Page 255 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

No safe space. Only war zones.

I reached for the edges of my power—but there were no edges. Just a vast, endless abyss. I couldn’t find the border. Couldn’t draw it in. Couldn’t⁠—

“I—” It was a whimper. A broken, breathless plea as I tried to pull away, tried to keep my skin from leeching the life from his. He was fading. His legs wobbling. I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to⁠—

Without warning, his hand dropped to the back of my neck, and he dragged me forward, slamming his lips onto mine.

FORTY-SEVEN

FEELINGS–GROSS.

FREYA

The world fell away, and in its place was heat—and the pliant demand of Cyrus’ mouth opening mine.

He was the heart of a hurricane—direct and relentless—until my defenses collapsed and his fury poured in. He was shadow and demand, and the crackling finale of a summer bonfire all at once. Every synapse slowed, zeroing in on the scrape of his stubble, the press of his mouth, and the way directive fingers gripped my neck and wove into my hair, wordlessly ordering me to submit.

My panic melted beneath the intensity. Before I could think or feel or breathe, I was kissing him back—my lips following every coaxing, commanding movement. My hands fisted in the lapels of his peacoat, yanking him closer until the length of his lean body pressed flush against mine, all cedarwood and leather and heat.

Bit by bit, his touch soothed the jagged edges of my overloaded mind. I felt the machinery start clicking back into place beneath the scrape of his teeth and the grounding squeeze of his hand. Then I was breathing again. My power—my out-of-control magic—spooled into my chest, settling behind its walls. Brick by brick, with every flick of his tongue and drag of his lips, Cyrus reassembled the shield I should never have dropped.

Only when I could take in proper lungfuls of air did he ease back. Our foreheads remained bowed together, breaths syncing in the stillness.

“I’m sorry,” we panted simultaneously.

His apology was a rough rasp that didn’t sound the least bit sorry. Mine was a breathless plea for forgiveness—for the lapse in control that nearly wrecked us both.

“No,” I blurted. “I lost it. I should’ve known better than to let my emotions boil over like that.”

“I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“I just got so overwhelmed. I should’ve slowed down, found a place to⁠—”

“I didn’t know how else to get you to⁠—”

“Think,” we finished together.

Cyrus exhaled a huff, leaning away slowly. His full lips were kiss-swollen, his long hair mussed. I hadn’t realized I’d tangled my hands in it until my fingers lost their grip. He raised his palms in surrender and backed toward the settee, sinking onto the cushions. I lowered onto the bed, my shoulders finally loosening.

He rubbed the back of his neck, tongue skimming a canine as he fought a grin. “My bad.”

“No. Thank you,” I said quickly. “You saved me. Oh my God—Cali and Carrson!”

I shot up, but he raised a hand before I could move.

“They’ll be alright. Just…knocked out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I should’ve been here.” His brows rose. “Plus, now I’ve got ammo against Carr indefinitely.”

“If he’d kissed me, the reaction would’ve been very different.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I should go,” I murmured, brushing my fingers across my tingling lips.

“We need to talk.”