Page 123 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

A shot of whiskey, an ice bath, and a long sleep were calling my name. In that order.

“You’re reckless.”

“This isn’t news. Aren’s well aware my methods are unconventional.”

“You could’ve been killed.”

“And Darius was!” I snapped, yanking my shoulder away from the healer still at work.

Reyna stiffened as I waved the man off. I gritted my teeth and pulled the bloodied tank top over my head with a hiss of pain, relief trickling in once I was down to just a sports bra and leggings.

Somehow digging my own fingers into the hellscape of my back wasn’t nearly as aggravating as sitting still while someone else did it. The soft clink of shards into the steel bowl eased something in me.

“I have no right to grieve him as you do,” I said, voice tight, “but I knew one thing—he was unfailingly good.” Clink. “He didn’t deserve the death they gave him.” Clink, clink, clink. “And over my dead body will that loss be in vain.”

Reyna held my gaze, then glanced over my head—at her healer, I assumed—before abruptly grabbing the alcohol and dousing my shoulder, neck, and ribs in one brutal pour.

My bark of pain turned into a hiss. I gritted my teeth, breathing hard as my back spasmed with sight-stealing agony. Blaz jolted forward—though what he planned to do, I had no idea.

“If your pride won’t let you accept help,” Reyna snapped, “at least have the sense to sanitize, you thoughtless barbarian.”

“The real question,” I said, breath ragged, fingers carefully skimming my ribs, “is whether Damien can work with so little venom.”

“If anyone can make something from nothing, it’s that man.”

The admiration in her tone didn’t go unnoticed. I nodded, flinching as I dug out another shard. Clink. “Then we better hope he has another trick up his sleeve. Because they were preparing for something, Reyna. And it doesn’t bode well.”

The desperation I’d seen in that Paladin’s eyes when he fought for the ammo—he hadn’t looked like someone guarding it. He looked like someone trying to take it. Which begged the question: was this weapon stolen? Were they running the same op we were, trying to get ahead of a deadly Renown secret? And if so, were we sabotaging a silent ally?

“Do you ever intend to tell me why you’re here? Why you’re hunting my sister?” Reyna finally asked, the v between her brows practically etched into stone. My gaze flicked to Blaz, who mirrored her expression—like the question had never occurred to him. Hurt flickered across his face before he buried it.

“You’ll know when my plan works.”

“And when is that?”

“Soon,” I promised. “I can’t say more.”

“I should send you back to Aren.”

“It wouldn’t change anything.” Not entirely true, but the pieces were already in motion. If everything played out right, Reagan would watch her empire crumble through her traitorous fingers before I forced her hierarchy to kneel—and I’d march into this war with two hosts’ worth of souls instead of one.

Truth be told, I was starting to like the Bellaton queen. Even if she was infuriating to answer to. It made keeping this secret that much harder.

But two souls are one too many to trust with a plan.

I glanced at the healer. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Carlton. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Would you still be willing to check this?”

To my relief, he gave a sheepish smile and stepped forward, closing the distance.

“Where did it go?” Reyna asked softly, her gaze fixed out the window.

“Where did what go, Your Majesty?” I murmured, eyes falling shut as Carlton’s magic ran a cool, soothing circuit over my pulverized skin. The title still felt like marbles in my mouth—outdated and infuriatingly formal.

“The money you two stole,” she said, flicking her gaze between us, disapproval written in every line of her posture.

I grinned. “To a more worthy cause.”

The silence that followed cracked when a gravel-toned voice called out, “What in Sam Hill happened?”