Page 21 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Zeke and Livvy,” I confirmed, nodding. We’d hit the ground running, rounding up allies with the precise speed of funneling sheep into their pen. Most interactions had been effortless, as few were naïve enough not to know what my presence promised.

Bloodshed.

Brutal and imminent.

You didn’t get a summons from Grayshell’s third coven unless we were well and truly fucked or you were in desperate need of assistance. Today marked the end of our first leg of campaigning before we’d head up to Terramyst territory in the north.

Zeke and Livvy were the heads of a peaceful nomadic clan, mixed between braids and Nephilim, that spent their winters in the red desert of Arizona. Comprised of warriors, healers, and plant whisperers, I didn’t anticipate any trouble getting them on board.

With a sigh, I continued, “And then we track down the Thornquists.”

“Get answers for this Bond,” he supplied simply. Not buying my suspiciously mellow responses, August shifted his weight over me, a speculative brow raised. “Together. Right, Mrs. Porter?”

I raised a hand to capture his fingers where he grazed my face, turning to kiss into his palm. The uncertainty in his voice killed me. Mostly because I put it there. “From here to the encore, baby.”

A distant howl keened through the desert, and August’s emerald eyes closed in resignation. “Is that⁠—”

“Blood wolves,” I confirmed, already moving. “We gotta go.”

Wake up, El. They’re coming...

“You know, Alvara, I have a doorbell. You might try using it sometime.”

August, casually sprawled across the black leather recliner, chuckled as his eyes flicked open and settled on me—now safely tucked inside Zeke’s wards. Steam curled over my forearm as I poured cups of tea, sliding them across the wooden island.

“I did,” I lied, smiling.

“Silence is generally the equivalent of saying ‘go away,’” Zeke quipped as he stepped cautiously into his own home. “You know that, right?”

“You’re out of cream,” I replied matter-of-factly, turning back to stir the water.

“And fucks to give, if I’m honest. I don’t suppose this is a wellness check?”

“Would it help if I said I was in the neighborhood?”

He huffed, mumbling, “Think I’d prefer the wellness check.” Smart man. If we were outside our territory, Grayshellians were simply following where trouble led us.

Zeke dropped his bag by the door, smirking as he crossed the room. “Livvy swore the wards were solid. Promised up, down, and sideways. But if any old riffraff can just wander right the hell in…” He shook his head, amusement settling across his deep terra-cotta complexion, before throwing his arms around my neck and tousling my hair.

A laugh bubbled up, and I set down the wooden spoon on a colorfully hand-painted ceramic dish, turning into the embrace just before he pressed a kiss to my cheek. When he pulled back, Zeke tilted my face one way, then the other, his eyes narrowing.

“You look…different.”

“Do I?”

His lids narrowed further, hazel irises barely visible. “Like…really different.”

“Bad different?”

“You look like a girl.”

I rolled my eyes and smacked him in the chest before turning back to the stove, stirring the veggies nonchalantly as he sniffed and smiled. Then his attention shifted to August, who looked as if he’d been carved specifically for that chair—hair carelessly tousled, combat boots unlaced around his ankles, exuding the quiet detachment of a soldier who had lived too many lives before.

“I suppose you’re to blame for Ally going all soft on us?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Ezekiel Flores. Friends call me Zeke.”