Page 95 of Commanding Blood And Bonds
“Upstairs, second door on the left,” she said cheerily, ignoring his surly denial, and pressing a kiss to Fae’s cheek as the two of them passed her.
Glancing from their backs, to Rose’s bemused expression, to Alvara’s…embarrassed one with no further sign of explanation, I asked, “Why do I feel like I’m walking into an ambush blind?”
The laughter that trailed back from the stairwell wasn’t particularly encouraging, but neither was her face as Ally lifted her sheepish eyes. I’d been to countless safe houses—Aren’s many favorites, Ansel, Marcus, and Alec all had bottomless getaways.
Slowly, reality crept into my bones as I realized that I had yet to step into one that belonged to my mate.
“Why haven’t you taken me to your houses?” As heat crept into her face, a cheeky smile lifted my own. Because what on earth could be so humiliating that the motherfucking angel of death looked this mortified? “Oh,” I chuckled, grinning as I said, “this is too good.”
“I have it under control,” she grumbled. When I only hiked my brows, my suspicions immediately confirmed, she scowled at me, ignoring the Carter’s cackles of amusement from upstairs. Alvara in her element was a Goddess among mortals. But Alvara battling embarrassment was the kind of endearingly adorable I’d rarely witnessed. She squirmed where she stood, massaging her wrinkled nose as I burst out laughing.
With more force this time, she barked, “I have it under control.”
TWENTY
TREASURES
AUGUST
My mate did, in fact, not have it under control.
“Oh man,” I breathed, trying to swallow the laughter bubbling up in my chest. “Ally,” I said in mock reproach. “You need help.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I do not. It’s fine. I have it under control,” she said for the half a dozenth time, and I wasn’t entirely sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. How had nobody told me about this? The amusement won out, bursting from me in a rumble that earned an elbow to my gut. Somehow, her discomfort only made me laugh harder.
“You’re a hoarder.”
“Am not.”
I motioned to the surrounding chaos. The warehouse—because let’s be real, that’s what it was—was tall enough to house an airplane hangar, and its contents spilled from every container and pile. Chandeliers hung from metal rafters, and what looked like a rusted antique plane hovered from cables in the far corner, suspended above endless shelves of trinkets and knick-knacks.
“Is that…is that Pocahontas?” I tilted my head at the smooth planes of the statue. The carving rose to my sternum, expertly crafted, though most of the color had long since worn away.
“Matoaka,” she whispered reverently, uncrossing her arms as she stepped forward, fingers grazing the whittled braid of hair, eyes sliding closed. “Mortals like to dust the atrocities of history under the rug, romanticizing the crimes of humanity. But they can’t hide it all—not really. And she...” Her lids fluttered as she sifted through the stories behind the piece.
I turned, giving her space to sort through the echo. Dust-coated treasures lined every inch of the place. How did she carry so many stories in one space?
On the end of a long, satisfied breath, Ally’s eyes opened. “She brought me strength when I ran out. In the face of the darkest atrocities, she reminded me to keep getting up. Gave me a purpose—to defend. To right what I can for those who can’t.”
I squinted at a sepia photograph, the frame cheap, the paper cracked with age. “And them?”
Ally smiled, laughing softly. She wet her lips before saying, “Pechey, Chaplin, Jex-Blake, Thorne, Evans, Bovell, Anderson.”
“And you remember them because...?”
She sighed at my ignorance, but as the story began playing through her mind, my fascination only grew.
“The Edinburgh Seven paved the way for women who wanted doctorates in the UK.”
The next image tugged at something in the back of my mind. A woman in a blue dress with white sleeves, adorned with rosebuds. I scowled, a far corner of useless knowledge rising.
“Don’t think too hard, Porter.”
“I should know this one.”
