Page 97 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

She shook her head, nose brushing mine, but the way her body pressed into me said otherwise. The shift in her scent hit a second later—sweet and heady—and I wrapped her braid around my fist to angle her mouth, deepening the kiss.

“Six thousand square feet, and nobody’s around to stop us.”

“The blades can wait a little longer,” she whispered, smile wicked in her voice.

Freya

“Did you do as we asked?” Ansel paced in front of me, his calm betrayed by the fact that he couldn’t keep still. His presence in Bellaton was as much a comfort as it was a concern. As much as I needed more time with my family, things were escalating—and not just here. A magnificent beast was stirring, the clock ticking down with every bated breath. Even the humans were noticing.

Per The Old General’s instructions, I’d ditched all my mortal tech, plus every stone and totem from both Grayshell and Bellaton. My clothes were old gym scraps I wouldn’t miss when I burned them on our return.

“You can’t let her touch your skin after this. Are you okay with that?” he asked. Unease prickled up the back of my neck. Keeping secrets from Ally hadn’t been on my bingo card this year. Secretly dismantling Reagan’s legacy to bypass the Crucible, expose her for the snake she was, and take her throne—that was heavy enough.

“Yeah. But Reyna has everyone on the ground tonight, so we’ve gotta be quick. The last of her troops are rolling in for the meeting.”

“Good,” he said. “We’re going to need them. And I’ll have you back before the meeting. At least she can still call her forces home.” He turned on the ball of his foot, flipping his cigarette case open and shut as he thought. “Of all my regrets in this life—of which there are many—not finding you sooner, and not calling our troops home before that duel…those are the worst.”

“I’m home now,” I said, swallowing past the ache in my throat. “And you couldn’t have known we’d be cut off. Even Reyna’s history books don’t have record of something like this. In all my ascensions, I’ve never seen anything like it.” His stoic expression pinched slightly as he studied me—subtle enough that I probably only noticed because we were growing familiar. Wordlessly, he nodded, sliding the tin into his back pocket and opening an arm. I stepped in, wrapping mine around his waist.

“You ready?”

“You gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Somewhere you can only find if you’ve been there before.”

“Because that’s not ominous,” I muttered. His earlier explanation had already been cryptic enough—something about a place Ally couldn’t see. Something Lana needed me to witness. A huff of amusement escaped his chest, and I grinned, tightening my grip a little before he jumped us out. The familiar twist in my gut had me wrinkling my nose and sucking down a breath, fighting the urge to vomit.

“Some treasures are best kept secrets,” he muttered as I staggered a few paces away to regroup. Still a bit peaky, I righted myself…and stared.

A shack—for lack of a better word—stood maybe a hundred yards away, looking more like a tetanus trap than a treasured stronghold. Dust-caked windows gaped like broken teeth, and a rusted lightning rod creaked in slow, uneven circles as a bitter breeze sent sand skittering past my boots. The siding was patchy and warped. Boards sagged on crooked nails. A rusted-out sedan sagged under a half-collapsed carport, and above the back door, what looked like a Russian assault rifle had been mounted.

“I think your definition of ‘treasure’ and mine are wildly different,” I muttered, nose wrinkling. A tumbleweed wouldn’t have been out of place. Just for dramatic flair, I mimicked that classic Western whistle and spun in a slow circle.

Melted snowbanks gave way to rusted-out car skeletons and debris-strewn hills. Tires, broken bottles, busted crates. The opposite hillside was mostly bare, except for an overgrown dirt road and an RV that looked like it had been stepped on.

Something moved. A tan bunny darted through the rotting boards of what might’ve once been a garage, then sprinted toward a garden enclosure, its little white tail disappearing beneath a fence. A horned skull hung over the gate’s remains, and below it—“Are those snake skins?”

“If you hang ‘em up, their friends don’t tend to come calling.”

“Charming,” I said flatly. My stomach twisted for entirely new reasons. “Dad, what is this place?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.” With a nod, Ansel shoved his hands in his coat pockets just as a brutal winter gust slapped my face. Suddenly, the Spanish moss curtains of Bellaton didn’t seem so bad.

I hustled after him around the corner—again, using the word “house” generously—where a metal box with a hand crank sat waiting. Ansel blew into his hands before grabbing the crank and working it in smooth circles.

“Generator?” I asked as he worked it, nodding at me as we both turned our backs against the cold. “How endearingly…mortal,” I mumbled as shivers won the battle with my stubbornness.

“It’s just for the locks and porch lights.” A moment later, the thing hummed to life. A porch light buzzed and flickered on under the sagging roof. Ansel exhaled a puff of breath, smoke curling into the cold air, then jerked his chin toward the building. I followed him to a metal screen door, which opened with an ear-splitting screech.

The second door was in slightly better shape—flaking paint, electronic keypad. “The plot thickens.”

“You’ll see,” he said, keying in a code and angling his shoulder so I could watch. Then he pulled a pocketknife from his jeans and popped it open. “Life hack,” he muttered, slicing a neat line on his forearm and watching the blood well. “Draw blood from somewhere other than your hands if you’re expecting a fight. Hollywood always gets it wrong. Straight across the palm—like enchantments demand undue inconvenience. Bunch of bullshit.”

Smiling to myself, I watched him drag the blade over a rune on the threshold. I didn’t bother telling him I’d learned that from him in our first life together. Divine memory was bizarre that way.

When he spread his blood over the final rune, the seal glowed faintly gold. The door creaked open with a prolonged protest of neglected hinges.

I don’t know what I expected inside, but I wasn’t ready for the dust. Or the stench. Or the possum-sized rat that bolted across the floor and out the door.