Page 259 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Whatever this is, it’s not that.”

“Then why can’t I hear you in my head? Aren’t mates connected like hierarchies?”

“Only if they accept the bond. I thought you were the experienced one.”

“In life cycles, not mates. Obviously. I’m as new at this as you are.”

Finally, he let go, raking his fingers through his hair. My gaze dropped to his lips as he wet them—traitorous instincts reacting to every damn detail. What kind of aphrodisiac was this bond?

“Just let me get this out. I’m not a verbal fucking processor.”

I raised my hands, signaling surrender.

“All those roles—prince, shadow, Crew...” He arched a brow, and I thought of that teenage boy leading his pack with quiet detachment. “They were all chosen for me. Every decision made by others. Which coven raised me. Which I led. My roles with the Wings. When I could speak. When I couldn’t. Cali and I learned to work within those lines while bending them to suit ourselves. But I chose you, Freya.”

“The bond chose for you,” I said flatly. No point pretending otherwise.

He was already shaking his head. “No. I punched Nix that night and chased after you. Because it went too far, and you were scared, and I needed to know you were okay.”

I remembered how violently he’d turned on the docks—how he took the impact. Just like on the rooftop. Just like in the crypt. Whether he realized it or not, the bond had likely guided every one of those moments.

“Again, when you proposed our bargain.”

“You chose the crown.”

“You would’ve been the more valuable prize.”

“I never said you had good judgment.”

“And I chose you in that crypt.”

Damn it. Valid. He didn’t have to stay behind. Didn’t have to fight for me. But again⁠—

“The bond⁠—”

“Didn’t make me stab Nix on that platform. Didn’t make me twist the truth and claim you to protect you from my mother. Those were my calls. And I’d make them again. I got my Wings, by the way.”

The bitter words cut deeper than intended. My eyes dropped to his arms as he reached for his coat. And then⁠—

He shrugged out of it, revealing feet of glorious ink.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself, grabbing his wrist and turning it. He let me.

My fingers traced the feathers inked up his arm, and goosebumps chased in their wake. His wings swallowed his old tattoos, all except the hooded angel on the back of his hand. Awe stirred in my chest.

Sweet baby Jesus. I wasn’t the only one who needed to see the Oracle.

This could change…everything.

Paladin lore told of a leader who would bring a golden age. One marked by wings etched from spine to wrists.

Reagan and I always believed it would be an Heiress.

“Are they...?”

“Yeah. My whole back.”

I met his gaze and regretted it. His eyes were a breathtaking storm—fury and conviction brewing in equal measure.