Page 140 of Commanding Blood And Bonds
“In all my years, in all the countries I’ve walked, I’ve never seen anything so breathtakingly delicate,” I whispered. “Sometimes, the most cherished, most memorable parts of life are the treasures that have no chance of lasting. I never really understood why I loved that night so much. But I get it now. It’s the double edge of mortality that makes life so precious.”
“Don’t, Ally,” August rasped, voice serrated. “Please. I am begging you.”
Steeling myself into the role of Grayshell’s second, I forced my voice into compliance, delivering the truth I hated with every fiber of my being.
“There are no threads that end well for us. In every outcome where humanity is spared—we are the price.”
August
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
The world had long since vanished, leaving only the steady thrum of blood in my ears. Mouth suddenly bone-dry, I shook my head. I would’ve spoken—said something, anything—but my lips refused to form words. Finally, I managed one. “No.”
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, eyes pleading as I kept shaking my head, panic coiling around my ribs, my throat, the weight of it threatening to crush me.
“We’ll find a way. We’ll make one ourselves. I’ll carve it out of fate’s cold, dead fingers if I have to.”
Lip wobbling, Ally looked up to the flurries of snow above us, her voice softer than the flakes. “Not this time.”
“There’s always another thread, baby.”
“Not this time.” Her certainty was sharp enough to slice me clean through.
Jamming my fingers through my hair, I turned to pace. My hands had nowhere to go, so I shoved them into my jacket as I carved a trench into the snow.
Fuck this.
I spun back. My wife—my goddamn mate—stood staring into the snow like it was some kind of benediction. Like she was ready. That resigned serenity on her face made something primal scream inside me. She’d accepted this. This…martyrdom.
“You’re just gonna stand there like that?” I demanded, heart hammering in my chest, the pulse echoing like a million boots marching across stone. Loud. Steady. Promising suffering.
“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”
“Maybe?” I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. “I’m too busy panicking to think about it, if I’m honest.”
“There’s no point in panicking, August. Death is the lone inevitability.”
“Sure. For mortals. But we’re not mortals, Ally. Aren has avoided that bucket for nearly two millennia.”
“One and a half.”
“Same difference.”
“I mean, technically—”
“Ally!” I barked, my voice tearing through the sacred silence of the snowfall. The quiet that followed was somehow worse—deafening—as I stared into those round, tear-bright emeralds. “What are you doing? And I don’t mean watching the snow. I mean standing there, acting like this fight is over when it hasn’t even started.”
“I’m…I’m processing, August. I—”
“Processing? Fine. Process. Adjust. But you can’t stand there and tell me that after watching you slip through my fingers in agony more times than any sane soul could count, you’re just…giving up.”
Her chin quivered, eyes watering, something frantic bubbling just beneath the surface. The first signs of a boil.
Good. Because I was breaking. And I needed her to care. Needed her to need me as much as I needed her—because the thought of being cleaved apart again, of either of us moving on, of new lives with new lovers, only to die before we ever truly lived...
No.
Just…no.
