Page 165 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“You are no brother of mine,” Ally muttered under her breath.

I glanced around—no reinforcements, no signs of an ambush. We’d both marked exits coming in, but I checked again, even looking up. Nothing. Still, I didn’t like it. After yesterday’s attacks, subtlety wasn’t exactly in their repertoire.

And yet, this bastard just waltzed up to our table like a damn waiter—button-down shirt, black denim, smug as hell. Judging by the arrogance in his smile, he knew we wouldn’t put him down. Not here. Not now. No matter how desperately we wanted to.

“Pity we don’t get to choose our family,” he drawled. “Me, for instance—I’d have selected a sister wise enough to know she was being watched. And courteous enough to invite her brother to sit.”

“And I’d have chosen a brother with an ounce of honor,” Ally snapped.

Adrastos chuckled low and dark, the sound curling under my skin like smoke. He spun a chair around and straddled it, acting like the fucking guest of honor.

A thousand years. More than a millennium since that life. The one where they were children together. Where I watched from a distance as the girl I loved was promised to someone else. A life we still couldn’t fully grasp—no matter how many lives we lived, no matter how hard the world begged us to remember.

The torture of the readings had revealed only three things:

I loved a girl so far above my station it could cost me everything.

She loved her brothers most ardently.

And her death was so brutal, Alvara puked the first time she saw it.

White-hot fury lit my veins as Adrastos stared at us with expectation—like we’d fall in line. Like he was still the brother she once adored. As if he hadn’t buried that bond centuries ago.

He reached for Ally’s glass and lifted it to his lips with theatrical flair, eyes never leaving mine. “Hmm. Barbera?” He clicked his tongue, then motioned toward the chairs across from him.

Only then did I feel the pressure of watching eyes—whether his people or human civilians, I couldn’t tell.

Every. Fucking. Fiber. Of my being itched to kill this slimy bastard. Fuck the witnesses. He should be bleeding out right now.

Ally didn’t hide her fury. She reached down, tore open the slit in her dress, stepped out of her heels, and kicked them beneath the table. She looked ready to carve him open with the steak knife still resting in front of her.

It was all I could do to keep breathing.

She dropped into her seat, still glancing around the restaurant—calculating, seething.

“Before you skewer me,” Adrastos said mildly, “do consider the celebrities dining in the back. Paparazzi outside. A rather inconvenient time to expose yourselves, wouldn’t you say? And you know how cornered animals respond.”

“What are you doing here, you spineless, slimy coward?” Ally asked, voice low and lethal.

He turned to me with mock interest. “You look like a man who knows what’s good here.”

“We’re not staying,” Ally snapped, practically lunging across the table.

I dropped into the seat beside her, arm sliding around her waist like a warning. “Are you here to negotiate the terms of your bargain?”

“Something like that.” His eyes flicked to me again, that same smug grin that made my fists itch.

I anchored my hand to Ally’s hip and tried to keep the red out of my vision.

“Why so glum, Mr. Porter? You should be thrilled with your little arrangement.”

“And you should be dead.”

“Evidently, someone thought otherwise.” He gave a careless shrug. “I can see my presence isn’t welcome.”

“No shit,” I bit out.

“And yet…your wife has been so persistent in her attempts to reach me.”