Page 40 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“So, which is it? We ducking back in the ring, or am I playing wingman?”

His prior words registered, and I pinned him with a glare. “I don’t need a wingman.”

“So, we’re sporting black eyes at the team meeting tomorrow?”

“No, asshole. Shut up and get inside,” I said, opening the door to our favorite watering hole—a place that embodied disorder personified. The floor alone could guarantee an STD or some kind of rash if we spent too much time out of The Middle. Not a single lightbulb knew how to illuminate the space without flickering. Fights broke out at least twice a night, usually around the pool table. Cliché metal hair bands blared from blown-out speakers, and you couldn’t step through the door without catching a contact high.

And yet, it was home.

Which was why the bartender—a blonde shifter named Elise—brought out our drinks without asking. She knew. Always did. With a nod, I took my scotch and settled into the high-top in the corner, the best vantage point to watch the debauchery unfold.

Contrary to my cousin’s assumption, getting laid was the last thing on my mind. My thoughts were trapped in that burning room, replaying a thief’s wink before she leaped out the damn window, like it was all some cosmic joke.

Wink-flight. Wink-flight.

That’s why my teeth were grinding when my mother’s Guardians marched through the front door, temper in their strides.

That didn’t look good.

Tossing back my drink, I stood from the stool and cut them off, our paths converging at my parents' crowded table in the back. Dad’s dark eyes flicked between Lynx and Orion as the other Guardians straightened. Worse yet, Nix was on their heels, looking murderous.

“What?” Dad bit out, bracing for the inevitable impact. I ran my thumb over the rim of my signet ring—an infuriating nervous tic, as if I subconsciously expected it to vanish.

Orion glanced at his companion, his dark hair pulled into a tie at the nape of his neck. “The labs were just ransacked.”

“I want her head on a fucking pike,” Calypso snarled, black hair fanning around her shoulders as she paced like a feral cat through the wreckage of her safe haven, wiping the back of her shaking hand over her mouth.

“I know,” I said, careful to keep my tone level as I rocked on my feet.

Two. Two Paladin strongholds dismantled in as many weeks, like she was checking boxes off a grocery list. The most feared hierarchy south of the Rockies, and this bitch was picking off our treasures. Alone. Which was fucking impossible, yet there was no evidence of anyone else. The only confirmation that these attacks belonged to The Wraith was the damn calling card she left behind.

One star.

Always a star.

At least she left everyone alive this time—used some kind of gas to knock them out. True to her name, she was in and out before we could respond. No theatrics, no human police.

Forcing my jaw to unclench, I insisted, “I swear to you, you'll get your retribution. I'll see to it.”

Uptown had been mine. But the lab? That was my sister’s. Years of data earned over sleepless nights, and literal blood, sweat, and tears. I would know—I’d witnessed more than one of them as she poured herself into unraveling the mysteries of our bloodlines. What made us different from mortals? What, if anything, could kill a soul on a biological level? What triggered ascension, and why did some souls die before it kicked in, while others rose into power regardless of age?

The two of us should never have ascended as young as we did. Unfortunate necessity yanked us from adolescence and thrust us into eternal life.

Our younger brother, Charles, hadn’t been so lucky.

This was personal.

“Big talk, and for what?!” she threw her hands up. “The attacks don’t even seem connected.”

“They are.”

“You can’t know that. The first one—sure, it was out of character for the Bellaton brats, but this one?! In and out, no fatalities? No smoke show? What grounds do you have to assume it was this phantom you’ve been so enamored with?!”

“Wraith,” I gently corrected. The Wraith was a legend, and my penchant for history—particularly our hierarchy’s—had engraved her conquests in my mind years ago. I certainly never thought I’d actually be hunting a campfire story.

“More than likely, it’s one of Reyna’s new recruits earning their fucking stripes, and we’re not even retaliating,” she protested, throwing her hands into the air, demanding an answer. Chest heaving, eyes hard—my usually reserved sister was miles beyond hysteria. I wasn’t sure I could bring her back until she could blow off some steam.

“I said I’ll take care of it.”