Page 55 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Well?” I threw up my hands. “From where I stand, we are weeks from the greatest war this dimension’s ever seen, and you’re not taking it seriously.”

“It’s…” He faltered, gaze dropping. “It’s different now. With you.” His sorrow was palpable as he raked his hand through his hair. “Different,” he said again, quieter.

I closed my eyes, steadying myself.

This dynamic sucked.

It was easier when I was the medic. Easier to stitch him back together after Aren cracked him open. Being the one doing the breaking? That was new.

“Get out of your head,” I told him. “In every life, you’ve been a fighter.”

“Always hated it.”

“It’s an unfortunate necessity.”

“When does it stop?”

“When you make it stop. You hate it for a reason. Use that. Only you can bring peace.”

“No pressure.”

“On the contrary,” I said, stepping forward, “an entire universe of pressure.” I struck in a familiar rhythm, and he dodged, then blocked. Better. But not enough.

“Get mad,” I snarled. “Get pissed if you need to. But fight.”

“Ally!” he barked, catching my wrist as I struck for his face. He yanked me into his chest, face twisted in anguish.

“I can’t,” he breathed.

“Yes, you can.” My voice cracked. “You have to.”

“Do you know what this is doing to me? This broken fucking reading?”

I did. Because it was destroying me too. Every attempt, every death. Over and over, like we were cursed to repeat it.

When he realized I wasn’t going to strike again, he released my wrist. One hand threaded through my hair, the other cupped the back of my head, drawing our foreheads together.

“I understand now,” he whispered. “Why you didn’t want to read me until we could do it right. If I have to watch you die in my fucking arms one more goddamn time, it might kill me. Do you have any idea how brutal it is—knowing I’ve never once been enough to save you?”

His eyes—so vivid beneath the buzzing overhead lights—cut straight through me.

“For centuries, I’ve fought my way back to you, only to be cut short, and now I finally have you. How am I supposed to raise a hand against you—even like this?”

His palms gentled. A scrape across my cheek vanished as healing magic bled into my skin. Subconscious. Loving. I leaned into his touch.

“I know,” I breathed. “But I need you to move through this. I need you ready. And since it’s just the two of us here, I don’t have an alternative.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you.”

A snort caught in my throat. “Don’t flatter yourself. My idea of a fun Friday night is hitting the mat with Aren, Ansel, and Alec—at once.”

“I told you I don’t share,” he muttered dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Ew.” I laughed, wrinkling my nose. “No, thank you.”

A flicker of amused satisfaction crossed his face before he masked it again—like even now, after everything, he still needed reassurance.

Gently, August cupped my cheeks, thumbs stroking the lines of my face. “I finally have you.”