Page 44 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

NINE

RAVENS

FREYA

Five years ago…

Screams ripped through the night, replacing laughter with terror. Something growled, and my breath lurched forward, heart hammering as I dug into my heels, jerking my wrists until they popped, pain searing up to my shoulders. A low laugh slithered through my ribs as I cried out, yanking against my restraints and kicking out, striking nothing before they wrenched me off balance.

Harsh hands caught my elbows, steadying me just long enough to yank me forward again. Scrambling to keep up, I spat out a curse, colorful enough to earn another low chuckle wrapping around me like smoke.

“Get fucked,” I snapped. “Cut it out!”

The screams had gone silent. Then fingers seized my shirt, jerking me onto my tiptoes as that smoky voice snarled, “Or what, jailbait?”

Jailbait. Only one person called me that.

I threw my head forward, satisfaction sizzling through me when I heard the crack of cartilage, followed by a sharp curse. The grip on my shirt slipped as I planted my feet, ripping the blindfold off—only to be caught again. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, hoisting me off my feet.

“I said stop!”

Laughter rang out. Moonlight bathed the clearing, revealing half a dozen figures in ski masks, shadows pooling around them. My head snapped side to side. Where the hell was Shay? Katie? Someone.

Shay would never leave me alone. Not willingly.

Panic tightened my ribs as I was tossed like a rag doll into another set of rough hands. These hands wandered, fingers scraping over sore breasts that didn’t exist before shoving me away. Once. Twice. Three times I was passed between them, their laughter rising over my hammering pulse. On the fourth toss, I lashed out, driving my elbow into a masked face.

He cursed, throwing me to the ground.

My palms scraped against stone and pine needles as I braced for impact. A dark silhouette lunged, but I rolled, scrambling to my feet. My fingers went to James' knife by instinct, flicking it open in a single motion. Just like August had drilled into me—over and over, until I could do it blindfolded. “All in the wrist,” he’d said.

I spun the blade into position, bracing my stance. The boys circled, five feet away and closing in. My breath came hard, my muscles coiling with fire.

“We like our fresh meat feisty,” one growled.

“Get. Fucked,” I seethed, panting in a weak attempt to catch my breath.

“Just our type,” another said, amusement curling his words.

“Crew.” I locked eyes with the second tallest, who was still pinching his nose. Darkness obscured his features, but I knew him. I swung the blade at one who advanced, halting him in place. No chance in hell I could take them all. But I’d be damned if I didn’t draw blood first.

“I said stop.”

“Easy, Jailbait. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

“Real convincing.” I took two more steps back, fingers flexing on the hilt as the hair on my neck stood on end. They kept advancing, their movements a slow, methodical press. My skin prickled. There was no outrunning them. Was there?

A raven cried overhead, its throaty call slicing through the trees.

“Crew. Please. This isn’t funny.”

“Who's Crew?" one mocked from my right as another flanked me on the left.

“Who's laughing?” another countered, herding me toward the trees.

Standing here was a death sentence. If I could just reach the tree line, maybe⁠—

I turned and bolted.