Page 279 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Touch me again, I fucking dare you.”

The next morning, I jolted awake to raised voices. The room barely flickered to life in the shy glow of sunrise.

“And what, pray tell, are you gonna do about it, Captain Landry?” Males. Two of them. Dead meat.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Blinking, I glanced at Cyrus where he still slept soundly, comforter tangled in his legs.

“Kinda the point in asking.”

Rolling my eyes, I extricated myself from his heat, promising to kill Carrson and Atreus with my bare hands as I padded across the room.

“She’s resting. Fuck off.”

“Is this how you treat all your houseguests? What happened to Southern hospitality? Or is that as mythic as your competence?”

I threw the door open with a snarl already on my lips, stomped into the hallway, then gingerly pulled it shut behind me.

“So help me God, what is going on?” I glared between them as sparks danced up my arms, courtesy of August.

Unbothered in the way only an assassin born with a blade in his hand could be, Atreus grinned at me. “Mornin’, Freya. As I told your warden here, I seek an audience with the queen.”

“As I told the worm, my queen was resting.”

“People are sleeping,” I ground between my teeth.

“Early bird gets the worm and all that.”

“Oh goody. Permission to chop off its head?” Carr’s expression contorted into what I guessed was supposed to be a smile. It missed by a mile.

“We do not dismember our allies, Carrson.”

“Right. Allies. This piece of bird food doesn’t qualify.”

“We responded to your call for aid yesterday, did we not?”

“One half-assed assist doesn’t make you an ally.”

Atreus gestured lazily toward the nearest window. “War—” He hitched a thumb toward Carr. “Dude who got stabbed by the reaper.” Then at his own sternum. “Dude who sucked out the venom.” My brows winged up as my gaze flicked to a scowling Carrson. Atreus flourished a hand toward me. “Her Royal Highness, alliance maker. Ergo: alliance. Ergo—ally.”

“Are you done?” I deadpanned.

“Almost. Is Cujo here aware we have a meeting?”

“You better have brought coffee.”

“Get fucked,” Carr snipped bitterly. “Nobody gets to Freya without going through me.”

“Right. Through you. Not smack into you. You’re a door, not a wall—you’re supposed to move, Carrson. It’s inherently part of the liaison thing. And yes, chaos,” he added sweetly, eyes flicking to mine. A fox. The man was a fox, and I’d let him straight into the henhouse. “Cook sent me with rations. Consider them a sign of good faith. We’re about out. If this war doesn’t end soon, I’m gonna start killing people.” He flashed a devilishly handsome smile at Carr, and I stepped between them before the inevitable bloodshed.

Carrson gritted his teeth, glaring down at me. “Permission to leave so I don’t dismember an ally?”

“Granted. See who’s on breakfast. We head west as soon as we’re able.”

With one last glare at Atreus, then me, Carr shook his head and wandered off. Get rid of this fucker, will you? No one needs his numbers this badly.

I think he’s funny.