House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) by Sarah J. Maas Read Free Book Online

see you thinking about some way to piss them off.”
    “I was not.”
    He leaned in to whisper, his breath brushing her neck, “You were, and I know it because I was thinking the same thing.” A few cameras flashed from above and below, and she knew people weren’t snapping photos of the stage curtain.
    Bryce peeled back to survey Hunt, the face she knew as well as her own. For a moment, for a too-brief eternity, they stared at each other. Bryce swallowed, but couldn’t bring herself to move. To break the contact.
    Hunt’s throat bobbed. But he said nothing more, either.
    Three fucking months of this torture. Stupid agreement. Friends, but more. More, but without any of the physical benefits.
    Hunt said at last, voice thick, “It’s really nice of you to be here for Juniper.”
    She tossed her hair over a shoulder. “You’re making it sound like it’s some big sacrifice.”
    He jerked his chin toward the still-sneering Fae nobility. “You can’t wear a hat and sunglasses here, so … yeah.”
    She admitted, “I wish she’d gotten us seats in the nosebleed section.”
    Instead, Juniper—to accommodate Hunt’s wings—had gotten them this box. Right where everyone could see the Starborn Princess and the Fallen Angel.
    The orchestra began tuning up, and the sounds of slowly awakening violins and flutes drew Bryce’s attention to the pit. Her muscles tensed of their own volition, as if priming to move. To dance.
    Hunt leaned in again, voice a low purr, “You look beautiful, you know.”
    “Oh, I know,” she said, even as she bit her lower lip to keep from grinning. The lights began dimming, so Bryce decided to Hel with it. “When do I get to count those abs, Athalar?”
    The angel cleared his throat—once, twice—and shifted in his seat, feathers rustling. Bryce smiled smugly.
    He murmured, “Four more months, Quinlan.”
    “And three days,” she shot back.
    His eyes shone in the growing darkness.
    “What are you two talking about back there?” Ember asked, and Bryce replied without tearing her gaze from Hunt’s, “Nothing.”
    But it wasn’t nothing. It was the stupid bargain she’d made with Hunt: that rather than diving right into bed, they’d wait until Winter Solstice to act on their desires. Spend the summer and autumngetting to know each other without the burdens of a psychotic Archangel and demons on the prowl.
    So they had. Torturing each other with flirting was allowed, but sometimes, tonight especially … she really wished she’d never suggested it. Wished she could drag him into the coat closet of the vestibule behind them and show him precisely how much she liked that suit.
    Four months, three days, and … She peeked at the delicate watch on her wrist. Four hours. And at the stroke of midnight on Winter Solstice, she would be stroking—
    “Burning fucking Solas, Quinlan,” Hunt grunted, again shifting in his seat.
    “Sorry,” she muttered, thankful for the second time in an hour that her parents didn’t have the sense of smell that Hunt possessed.
    But Hunt laughed, sliding an arm along the back of her chair, fingers tangling in her unbound hair. He seemed contented. Assured of his place there.
    She glanced at her parents, sitting with similar closeness, and couldn’t help but smile. Her mom had taken a while to act on her desires with Randall, too. Well, there’d been some initial … stuff. That was as much as Bryce let herself think about them. But she knew it had been nearly a year before they’d made things official. And they’d turned out pretty damn well.
    So these months with Hunt, she cherished them. As much as she cherished her dance classes with Madame Kyrah. No one except Hunt really understood what she’d gone through—only Hunt had been at the Gate.
    She scanned his striking features, her lips curving again. How many nights had they stayed up, talking about everything and nothing? Ordering in dinner, watching movies or reality shows or sunball, playing