Page 184 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Get clear, Ansel ordered mind-to-mind.

We moved. No hesitation. We bolted from the scaled nightmares and sprinted after the witches. Jogging at the rear of the group, I scanned the shadows for more demons. For Renown. For Adrastos.

Too easy, I said across the link. I don’t like this.

A diversion, perhaps? Ansel mused, guiding the witches down an alley. A girl with dark russet skin stood by the door, her palm bleeding as she pressed it to the runes embedded in the stone. As I scanned the group, I noticed—most of the witches were brunettes. A few redheads. A couple of fake blondes. All of them heartbreakingly beautiful. Like Reyna’s girls.

Must be, Lana agreed. Where the fuck are Mags and Aren?

The alley shifted—gravel tumbling as though the world tilted. Pebbles rolled and power pulled from the way we’d come. Lana and I turned, stepping into position between the witches and the billowing darkness.

Three figures emerged from the smoke. Not paladins—at least not in any uniform I recognized. But the moment they lifted their faces, my blood turned to ice.

Demon masks. Leather stretched into grotesque snarls, horns curling skyward.

Lonan.

I’d only ever seen one soldier with a mask like that. If he was here—if he recognized me…

My stomach turned. My breath stuttered. Sweat beaded across my forehead and trickled down my back when they charged.

I forced myself forward, feet leaden with dread. Death itself sang in their shadows—sweet, alluring. For a second, I almost gave in.

Then: Light. The alley burst with it, and the shadows recoiled like rats from flame. Lana and I raised our blades, bracing as the door behind us flared blue. The witches filed inside. All we had to do was hold these fuckers off long enough to get the witches to safety—to protect the healers of the realm, on the eve of its greatest war.

Hold steady, Freya, Ansel’s voice echoed in my mind.

But then they shifted, moving amongst mist and shadow, they materialized, singling us out.

One-on-one.

I raised my blade just in time to block a vicious blow. It rang through my bones. Crying out, I parried, lithe and focused, the scuffle of the alley fading into white noise. Onyx eyes peered out from behind the mask—gleaming with satisfaction.

Then he barked, “This one comes alive.”

“Like hell,” I muttered, eyes raking over dumpsters, piles of trash, and discarded furniture, wishing for something—anything—more effective. My twin blades suddenly felt laughably naïve, like trying to paper-cut a stallion and expecting it to drop.

Remember your training, Ansel demanded. Though I knew he was fighting his own battle, I could’ve sworn his hand ghosted down my arm, guiding it through the motions. On instinct—or command—I shifted and struck, drawing blood with the precision of an asp. I recoiled before the beast could react, my blade having cut deep into the thick flesh of his neck. Dark blood seeped between his fingers.

Good. Finish him.

He roared, a gloved hand flying to the wound. But when he swung, I ducked beneath it, using my smaller frame to slip around him. He turned—too slow. My blade punched into the vulnerable space beneath his arm, armor thin under the pit. Some ancient reflex had guided me there. I retreated fast, evading the next blow.

Dropping to one knee, pain shrieked through my body as I drove the blade up through tendon and bone. The beast collapsed with a startled cry, his enormous frame buckling. His throat went easily after that.

Panting, I watched him topple sideways onto the asphalt.

“Holy shit. It worked.”

A delighted snort burst from Lana before she could stop herself. I looked up and realized they’d both been watching, their own opponents dead at their feet.

“Well met, Freya Porter,” Lana said, breathless. “You’re truly back, darling. You always did make the big fuckers dance before they fell.”

“Evidently,” I exhaled, letting the flood of relief wash over me. My eyes swept the alley—mercifully empty now. We’d done it. The witches were safe. My pulse calmed just knowing we’d managed it.

I glanced to the still-open gate, then back to Lana. “Did you think I was a mirage?”

“I think we’ve both been fighting an ongoing state of denial,” Ansel admitted, smirking. He tipped his chin toward the gate. “We prayed for your return for centuries, babygirl.”