From the corner of his eye, he watched Bryce rub her upper thigh, reining in her wince. He ground his teeth, but bit back his reprimand.

He didn’t feel like getting another lecture on domineering alphahole behavior.

“Right,” Bryce said, the ends of her ponytail curling in the damp. “Since you’re the sicko with dozens of crime scene photos on your phone, I’ll let you do the investigating.”

“Funny.” Hunt pulled out his phone, snapped a photo of her standing in the rain and looking pissy, and then pulled up a photo he’d taken of the printouts Vik had made.

Bryce pressed closer to study the photo on his phone, the heat of her body a beckoning song. He kept perfectly still, refusing to heed it, as she lifted her head. “That camera there,” she said, pointing to one of the ten mounted on the Gate itself. “That’s the one that got the little blur.”

Hunt nodded, surveying the Rose Gate and its surroundings. No sign of Sabine. Not that he expected the future Prime to be standing out in the open, summoning demons like some city-square charlatan. Especially not in such a public place, usually packed with tourists.

In the centuries since the Fae had decided to cover their Gate with flowers and climbing plants, the Rose Gate had become one of the biggest tourist draws, with thousands of people flocking there each day to give a drop of power to make a wish on its dial pad, nearly hidden beneath ivy, and to snap photos of the stunning little creatures who now made their nests and homes within the tangle of green. But at this hour, in this weather, even the Rose Gate was quiet. Dark.

Bryce rubbed her gods-damned thigh again. He swallowed down his annoyance and asked, “You think the demon headed out of the city?”

“I’m praying it didn’t.” The broad Eastern Road speared into dark, rolling hills and cypresses. A few golden firstlights gleamed among them, the only indication of the farms and villas interspersed throughout the vineyards, grazing lands, and olive groves. All good places to hide.

Bryce kept close as they crossed the street, into the heart of the small park in the center of the traffic circle. She scanned the rain-slick trees around them. “Anything?”

Hunt began to shake his head, but paused. He saw something on the other side of the marble circle on which the Gate stood. He took out his phone, the screen light bouncing off the strong planes of his face. “Maybe we were wrong. About the ley lines.”

“What do you mean?”