Page 149 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“What?”

“Aren’s threads. The second I went to call him…it all changed.”

August gently turned me to face him, widening his stance until we were eye to eye. Behind him, Alec and Fae peeked around his broad shoulders like concerned meerkats.

“And these are crucial components?” he asked.

I nodded as dread churned in my stomach. Of all of us, Aren’s threads were the most volatile but…why had they vanished?

I tried to focus on the girl instead, to make sense of her decisions. Nothing. Not even a name.

Until—there.

Aren, arms spread wide, that grizzly bear grin in place as he booms, “Magnolia!”

Oh shit, we were with them in that one.

I tried again to zero in on her—names usually helped clarify things—but still, nothing. Just static where her future should be.

Impossible.

I didn’t understand...

I shifted tactics, checking whether we’d see him if we jumped west. He was with the witch—Magnolia—or would be before we arrived. Florida? The Naples house was sacred to us. Our only true Earthbound sanctuary. For him to bring her there?

Oh, fuck. This had to work.

Scowling up at the others’ questioning expressions, I grabbed August’s hand and jumped without another word.

The instant my boots hit the ground, the threads tumbled around me like marbles down stairs in a chaotic cacophony I immediately regretted.

Swallowing hard, I braced myself and lifted my hands to read the townhouses in front of us.

“What happened to not interfering with his thread?” August hissed, tugging my wrist as he shot a wary glance between me and the house.

“We’re not.”

“Umm. Sure smells like we are,” he muttered. A quick glance through his thoughts confirmed—Aren’s scent was everywhere.

What if we told him in person?

Nothing.

Had Ansel tell him?

Still nothing.

Fuck. Fuck!

What if…Ansel and Lana helped—but made him think it was his idea?

Like a half-illuminated bulb, the thread flickered back to life.

I was going to develop an eye twitch. No soul was meant to meddle in this many fates at once. And Aren…Aren’s survival meant more to me than almost any other. His happiness?

Priceless.

Which begged the question—what kind of temperamental chaos was I sculpting here?