Page 300 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

I smirked despite myself. She wasn’t wrong. I was every shrink’s wet dream, wired for chaos. And Freya? She was a one-woman apocalypse.

I should’ve known I was screwed the second I plucked her out of danger yesterday and my blood wouldn’t stop singing her name.

Freya took her shot at the table and the men around her stopped smiling. She was hustling them. And they were dumb enough to fall for it. So much for low profile.

“Like I said,” Cali drawled as her glass thunked softly against the counter, “fucking catnip.”

I chuckled darkly, emptying my glass. The blond guy stepped closer, and my hackles rose.

“I’m fine, sis. Appreciate the concern.” My fingers flexed on the bar. “We don’t even know each other.”

And yet…Freya’s gaze found me.

I straightened, tension hardening in my spine at the blade hidden behind those jade eyes.

The girls were still yammering about something I didn’t register—because the blond prick she’d been putting in his place had the audacity to lay a hand on her waist. My grip tightened around my pint. Freya scowled up at him, fingers drifting toward the blade at her hip as she barked something over the music that looked an awful lot like fuck off.

That was enough of that.

On a sigh-turned-growl, I rose from the stool, glass still in hand as I started forward.

“Oh, fuck,” Jo muttered behind me.

I heard both of them scramble to follow as I cut a path through the rowdy crowd. Freya had already shaken off the dead man’s hand, brows drawn into a warning scowl as she stepped backward, lifting herself with practiced ease onto the table behind her.

Red.

My vision went fucking red.

Deadman’s friend reached for him—right as my pale fingers wrapped around his throat.

The bastard didn’t even get a full breath before I smashed the glass into his temple, smirking as he crumpled. “Asshole,” I muttered.

His buddy had better reflexes. Blade already drawn. I was faster.

The shadows clocked every onlooker as Cali moved to cover my back. I caught his wrist, twisted sharply, disarming him and snapping the joint in one fluid motion. “She said—” I jabbed a nerve that dropped him like a sack of bricks. “—fuck off.”

I twirled the knife once in my grip, flicking my gaze up to Freya. She crouched on the table, wild and gleaming, eyes sparking with mischief. “You okay?”

“I had it handled,” she said, voice dry. The annoyance in it warmed my chest.

“No doubt.” I quirked a brow and flipped the knife in my hand, letting it fly. It spun once before thunking into the dartboard’s bullseye on the far wall. Partially to blow off steam. Partially because if I didn’t touch her, I was gonna combust.

I stepped between her knees, hands settling on her thighs—fishnet wrapped, warm, perfect. The ache that lived in my ribs eased at the contact.

“You’re a drama king, you know that?”

But her wrists slid easily around my neck, fingers curling in the hair at my nape like they belonged there. She was a damn good actress. Too good. But in Paladin territory, surrounded by eyes that would slit her throat if they knew what she was, pretending to be mine was survival.

Carr materialized at my side, clearly unimpressed. “Was that necessary?”

“She asked nicely,” I said flatly, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at my mouth.

“Hi, Scooby,” Freya chirped, flashing him a grin as he crouched to inspect the groper.

“Hi, Maleficent. Nice to see you not incinerated.”

“Aww. I’m touched.”