Page 218 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“You don’t know shit.”

“Maybe. But I’ve used this crypt in my last three lives, so I know what it can conjure. And it’s safe to say your odds are better with me than without. So. Last offer. Only you can determine if you’re strong enough to go in, face what waits, and come back out alive.”

She stopped just before the church steps, eyes locking on mine with a silent plea for honesty. “So. Choose. Coming or staying?”

Carr thought what I was already contemplating. It’s going to show you Charles.

Yeah.

Can you handle it?

Fuck no. Don’t have a choice, do I?

I can go in your stead.

And face your mother’s death? That’s no better.

Maybe. But that’s my burden.

No. I shook my head. This is my weight to bear. I’ll bear it.

Out loud, all I said was, “Coming.”

Jade irises caught mine and held. Freya sucked down a long breath before finally nodding. She didn’t look away until I shifted on my feet—then turned her attention to Carr.

“Any sign of trouble, you blow the metaphorical horn. It takes more time than I’d like to get the fuck out, and while shadows can move freely, we won’t be able to conjure once we hit the depths. If we’re not back in an hour, we’re probably dead, so just send shadows to check. Do not come in after us.”

“Guard the doors. Mind the clock. Got it.”

“Good lap dog.” She rose onto her toes and stretched out a delicate arm to pat him on the head.

I laughed as Carr jerked back, scowling at her hand.

“Now, watch,” she demanded, pointing back toward the beach.

I swear to every god, he muttered internally—but he turned.

One hour, cousin.

Make it fast, he pleaded.

“You two, with me. Clock’s ticking,” Freya called, checking her wristwatch.

For someone with such tiny legs, she made damn good time. I rushed after her into the gloom of the old church.

The interior was…anticlimactically charred. Every surface blackened, crumbling. The only real light came from shattered windows and a gaping hole in the roof. I wanted to stop and study the decayed statues, the scorched altar—but I stayed close to my personal demon as she led us up the grimy stone steps, stopping in front of the massive crucifix.

She crossed one arm under the other, bracing herself, eyes on her watch. Expression unreadable.

“Just…felt like a quick prayer break?” I asked, irritation bubbling up at her refusal to explain anything.

The wind whistled through the rotting boards—an eerie chorus moaning in the dark. Freya stood motionless, as if carved from stone.

“Shut up,” she bit out.

Jax’s eyes widened, his raised brow hinting at humor. He said…nothing. Literally nothing. What a desk lamp. Why the hell did she bring him? A statue would be more helpful.

Just as her watch hit noon, she lowered her arms, hands hovering near her weapons. Overhead, the sun crested the jagged hole in the roof, casting harsh, angular shadows across the dais.