Page 198 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Leaving your heiress a little gift,” she said.

Holding her livid gaze, I backed her toward the wall, trading my grip on her arms for a hand around her throat. “If you hurt Cali, I will tear you limb from fucking limb. What did you do?”

“I assume she’s been missing her data,” she purred, lifting her chin in defiance despite the pressure. Cocky little shit. I leaned in, and her hands flew to mine, trying and failing to pry free.

“I didn’t hurt her, Jesus Christ,” she hissed. But she wasn’t fighting me—not really. No fury, no biting. Just calm defiance. It made me hesitate.

Breath burning in my lungs, I stared down at her—those sincere jade eyes with hazel rings locked on mine. She was just as I remembered. Tiny. Feisty. Entirely unruffled. Grinding my teeth, I let her go and took a step back.

“Why?”

“Because we’ve gone through every scrap of it,” she said, rubbing absently at her throat. “And while I appreciate the serum’s formula, it requires reaper venom to work. Which means we need one alive—and by my lab’s report, Cali hasn’t made an antidote yet.”

I said nothing. But a whisper inside me insisted I owed this woman my life. Damn me.

“If our seer is right, we have a month before war descends,” she continued. Dad had said as much in council yesterday. “I thought a gesture of good faith might get me a head’s up if she solves it.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“You didn’t arm the Renown.”

“No shit.” We might have sovereign rules, but we’d never arm those bastards—Nephilim twisted by demon magic. Most fell slowly. Some chose damnation. They hunted souls and mortals alike. I wanted no part in aiding that war.

“And by my count, you’re just as antagonized by their presence in your city as we are in ours.”

“Do you have a point?”

“The point, Mr. Impatient, is that whether we like it or not, we’re facing the same enemy in four weeks.”

“And you think I give a shit about you having the antidote because...?”

“Because you owe me.”

“Owed,” I corrected, even as my body disagreed. “Past tense.”

“Excuse me?” she blurted, then let out a cruel laugh.

“I ordered my men to yield in that warehouse. How else do you think you’re breathing? We’re even.”

“You think my escape nullifies a karmic debt?” She cackled like a cartoon villain, shaking her head. “Nice try, prince of shadows.”

“A life for a life. We’re even.”

“Even if your actions had been substantial enough to qualify—which they weren’t—I’ve saved you twice.”

When my mouth opened to argue, she held up a finger, a smug fox’s grin curling her lips—lips I shouldn’t be looking at.

...With the Renown. Shit. She hadn’t run from me. She’d run to me—leapt from the rafters and tackled that bastard off course when he had cursed rounds pointed at me. She’d stayed until I was clear, then vanished with her quarry.

Freya fucking Porter had saved me. Twice.

“Ahh, there it is,” she said as realization no doubt flickered in my eyes. “So this is how it’s going to go.”

“You bitch,” I breathed, drawing my blade. She responded just as fast—tiny frame flying forward as she pressed one blade to my throat and the other...

She grinned, canines dropping. “If you want to keep your sack attached, I suggest you rethink that.”

My knife met her throat in turn. Her chin lifted with swagger, like she was daring me to tempt fate.