Page 284 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Because I’d been happily asleep in my mate’s bed.

Happily resting after the first night of sleep I’d had in months.

Then Tessa and my cousin burst in, Blaz clutching a book to his chest before making himself at home at the foot of the bed and rifling through the pages. T asked where Freya was. I said I wasn’t sure. Apparently, that was the magic phrase to summon Carr, who came in growling about invaders, worms, and some dick he really fucking hated.

That was about when fuzzy dreamland turned ice-cold and booted my ass into the kind of alertness usually reserved for violence.

Because Carrson didn’t hate on people.

Not really.

But you know who he really couldn’t fucking stand?

The asshole pawing after my girl. That’s who.

“She took him and that Viktor douche into the pool house for an ‘ambassadorial negotiation,’” Carr mocked, throwing up air quotes as T lunged to catch the coffees he nearly upended in his irritation.

“Wait—Viktor, the fate weaver? That Viktor?” she pressed, straightening the tray and then her spine just as abruptly.

“Thought for sure he’d die on that terrace,” Carr grumbled.

“Carrson,” Tessa snapped, and all three of us straightened. Tessa was a badass in her own right—trained in combat, wicked smart, a hacker second only to her uncle—but she was also gentle. Kind. I’d learned she loved singing and ballet before the war. Mostly because Blaz never shut up about her. “Focus. What’d they say?”

“Something about learning what he can do to the bonds.”

Her rich complexion did nothing to hide the blood draining from her face, her skin going ashen as her lips parted. “Go,” she ordered. “Now, Cyrus. Go.”

“Why?” I demanded, but yanked pants on anyway.

“I shouldn’t⁠—”

“What, Tessa?” I snapped. “Spit it out.”

“I should make you ask nicely, asshole.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you have the time for that conversation.”

“Fuck you. But yes. Look. Freya’s convinced she’s a burden to you, Cyrus. It’s why she agreed to entertain the proposal in the first place, but she got it into her head that the best way to fix this shitshow for you was to⁠—”

“Break it,” Blaz deduced, already bolting for the door.

“Now, Cy!” She shoved me forward, and I shifted into shadow.

By the time I got outside, the sun was high enough to force me into the goddamned meat suit. I sprinted across the estate, freezing outside the pool house doors⁠—

—because Freya was about an inch away from that motherfucker and his hands were on her face.

The world went red.

I’d always thought that was an exaggeration. Dramatic. It wasn’t. I wanted to tear the motherfucker limb from fucking limb.

Before I fully knew what I was doing, I’d burst through the doors and straight past the asshole, who flew off my girl like shrapnel.

“Really,” she breathed, eyes hard with that queen’s composure that was so breathtaking it hurt. I’d made it. I could feel it. The bond thrummed between us as I scooped her face into my hands, erasing Atreus’ touch with my own before I claimed her mouth.

This wasn’t the gentle reminder from last night.

This was primal.