Page 89 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

And then—him. A man too beautiful to belong in a place like this. Silver-blond hair, bone-pale skin, and eyes like dying stars. Eyes I should know.

I shouldn’t be here.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew this was an intrusion. But I couldn’t pull free. I was frozen, trying to name him.

Those onyx eyes sliced toward the boy beside him—my brother—face curled in contempt. “Pathetic.” That voice—like cold steel dragged through ash. He didn’t stop glaring at my brother until⁠—

He turned to me.

The instant his gaze found mine, a cruel smile twisted his perfect mouth.

He closed his fist.

Agony crashed over me.

My legs buckled. Knees cracked into a puddle of heat.

Blood.

I was kneeling in blood.

A chill raced across my spine, and I turned⁠—

August. Chained. Hanging by his wrists, his beautiful body flayed from collar to navel.

Skin peeled in strips, wounds deep and wet. His hands hung limp, twisted at grotesque angles. His feet grazed the blood-slick floor, barely tethered to this world. His head slumped forward. He didn’t stir.

He was⁠—

No. No, no, no. A scream tore free of me, raw and feral...

“El, wake up!”

With Adrastos' final plea, I jolted upright, gasping for breath, my body wracked by adrenaline as if I’d been dragged through fire. The dirk was already in my hand before reality caught up to me. Heart hammering, I scanned the darkness, my mind still half-trapped in that vision.

“Ally?” August’s voice, rough with sleep, grounded me.

I twisted to face him, relief crashing over me like a wave when I saw his groggy form blinking into the dim room. I closed my eyes and inhaled, letting the here and now settle into my bones.

“I’m okay,” I said, though the ragged edge of my voice gave me away. August pushed upright, bracing on one arm, and reached to brush my hair from my face, his calloused fingers soothing along my cheek. His curls were tousled from restless sleep, his brow creased with concern.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

I nodded, trying to reorient to the present. Kingsley’s guest room. The rough-hewn walls. The clean scent of pine and smoke. The silver glow of the winter moon peeking through snow-fogged windows.

I tossed the dirk onto the bedside table with a metallic clatter and pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, willing the pressure away.

“We need that goddamn book,” I muttered.

“Anything on the crown?” August asked gently.

“No.” I dropped my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. “I still haven’t seen it.”

“Okay,” he said with that unshakable calm of his, his hand skimming up my calf in slow, grounding strokes. “What do you know?”

“He kept pushing me to focus. On the book, I think.” August tensed, jaw locking, but he didn’t interrupt. “He had it with him—before—when Agamemnon took me. But I can’t remember the title.”

“You can’t see it in the vision?”