Page 221 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

This was like a Celtic kid waking up to find the fae on their front lawn—and being insane enough to walk into the mushroom ring and tell them their true name.

Every logical part of me screamed to turn back. But I couldn’t.

There was a core truth in every story about this particular succubus:

She got what she wanted. Repeatedly. Until someone finally killed her.

Deeper we went. The chill worsened, until our breath clouded the air. Then she stopped.

Her head tilted back—and mine followed.

Skulls.

An entire wall, at least fifteen feet high, built of human skulls. Bones lined the base in a neat, haunting border. The wall curved into a round tunnel overhead like the maw of something ancient and buried.

Reading about ossuaries was one thing. Standing inside one, surrounded by the remnants of my ancestors—still humming with traces of old magic—was something else entirely.

Freya held her torch right. We both turned to the dead end, littered with tokens. Coins. Stones. Charms.

From somewhere deep in the crypt, a ghostly melody began to hum. Like the echo of other—like the way it felt back at Luminark.

Freya didn’t move.

I reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, scowling at me like I’d grabbed a live wire.

“You alright?”

“Yes. Just…preparing. This body is different. I’m still acclimating.”

Newborn.

Was that something she’d meant to share?

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“Not exactly what I’m used to hearing on a first date.”

“Really?” she chirped. “I assumed you’d be used to that by now.”

“Burn,” Jax muttered. His heavy steps had gone eerily silent since we’d entered the chamber.

“Alright, history buff,” Freya said, elbowing me in the ribs. “Pay attention. I’m not doing this for you again.”

She jerked her chin toward the far end of the crypt. We raised our torches—light flickering over the walls—until the bones gave way to stone.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, stepping ahead. My eyes raked across every ornate carving.

Behind me, warm orange flickers bloomed. I glanced back—Freya and Jax were lighting the sconces.

The floor was a mess of janky concrete tiles, some jutting at odd angles. Staggered marble columns supported an archway beyond. Faded light poured through, revealing the outline of something massive.

I didn’t care about the bones anymore.

My attention was fixed on what had to be the King’s crypt.

Torch raised, I crossed the space. Harsh shadows stretched and leapt. My gift stirred—but not in warning so much as curiosity.

In the center of the room, five marble steps between me and an enormous sarcophagus. Just beyond it, an archway rose like the mantle of a giant fireplace. And perched above it—the all-seeing eyes of Death himself.