hips a bit. She could have worn lightning skimmed over her body in answer—and a sensual promise.

The single-stall bathroom had a working lock, which was all she needed, Bryce decided as she shut the door behind her, heart racing.

She washed her hands to give herself something to do, glancing in the mirror to see her eyes dark with desire, cheeks flushed. A woman ready to get what she needed.

The door opened and shut, and the sound of rustling wings filled the room. Bryce watched in the mirror as Hunt slowly slid the lock into place, eyes on her ass as he said, “That dress should be illegal.”

She looked over a shoulder, hands braced on the sink. “Why don’t you come confiscate it?”

A dark smile graced his lips, and he prowled closer. She didn’t fail to note the hardness pushing against the front of his battle-suit. Just the sight of it had her slickening further.

Hunt stopped just behind her, mouth dropping to her neck. “Ready so soon?” he murmured against her skin, sniffing delicately. Scenting her arousal.

Bryce pushed her ass into his front, drawing a hiss from him as she said, “I could ask the same of you.”

“Hmmm,” he said, kissing just below her ear. “I think I need some confirmation.” His hands slid down her thighs. “Shall I?”

Bryce widened her stance. “Confirm away.”

His teeth grazed her earlobe, tugging lightly before he slid hand under the hem of her dress.

Yes, fuck yes. His fingers skimmed over her bare thighs, work. ing upward, and she arched slightly against him, breath tight.

He nibbled on her ear, biting down again just as his fingers reached the front of her underwear. He hissed again at the wet ness he found. “Solas, Quinlan.”

Bryce could only manage a breathy moan. Hunt obliged her by gently pressing down, tracing over the shape of her sex. She bit her lip, halting just short of pleading with him to rip aside the lace thong

“I’m going to need more than ten minutes,” Hunt said darkly, fingers tracing and circling. “I’m gonna need fucking days to explore you.” He kissed her neck again. “Weeks.” Another kiss. “Months.”

She moaned again at that, and he pressed down right on her clit. Even like this, even over her underwear, he had her mere strokes from coming. The bastard knew it, too, and said against the hot skin of her neck, “Wound a little tight?”

She pushed back against him once more, grinding into his considerable hardness. His answering groan sent her closer to the edge.

He toyed with the band of her underwear, a cat playing with its dinner. He likely wouldn’t go any further until she told him, begged him, and-

The door rattled.

Bryce froze, processing the heady desire coursing through her and what that rattling door meant. Someone was trying to get in. Someone who might very well take photos and report that she and Hunt had walked out of a bathroom together. When she was supposed to be engaged to Cormac -when she had just been at a luncheon with Cormac as his fiancée.

“Shit,” Hunt murmured, hands sliding off her. Bryce just called out, “Occupied!”

Hunt grunted in amusement.

Of course there were no windows in here for one of them to climb out of. “What do we do?” Bryce paced a few steps.

“Watch and learn, Quinlan.”

He opened a small pocket in his battle-suit and pulled out a length of bandage. “Arm,” he said, and she extended her hand toward him.

He wrapped her forearm with the bandage, pinning it in place. Then opened a packet of antiseptic ointment and a small healing potion. He dumped both down the sink, their sweet and sterile smells filling the air. Then he threw the remnants into the trash atop the array of paper towels.

By the time Hunt opened the door, Bryce was playing along, cradling her “injured” arm to her chest.

“Just don’t remove the bandage for at least an hour,” Hunt was telling her as he stepped into the hall and nodded to the satyr male waiting for the bathroom. “The potion should have healed the cut by then.”

Bryce met the satyr’s stare and offered a glum smile. “Clumsy me. I’m never going to hear the end of this from him.”

The satyr just smiled weakly back before walking into the bathroom, his inhaling sniff informing her that he’d scented the strong odors of the antiseptic ointment and healing potion. Which were not only “proof” of the medical emergency, but had also wiped away any lingering scents of their arousal.

When the satyr had locked the door, Bryce glanced up at Hunt to find him watching her, desire still a dark flame in his eyes. “I’ll see you at home tonight,” he said quietly. Then he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Maybe I’ll play medwitch and tend to your injury.”

She bit her lower lip. But before she could reply, Hunt had stalked out of the pub, people giving him a wide berth before he leapt into the skies.

It was only when she was walking up the steps of the archives that she realized she was still smiling. That all thoughts of the luncheon had faded away.

Hunt had done that for her. She’d never stop being grateful for it—for him. Bryce’s heart tightened and something brighter than starlight filled her veins.

It remained, shimmering and secret, glowing inside her for the rest of the day.