Page 69 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Three minutes in, she finally huffed, “Come on, Porters. Is that all you’ve got?”

Laughing, Ally spun both palms forward, releasing a flaming cyclone toward Rosaleigh’s chest. The woman grinned.

It was there, in the far northern snow, that I decided all ascended females were mad.

With a press of her dainty hand through the air, Rose swallowed Ally’s fire with a wide-armed sweep that conjured a wall of snow to smother the attack. Water melted in a wave that splashed over our boots.

Icy cold bit through my shoes. Gritting my teeth, I launched a second wave of water, and watched as she wove it seamlessly into her own defenses.

It went on for the better part of an hour. Back and forth, dancing on ice and flame and air. Eventually, I noticed her forms losing sharpness—her smile slipping. Sweat beaded across her brow.

Ally saw it too. Her flames vanished. She rotated a blast of wind that knocked Rosaleigh clean on her ass.

I was winded. Ally was flushed, breath hitching. But we’d barely dented our wells.

Ansel had been right. Grayshell called the strongest to its ranks. Power drew power, and Aren was the flame every storm surged toward.

As Rosaleigh scrambled to her feet, magic flickering at her fingertips, she grinned. “Took you long enough.”

“I’m fucking frozen,” Kingsley grumbled, rising from his perch on a snow-dusted tree stump.

“Serves you right,” Rose shot back, then flicked her gaze to me. “Give me what you got, Commander.”

Ally’s nod sent me forward.

I hurled power—raw, intentional. Rosaleigh braced herself, arms wide. Wind whipped through the clearing, tugging hair and cloaks and every stray piece of energy not nailed down.

The faster I hit her, the harder the current roared between her and Kingsley. The connection wasn’t visible, exactly—but you felt it. The thread snapping tight between them.

She kept pulling long after I stopped. Eyes closed, breath deep. Power sluiced between them until droplets rose into the air, suspended like diamonds in moonlight. They hung weightless, shimmering.

Rosaleigh opened her eyes. Smiled. Soft and full.

“For souls like you,” Kingsley said into the stunned quiet, “with reserves as deep as yours, you could volley your strength between you for days without ever hitting bottom.”

The snow glittered like starlight. His gaze cut to Alvara.

“Short of leveling a city,” he added with pointed sharpness, “taking out the Great Commander would require an unholy effort. I know it feels like a vulnerability—but done right? This Bond is your greatest strength.”

I felt Alvara’s energy shift before I saw her face. Her shield didn’t drop, but mine did.

Her eyes fixed on a point beyond us—staring through snow into the other. Visions stuttered, flashing like strobes. Bloodied wolves in a clearing. A woman with black hair on her knees, trembling hands lifted in surrender.

A man in a leather demon mask stepped forward.

Her throat was slit.

And then—those five cursed words. Always the same, always with that same gravel-choked voice like fire eating through silk.

Hurry up, El. They’re coming.

FOURTEEN

COUSINS

ALVARA

My horrified eyes flew to Kingsley, who stood utterly still, gaze fixed on the snow-blurred distance.