Page 299 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

It wasn’t like I’d ever wanted a love match. I knew I’d end up with some second-string noblewoman positioned just beneath Calypso on the family tree, for the sake of bloodlines. But knowing there was a soul out there wired to be mine—feral, cunning, utterly untamable—and having to stomach some strategic marriage with anyone else?

Bullshit. That’s what it was.

“You’ve been off,” my sister noted, pinning me with a look. “Haven’t seen you with the usuals.”

“The usuals took an interest in Nix.”

Now that she said it, I realized I hadn’t looked at another woman like that since the damn Bond woke and tethered itself to the one person hellbent on arm’s-lengthing me with the Heisman maneuver of the century. Pathetic. I should’ve punched myself in the face just to knock the stupid out.

“Nothing a cotton swab and blood sample couldn’t test for.” Jo elbowed me, jerking her chin toward the door. I sighed—and turned.

Red hair.

Green eyes.

Combat boots laced halfway and fishnets under cutoffs. Band tee exposing just enough skin to make my hand twitch.

Freya.

My Freya, standing in my bar like she wasn’t about to turn my whole night to ash.

Her gaze landed on me and softened. Mine didn’t. My pride wouldn’t let it. What the hell was she doing here? If she didn’t plan to present herself to Mother, showing up at our bar with a full Guard in tow was a bold way to start a war. Where was Ajax? Had she ditched him again?

Grinding my teeth, I turned back to my beer.

“This’ll never work, little brother.” Cali slid into the stool beside me, slinging her arm across the backrest like she lived here.

“You assume I’m the one fighting it.”

“You, and your earlier tantrum. But I see the way you look at her.”

“Like I wanna sink my teeth into that perfect little ass?”

“Ew,” she winced. “Like you wanta sink a ring on that dainty little finger.”

I recoiled. “Not my style.”

Cali snorted, signaling the bartender with two fingers. “Then wipe your chin. You’re droolin’. Gonna give people the wrong idea.”

With a sigh, I rotated back toward the room, spine braced against the bar. Freya was making her way to the billiards tables, sharp eyes sweeping the setup like she already had her mark.

“She’s my mate,” I muttered. “Am I not entitled to some entertainment?”

Cali raised a brow, unimpressed. “You hook up with her, you’ll be chasing that high until the reaper comes. You know it. That’s not a hookup, Cy. That’s a Bonnie.”

“I’m not Clyde.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Ya know me. I’m here for a good time. I make ‘em laugh, we have some fun, I send them on their way after a few orgasms and they leave smiling. No strings. No expectations.”

And that was true—had always been true. My reputation preceded me. Hell, half the city knew how I operated. But with Freya…I didn’t want any of that. I wanted something I couldn’t name. Which meant Cali was right, and I hated her for it.

“She broke your nose the first time you fought her.”

“And?”

“You’re a psychopath and violence gets you off. Which makes this clever little bitch your personal brand of catnip.”