A sigh. “Yeah—really bad. No idea when it’ll be open again. I finally got a hold of Fury last night, and she said Riso’s mad enough that he put a bounty on the head of whoever was responsible.”

No surprise there. Hunt had heard that despite his laughing nature, when the butterfly shifter got pissed, he went all in. Juniper went on, “Fury’s probably coming home because of it. You know she can’t resist a challenge.”

Burning Solas. Throwing Fury Axtar into this mess was a bad fucking idea. Hunt spooned coffee beans into the gleaming chrome machine built into the kitchen wall.

Quinlan asked tightly, “So she’ll come back home for a bounty, but not to see us?”

A silence. Then, “You weren’t the only one who lost Danika that night, B. We all dealt with it in different ways. Fury’s answer to her pain was to bail.”

“Your therapist tell you that?”

“I’m not fighting with you about this again.”

More silence. Juniper cleared her throat. “B, I’m sorry for what I did. You’ve got a bruise—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not—”

“It is. I get it, I—”

Hunt turned on the machine’s coffee grinder to give them some privacy. He might have ground the beans into a fine powder instead of rough shards, but when he finished, Juniper was saying, “So, the gorgeous angel who’s making you coffee right now—”

Hunt grinned at the coffee machine. It had been a long, long while since anyone had bothered describing him as anything but Umbra Mortis, the Knife of the Archangels.

“No, no, and no,” Bryce cut her off. “Jesiba is having me do a classified job, and Hunt was assigned to protect me.”

“Is being shirtless in your house part of that assignment?”

“You know how these Vanir males are. They live to show off their muscles.”

Hunt rolled his eyes as Juniper laughed. “I’m shocked you’re even letting him stay here, B.”

“I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Hmmm.”

A thump of bare feet on the ground. “You know he’s listening, right? His feathers are probably so puffed up he won’t be able to fit through the door.”

Hunt leaned against the counter, the coffee machine doing the growling for him as Bryce stalked into the hallway. “Puffed up?”

She certainly hadn’t bothered to fulfill her friend’s pants request. Each step had the pale pink lace of the nightgown’s hem brushing against her upper thighs, tugging up slightly to reveal that thick, brutal scar on the left leg. His stomach twisted at the sight of what he’d done to her.

“Eyes up here, Athalar,” she drawled. Hunt scowled.