Page 322 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

I sat up too fast. The world spun sideways as I squinted, trying to orient myself.

No shirt.

Someone else’s pajama pants.

Something minty smeared across my chest.

A vase of wilted flowers sat on a wicker side table beside a seashell-framed photo of two radiant women—tan, beaming, strangers. One blonde. One with hair darker than Cali’s.

Wait. Not a stranger.

The teal eyes. The lush lips. The curves that nearly spilled from her swimsuit.

The Hazelharborian Heiress.

What. The. Fuck.

I straightened, reaching for the glass of water beside the photo. Sniffed. Fresh enough. I took a cautious sip, rinsing the cotton from my mouth before rising to my feet and making for the open doors.

I stopped short.

Red hair fluttered in the breeze. Sunlight hit Freya like a prism, turning her into something ethereal. Her forearms were braced on the porch railing, hands clenched around her biceps, her lean frame cloaked in black Grayshellian fighting leathers.

She was armed to the teeth.

The weapons didn’t fit the tranquil porch or the quiet garden or the rolling waves beyond.

Oh.

Oh, holy shit.

The memories pummeled my mind like a duel gone wrong. The cliffs. The crawlers. Freya leaping with nothing beneath her. The vault. The glass. The sealed door.

How the hell⁠—

I followed her gaze over grassy dunes and pale sand, all the way to the frothing waves, and pulled in a steadying breath.

We were alive. Never mind the how. I’d made peace with death. I remembered that peace—cold and final. I'd handed her through the vault’s threshold and braced for the end. And now⁠—

I stepped out into sunlight, the tug of our Bond drawing me forward.

“Freya?”

She spun so fast it was inhuman. Her wide eyes locked onto mine.

“Oh,” she exhaled in a stunned rush, crossing the porch in four determined strides before she collided with me, her arms wrapping tight around my waist, her cheek pressing to my chest.

Shock froze me for a moment.

Then I folded into her, one arm circling her shoulders, the other curving around her back. I bowed my head to rest against the crown of her hair.

I didn’t know how long we stood like that, breathing in the sunlight and salt and each other, but I committed every detail to memory. The shape of her body against mine. The feel of her heartbeat.

I never thought I’d see her again. My final act—my final breath—had been for her safety. And with the way she’d rejected our Bond, I never thought she'd wanna touch me again.

But here she was.

When the muscles in my neck began to ache, I pressed a kiss to her head and murmured, “Ma moitié.”