Page 445 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

Just dozens of empty hallways I wandered alone. The sound of my boots over stone was my only companion, hands trailing over railings and walls, tracing the tapestries and paintings and photographs that covered every inch of the dorms.

Bedrooms were left a mess—beds unmade, clothes tossed on the floor, armor laid out on mattresses or neatly hung in front of wardrobes, ready to don at a moment’s notice.

A moment they didn’t get.

Because Adrastos had come without warning—punched a hole through the place that was supposed to be impenetrable and… what? Taken them all prisoner? When we finally found Ally, would we find them too? Or only their graves?

At last convinced Aren wasn’t walking in here to see some sadistic ritual with the bodies of his beloved, I returned to the others. I shifted into the light from the front steps, and Aren’s eyes lifted to me, first in shock, then quickly in understanding.

I shook my head. “There’s nothing inside.”

“I don’t understand,” Aren breathed as he lithely found his feet.

“There is nothing, and no one within. No bodies, Aren.”

He exchanged perplexed glances with Jason and Brody, the three of them stepping forward in a unified movement that spoke to years of companionship. But then Aren grunted, hesitated, swayed. Jason lashed out to grab his arm as Aren nearly toppled over backwards. My shadows did the same, wrapping around him, searching, prodding for injuries as his hands flew to his head, his chest.

“My eyes,” he breathed, straining them, then blinking rapidly as if they burned. “I can’t—my fucking eyes.”

My magic filled him in a rush, desperately scanning for any sign of unseen injuries and coming up entirely empty. My hand against his heart pressed harder, but the organ within its cage pumped steadily, his arteries strong in their immortal perfection.

I didn’t understand. Couldn’t find⁠—

His gaze lifted to mine, horrified with sudden comprehension. “Ally.”

NINETY

FATED

FREYA

In true Cyrus form, the man was sitting shirtless in his armchair, his gorgeous, inked arms on proud display between two towers of books—all Greek mythology, all focused on the fall of Troy. He’d come up for air precisely twice in the last twenty-four hours, and both times had been because I’d wrapped my mouth around his glorious dick.

The first time, I got away with sucking him off, his hands in my hair and my thighs clenched tight as I greedily sat at his feet. The second time, he’d growled something about a needy brat, flipped me over the end of the bed and fucked me so deep from behind that I saw stars. I orgasmed so hard the fucker put me right to sleep.

Somewhere between the two, I’d set food in his hand, and he’d absentmindedly downed it.

Apparently, sex was the only thing worth prying his eyes off the ink for.

“With you,” he muttered under his breath as he highlighted something, tabbing his page. I snorted. “What, you think the Prince of Paladin doesn’t have game?”

“Oh, I know you did,” I said sweetly, lying by his feet in front of the fire, still very, very naked. At this point, I needed this man to use my body until I was walking like a cowboy. I needed to be bent in half and have the last six months of stress pounded out of me by a dauntingly well-endowed, beautifully pierced Paladin who knew exactly what spot made me shatter. “But nobody’s stupid enough to cross me now, are they?”

“Okay, butcher queen.” His smirk was as dry as his tone, eyes still trained on his text even as his feet slid under my shoulder. Like he simply needed the contact.

“I think sending those dumbasses to Siberia really did the trick.”

Almost as if it irritated him to care, those citrines flicked down to mine, his lips still twisted in a tight smile. “You did not send them to Siberia.”

“No,” I chirped. “No, I fear there’s nothing to keep them preoccupied there and we can’t have them falling back in love with you, can we?”

“There was no love lost between the three of us,” he said dryly. “Just a good time.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” he echoed pointedly, arching his brows.

“Kinda feel like until you’ve fucked me more times than you fucked them, I’m second-rate or something.” His grin turned Cheshire, and my toes curled in response.