Page 289 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Freya nodded and stepped back, her expression pinched.

“I need you around the perimeter. On my mark, push your magic through the earth and command it to grow.”

No questions. They moved fast, circling the tainted earth, dropping to their knees.

Fae pulled Alec down by the neck and kissed him once, fiercely, before mirroring the others. She raised her hand: three, two, one—and slammed both palms into the dirt. Her eyes shut. The others followed suit.

For a moment, nothing. Then—green bloomed. The edge of the blight fought back. Growth strained upward, only to falter. For a heartbeat, I feared it wouldn’t work. But slowly, grotesquely, the rot began to curl, like worms writhing beneath the skin of the earth. Bit by bit, the darkness retreated. Blight turned to soil, then sprouted.

“Yes,” Freya breathed, and I turned to see tears glossing her jade eyes. Her lips parted, reverent. Then, suddenly, her hand caught mine.

Tight. Desperate.

I didn’t hate it.

I stood as her anchor while we watched a miracle claw its way free.

Fae rose. Arms outstretched like a maestro. Her hair whipped in a sudden breeze as she began to sing. The sound was ancient. Something older than history. Words I didn’t recognize—chanted, sung, lifting into the sky with her power like an offering.

Agonizing minutes passed. The eight of them fought rot with root and rain and hope.

And they won.

“It’s the same damn song and dance,” Alvara said later, pacing in front of a makeshift command board and rubbing the edge of her collarbone like it burned.

“She was testing our response,” August deduced. The others—all of them, even the ones who hadn’t spoken a word—nodded.

The Grayshellians moved like extensions of each other. Like me, Carr and Cali. Like wolves bred to fight side by side. It made me wonder how Adrastos ever landed a hit.

“Fine,” Reyna snapped, folding her arms. “But that still doesn’t explain why my nephew violated the treaty, crossed the divide, and just so happened to stumble into you.”

“It wasn’t coincidence,” I said. “I had a tip.”

“From what source?” she demanded.

“Lonan.”

Nothing. Not a blink. Just polished silence.

Freya, however, flinched like I’d slapped her. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“He visited. Demanded I turn you over.”

“Who the fuck is Lonan?” August growled, sparks arcing off his hands as emerald eyes promised retribution. For the first time, I wondered who’d win in a fair fight.

“Easy,” I said, lifting my hands slightly. I was outnumbered—badly—and sitting alone on a bench while the room simmered around me. “He’s an ally of my mother. But he’s no friend of mine.”

“How does he factor in?” August asked, shifting his attention to Freya. His mate never looked away from me.

I suddenly, achingly, wished the Bond was open. Wished I could just show her.

“Can you picture his face?” Alvara asked, voice sharp with suspicion.

Freya shook her head. “He’s always masked.”

“He was,” I said. “Until tonight.”

“What?” she choked. “I’ve never seen him unmasked.”