Page 210 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

It was beautiful here. He couldn’t have designed a respite more different from Aren’s cozy cabin. Where the Chicago loft and Manhattan flat were sleek and modern, every inch of this place looked like a postcard. From the dual-winged farmhouse, to the distant outbuildings for guests and staff, to the wood barn marked by the Westerlund crest—all of it framed by the rolling mountains of New York.

Like Ansel, our eastern brother liked to work with his hands to unwind. Some bittersweet part of me wondered if any of us would ever know the meaning of respite again.

When Aren and Marcus reunited in this life, they’d quickly agreed that leading our hierarchies differently than other Commanders made sense. Two centers of command for a legion of like-minded souls might’ve seemed unorthodox—but I’d never been more grateful for the merger that gave us a second home. A second leader. A forged hierarchy with proximity-based mental connection—life-saving on the field.

They’d decided that advantage outweighed the risks—after centuries of fighting side by side. I’d never expected to wish they’d connected the Middles too. Never thought the idea of more internal voices would sound appealing. But compared to the silence I was stuck with now? It did.

We’d barely made it ten steps past the wards before the red farmhouse’s blue door opened in the distance. The calamity of Marcus’ dog pack brought a smile to my face as they howled their way across the field to greet us. One by one, souls filed onto the wraparound porch, waving. Marcus, Eloise, and their daughter Tessa came out first, followed closely by Damien and his son.

Even from this distance, Marcus missed nothing. His wave faltered midair, hand lowering slowly as he tilted his head in that way that meant he’d seen too much already.

I’d say it’s nice to see you both, but you look like shit, Marcus said down the line, his rumbling mental voice landing like a hug I didn’t know I needed.

Gee. Thanks.

I heard him and Damien laugh before Marcus added, On our way.

A sharp whistle sounded. August and I trudged up the path in silence, too exhausted to speak. The gallop of hooves soon followed—two magnificent horses barreling across the pasture. Lord, they were stunning. One peeled toward Marcus, her white coat gleaming in the morning sun. The speckled one veered toward us.

“Escort by horseback?” August asked, amusement slipping into his voice.

Sighing, I muttered, “Marcus loves the classics.”

A wordless weariness settled between us, my shoulders finally beginning to relax for the first time since Valentine’s Day. Miraculously, our hierarchy had remained unscathed. Hazelharbor, not so much.

The draw between August and me felt just as fluid now as it had in the beginning. That should’ve tipped me off. I should’ve realized it didn’t feel like my well emptying. The mistake was amateur, and irritatingly so. One I wouldn’t be repeating. I glanced up at August. He was scanning the northern mountains like they might hold answers.

I could’ve lost him. I’d pulled every ounce of energy from him without backup. No one to fish us out if it went wrong. August had improvised, sure, but it still felt like dumb luck that King Kade had taken us in.

The pounding hoofbeats drew my focus forward again, and I tried to smile. Judging by Marcus’ expression, I wasn’t doing a great job of it.

The speckled mare—an Appaloosa, maybe—had waited for her rider before approaching. The two horses now stood side by side, evaluating us like we were the ones being tested.

“Well met, sister,” Marcus rumbled, stopping before us. “Brother,” he added with a curt nod to August, who returned the gesture.

But Marcus’ eyes settled on me again, sharp as ever. “You wear defeat poorly, Ally.”

“I can explain⁠—”

“No need.” He waved me off, sunlight gleaming on his rich amber skin. “Come get what you came for. Do you even remember how to ride?” His white mare snorted in agreement.

I glared at him, catching August’s barely stifled grin in my periphery. Marcus didn’t bother hiding his own, one brow raised in challenge.

“Hello, pretty girl,” I murmured, approaching her carefully.

Marcus wasted no time. He fed us, then jumped us into the Middle to replenish—a gift I could never repay properly. After a twelve-hour coma, with our wells fully restored, my stomach finally yanked me back to the land of the living.

Peeling my eyes open, I spotted August in the corner of the chambers Marcus had loaned us. His hands were braced on a dark wood desk, eyes scanning a map of the hierarchy’s territories.

“Fifteen thousand,” he muttered, a crease between his brows.

“Hmm?”

“Fifteen thousand Grayshellians are still unaccounted for.”

“Oh,” I breathed. The weight of it sank deeper into my chest. I needed fifty of me to even begin fixing all of this. “I’ve been trying to focus on the ones we have found.”

August rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. “Me too. But fuck.”