Page 111 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Yeah,” I breathed, but the line had already disconnected.

I was undoubtedly missing something, and I needed to get to the bottom of it. But as fate would have it, G came around the corner, lacking his usual exuberance.

Not that I could blame him. He’d been Darius’ right hand for years.

“We got intel the Renown are moving tonight,” he said in greeting.

I gave a quick dip of my chin. “Where at?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Chuckling darkly, I guessed, “Also on Reagan’s side of the river?”

Montague blew out a heavy breath, nodding solemnly, as if that barrier was actually going to keep us from getting what we needed. The image of Darius clawing at his poisoned flesh lit fire in my ribs, and I nodded, standing from the armchair I’d occupied during my depressing chat with August.

“Give me an hour to prep⁠—”

G shook his head, the rare refusal freezing me mid-step.

“You gotta roll out now, Porter.”

Narrowing my eyes on his haunted browns, I nodded. “Okay. Let me run to my room and get changed. I’ll be down in ninety seconds.”

He dipped his chin, rolling his full lower lip between his teeth with clear discomfort.

“Reyna sent a Paladin uniform up to your rooms.”

It was only as I moved past him that his hand latched firmly around my arm, halting me in the threshold.

Pain ricocheted in those dark irises.

“Be careful, Freya. I don’t wanna see that twice.”

Cyrus

The view from the top spire of Luminark Manor had always been my favorite. Something about trading shadows for clouds of Spanish moss and a bird’s-eye view of the grounds. Maybe it was getting above whatever creepy lingering souls haunted the top floor and into the sunlight.

Or, the petty, vindictive, scorned prince that I was, it was the fact that Ma fucking hated me being up here.

Round and round, I turned the origami star the Wraith left behind in my safety deposit box between my fingers. Cocky little shit.

Today had been the storm to end all storms.

Like her moniker promised, there was no trace left behind after folklore’s ghost wreaked her havoc. My account hadn’t been the only one emptied. Mom, Dad, and Calypso’s personal accounts at our primary bank were drained to the dregs.

We had reserves, of course—but it was still an infuriating blow.

My firewalls had crumbled like fucking clay in the sun—all but one final line of defense guarding our offshore accounts.

And Bellaton was out in full force. Our shadows across the river came scurrying back with the fear of death in their eyes.

Which meant someone had stomped on Reyna Gwyne’s pedicured toes hard enough that she was out for blood.

Not good.

But the bitch didn’t stop there.

The IRS served us audits on three of Ma’s most lucrative above-board businesses.The Rougarou got hit with a health violation—not inaccurate, but a pain in my ass regardless. Mortal repo men—with miraculously forged documentation—swiped two of our SUVs.