Page 260 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“How did Cali take it?”

“Like I said. Whatever this is…it’s bigger than us. She sees that.” He took back his arm and smoothed his shirt. “I’ve studied too much for too long to pretend it’s not connected. I don’t have to want you to see that we’re tethered. I didn’t even have to like you to know I wasn’t worthy of Poe’s endorsement until I chose you over myself. Over my honor. So hear me when I say, I will keep choosing you, Freya. Even if you hate me for it.”

FORTY-EIGHT

BAPTISM BY RAIN

ALVARA

Freya

Maybe next time I’mma get shot, give me a head’s up, mmmmkay?

Ally

But did you die?

Freya

*multiple middle finger emojis*

Ally

That’s what I thought.

Okay, so Freya wasn’t the only Porter chapped about my lack of interference—but where this war was concerned, it seemed the more I directly meddled, the worse our odds became. Letting our people choose their own threads remained the best shot at landing on the right one. Adrastos had finally fallen silent over the past week.

No dreams of him or our memories.

No vision tennis.

The clarity was both refreshing and alarming. Refreshing because I’d almost forgotten what it was like to cast threads without someone jamming their oversized fingers into the weave. Alarming, because…where was he, if not terrorizing me?

With clarity came conviction. Had I interfered, Freya would have returned to us a hollow caricature of the woman we knew and loved—Bellaton at her back, but loyal to Reyna. That wouldn’t be an issue, except for the fact that the Queen would swoop in the second Grayshell showed weakness. And it would. Sooner than I liked, no matter which thread we ended up in.

Whatever Freya’s plan was, it was uniting the river-split hierarchies for the first time in centuries.

And she needed their prince at her back to do it.

There were threads ahead where she failed—but not in the one I’d chosen not to touch.

August and I had been plenty occupied, anyway. Between Kingsley, Alec, Marcus, and Aren, the four of them had drafted us a brutal training schedule focused on honing our gifts now that the Bond was in play. With twice the power behind my mental punch, I could force memories into minds at ten times the rate and accuracy—without even touching them. The problem? I tended to overload people, and they passed out.

Like Alec. Currently laying at my feet.

I nudged him with my boot, grimacing as he rolled limply onto his back, brow creased even in sleep.

“Sorry,” I whispered, annoyed that I felt like a newborn all over again.

On August’s side, drawing from my well amped both his shield and his ability to alter emotions—like Alec’s. Except if I was honest, my mate was better. Which was helpful, considering Alec’s very pregnant wife was very anxious about him volunteering as our guinea pig. August kept her dreamily calm as she grew Marcus a winding vine of bold fuchsia blooms that had already swallowed half his trellis.

Kneeling beside Alec, I tapped his nose, borrowing a pinch of August’s energy to jolt him awake. Alec slapped at my hand like a fly, blinking up at the perfect prairie afternoon.

“You always did have a shocking personality.”

“Boo,” I said. “If you start cracking dad jokes before the baby’s even here, we’re gonna have beef.”

“The grass-fed kind?”