Page 152 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

My stomach plummeted. I was already moving forward when he raised a hand to stop me.

“You can’t even jump, little Wraith.”

A fair wrist appeared in front of my face, a line of red seeping from a fresh wound. The scent of iron hit the air. Blood.

Reyna’s blood.

Reaction one? Disgust.

But as Brody barked orders and Reyna shook her sliced open wrist, I lunged. Careful not to pierce the skin with my canines, I clamped my mouth over the bleeding wound and drank. The magic hit hard, my stomach flipped, and I swallowed it down.

“Go, damn you!” Reyna barked.

I didn’t stop to question the weight of that gift. The four of us sprinted outside and hit the jump point in the yard. Brody’s hand clamped over mine—and then we were gone.

The city rooftop snapped into focus. Broad daylight. Exposed. Minimal cover.

Three men in creepy-ass masks.

Ansel, Marcus, Aren—already armed.

But something was wrong. Shadows curled along the concrete. Shadows in broad daylight? What the fuck?

Wide-eyed, I glanced at Aren. He sent a single thought down the line.

Get the emissaries out.

Judging by the frantic heartbeat behind us, I didn’t have to go far to start. The jump was easy—Reyna’s power thrummed in my veins like an elixir I could get used to.

The sharp-dressed man hiding in the elevator raised his pistol. I disarmed him in a blink, raised a hand, and said, “I’m Aren’s,” before jumping us out onto the street below. He retched on landing, but there wasn’t time for sympathy. I shoved his half-curled form toward the road and barked, “Get to the park. I’ll get the rest.”

In any other situation, I might’ve felt bad. Instead, I shoved the pistol back in his grip and jumped.

How surreal—war raged floors above us, and down here? Not a ripple. Mortals laughed by the coffee pot. Answered phones. Oblivious to the blade swinging above their heads.

Michael, help us.

Eyes scanning, I searched for any way to speed this up—and found it. I jumped, yanked down the fire alarm, and hissed as blue ink sprayed across my hand.

“Fire!” I bellowed into the eerily calm lobby, wiping the ink on my jeans. That’s when it hit me: none of us grabbed masks. If this was caught on camera, our faces were done.

“Go, go, go!”

What floor? I shot down the line.

Thirteen, Brody sent back.

I was already in the air.

My stomach dropped as I landed. Too many mortals. Too many lives. They sprinted for the stairwells, panic rising like a tide.

There’s no burden worse than choosing who lives or dies. But Aren’s order rang again: Get the emissaries out.

Fuck me.

I jumped into the glass conference room where Brody was herding them, flung my stolen shadows like smoke-laced ropes, and coiled them around their bodies. Seven. My magic pulled tight, strained—but held.

I yanked them close and jumped, dropping them beside the first guy in the park. His eyes were locked on the building.