Page 118 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Avoid conflict like the plague,” she continued. “I’ve got shadows ready to bring you home the instant you cross back over. Your chaperones are unaware of this particular adventure—I don’t think they’d approve much.”

Also known as: You’re on your own, kid.

I smiled. “Always did work better alone.”

“Had me fooled,” she replied, that spider’s smile returning. She sat up with a triumphant, “Aah!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve complimented my team well this week, Miss Porter. For someone determined to run off on solo missions, you work in a unit marvelously. My coven heads and the Flying Squad all agree.”

Well, that stopped me cold. I looked down at my freshly polished boots, then traced the gold filigree in the pale blue carpet.

“As it is, should you land yourself in trouble you can’t get out of…”

She held something out.

“…burn this, and I will come calling.”

A lone black feather twirled between her fingers and I fought a smile.

“Flying Squad, huh?”

“I do live for a double entendre.”

“Yes, well. That won’t be necessary.”

She stepped around the desk, expression hardening again into the mask of the Bellaton Commander. “You’ll take it because I order you to. And because I owe your Commander a debt I’d rather repay sooner than later.”

“You—?”

“Story for another time, Miss Porter,” she cut me off. Which was beyond unfair, considering she’d just tossed an entire grenade into my curiosity.

If Reyna owed Aren a debt, why had I been sent here? Couldn’t he have called in the favor himself?

Of course, he wouldn’t. The man didn’t even use his gift to command our people, let alone manipulate someone’s will.

Her eyes skimmed my face, then she gave the feather a little shake. “Time is of the essence.”

I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, eyeing the dark sheen. Raven feather, by the look of it.

With a nod, I took it and tucked it into my jacket pocket.

“Freya.” Her voice stopped me at the threshold. I turned, head tilted just enough to catch her tone. “In and out, do you hear me? No trouble. Not tonight.”

Cyrus

Through the realm of mist and shadow, twelve Wings and I took our places outside a dilapidated warehouse in Old Town. Flickering exterior lights revealed brick walls crumbling in more places than not, mottled with black mildew, green moss, and vines that wove around corners and ducked through the mortar.

On my count, I ordered, double-checking positions. First goal is the ammunition. Second is their leader—take them alive. Understood?

Understood, came their collective reply.

Good. Rattle the cage.

Rattle the cage, they echoed, energized. That was what we did. Dark beasts thought themselves infallible—untouchable—caged in golden bars of their own making. As Karma’s executioners, our job was to make it tremble before we robbed them of the illusion of safety. Subtlety was not the assignment.

Five. Four. Three…My countdown faltered as movement flickered across the rooftop of the neighboring building. So brief I almost dismissed it—black as the night around us.