Page 133 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Ally,” I said again, more firmly. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you.”

Her head turned toward me, but her gaze was far away—like she was staring through me. Her broken voice whispered, “Aren.”

Jaw tight, I looked to Alec, who was already dialing his phone, stepping back to get a signal. She blinked, dazed, then stared down at her nightgown—then at the clip of my knife in my front pocket. She snatched it with frightening speed. Before I could react, she flipped it open and sliced her arm.

“Yo!” I barked, heart slamming into my ribs. I lunged, but she dropped to the ground, bloodied knife in hand, eyes glassy as she began painting symbols into the snow.

“One hundred and eight. One hundred and eight thousand to three,” she muttered, drawing 108k across the icy ground. One of the wolves stirred, shifting to better see her movements. “One-oh-eight. Three. Three thousand two hundred and forty.” She scrawled again, then hissed in frustration when the blade was clean.

I dove as she moved to cut herself again, knocking the blade aside without touching her skin. She whirled on me, canines lengthening.

My wife hissed at me. Jesus Christ.

“Aren’s okay,” Alec said, rejoining me—but his voice trailed off when he took in the scene. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her as I summoned a blanket and slowly stood. Ally dipped her fingers into her wound, drawing again in blood.

“One-oh-eight. Three. Three thousand two hundred and forty. Book, crowns, seven pieces. One-nineteen!”

Please tell me you’ve seen this before, I said mentally.

No, mate, Alec answered, voice grim.

“Seven pieces. Seven pieces. Three!” she screeched, jamming her thumb into the wound before drawing a trembling crimson 3 in the snow.

“Ally,” Alec breathed, his terror echoing my own. No sign of his usual bulletproof humor.

“Baby, I’m going to wrap you in this blanket, okay?” I said, moving slow as her wild eyes snapped to mine, then back to the ground.

“Three. Three,” she panted, tears streaming. Ally shook her head frantically, tiny jerks of panic coursing through her. Her gaze locked on mine, desperate. “Three. Three? Please help me,” she sobbed.

“I will,” I promised, though I had no damn idea how. “Just let me get you inside, okay? You can write it all down. Tell us everything.”

“Three,” she whispered, her hoarse voice shattering me.

She didn’t flinch as I gingerly wrapped the blanket around her. Her skin burned hot, no doubt from the fire churning inside her, but she let me cover her completely. I couldn’t risk her touching us now.

“Book, crowns, seven pieces. The lost queen is calling. Stop! Calling, calling, calling.”

I looked to Alec—his mouth was open in horror, amber eyes glued to her trembling form. Blood dripped from her arm to the snow, stark against the crystalline white.

Praying I wasn’t making a mistake, I pressed a hand to her back and jumped us to Kingsley’s safe house.

The quiet shattered as we burst through the front door, Ally screaming, “Help me! Please. Three. Three. The queen comes calling.”

Three stunned faces turned toward us, frozen mid-breakfast at the table.

“Clear it,” I snapped.

They moved instantly—grabbing dishes, magicking away what they couldn’t carry.

“Something to write with?”

“Uh—” Rose bolted upstairs. Kingsley was faster. He yanked open a drawer, ripping it off its tracks in his haste, and tossed me a carpenter’s pencil.

I caught it and gently placed it in Ally’s hand, steering her away from the bloodied wound and toward the table.

“Paper?” Kingsley barked, vanishing before anyone could answer. But Ally wasn’t waiting. Her eyes locked on the empty table and she lunged, pencil flying in frantic, jagged scratches that made me wince.

I’d be buying the Thornquists a new table.