Page 60 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

FREYA

I hadn’t had the chance to fill Reyna in on what I’d learned over the last few days, so when I woke to the unmistakable cadence of boots over marble and the too-dim light of early morning, I groaned. Palming my face, I puffed my lungs up with air, succumbing to a vicious yawn as I looked at my watch.

Fuck, it was early. Even for me.

Reyna had scheduled a personal training session with me at nine a.m.—I’d hoped it was just a cover for a private audience. But I had a sinking suspicion that plan was about to get torched. And that was a problem. Not just because I needed to earn Reyna’s favor, but because I needed more resources if I was going to drag Reagan down by the throat. And if there was anyone who might possibly sympathize with that mission, it was Reyna.

Instead, she had me running laps and dodging hexes like I was some minor annoyance, not the thief she’d sent out to spy on a mutual enemy.

My comment to Aren about wanting to stab her with a fork at “family dinner” was not an exaggeration. There was nothing—and I do mean nothing—more infuriating than being treated like a pawn when the damn board was on fire.

I was still tugging on a boot as I stumbled into the hallway, hair tie between my teeth, laces flapping. It only took ten paces to reach the overlook above the foyer.

Below: fourteen souls, all high-ranking, stacked with muscle, expressions carved from stone. Retribution, then? From the look of them, two covens’ lead cadres. More weapons than I wanted to tally, but knowing our own style of concealment, I’d guess fifty at least.

I slid down the banister, landing light, and began weaving through the rigid formation—until a firm hand clamped down on my shoulder, freezing me in place.

Didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Darius,” I muttered, already bristling. That familiar tension pulsed from him in waves—tight control, quiet power, a century of discipline barely leashed. When I looked back, his green-flecked hazel eyes locked onto mine, hard and resolute.

“You’re staying.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What happened?”

“Complication with a mission.”

“I can help.” My voice sharpened, frustration already climbing my spine.

“Not this time, kiddo.”

“Don’t kiddo me, D. Where are you going?”

“Don’t call me that,” he replied, tone clipped. He hesitated for half a breath, weighing something, then exhaled. “Not this time, Freya. Please. Trust me.”

Movement behind us caught my attention, and I turned just as Reyna stepped forward to take point. Her long blonde braid coiled and tucked like a crown of steel. Silver and white armor hugged her frame, luminous and cold as moonlight. Sentinels buckled her vambraces—metal wings, like Grayshell’s.

“Sound off,” she ordered.

As the first soul declared his name and rank, Darius leaned in, hand shifting from my shoulder to my bicep, grip tightening.

“I don’t have time to explain,” he said, voice low. “Your capabilities are promising, but I can’t risk the safety of my souls—or yours—with a newborn who hasn’t proven she can jump out of a hot zone.”

“I did jump⁠—”

“Once,” he cut in. “And haven’t done it since.” His voice wasn’t cruel. Just…unforgiving. “When you’re no longer a liability, I’ll be the first to vouch for you. But not tonight. Reyna will brief you when we return. Stay with Blaz.”

Oof. That one landed.

Without breaking my gaze, he turned and stated, “Darius Alexander McCoy, third coven head. Head of security.”

“Let’s roll, ladies and gentlemen,” Reyna commanded, and the double doors flew open.

Darius held my eyes for one long, unspoken beat. I dipped my chin in a stiff nod, biting back everything else I wanted to scream. Then he turned and walked into the morning, his soldiers filing out behind him in disciplined silence.

Blaz sidled up on my right as Alastair mirrored him on my left.

“They’ll be okay,” Blaz said gently. “My mother doesn’t leave a single soul behind. Come hell or high water.”