Page 119 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Sound off, I ordered, tension coiling up my spine.

Nix, position one.

Carr, position two.

Portia, position three...

The roll call continued. All the while, I scanned that building, waiting. Watching. The shadows hissed out and away, skimming across the gravel rooftop—but came up empty.

A trick of the eye?

Still uneasy, I glanced at my watch as the twelfth soul confirmed position. Poe, sensing my unrest, launched from his lamppost perch and circled the block, wings silent as sin. When he returned with nothing to report, I gave the all-clear, trying to shake the tightness between my shoulders.

I’d lost my damn mind.

Cyrus, on point, I reiterated. The shadows churned in anticipation.

With a murmured protection spell, I gave the nod, and chaos descended.

There was a specific flavor of satisfaction in watching the Wings dismantle a line of opposition. Before the Renown had time to react, we were inside—shifting through vents, emerging from darkness, blades catching light as bodies hit the floor in a rhythmic percussion of death. A symphony of justice. One soul at a time, we cleared the space.

Still no cursed ammunition.

I pressed deeper. Someone in this place had that elixir loaded into a clip, and I’d make Calypso’s month bringing it back. Her cloud backups held some of the data, but this—the sample—was what she really needed.

On your left, prince, the shadows warned.

I ducked on instinct, slipping into a lit room no one had dared enter yet. An axe whistled past where I’d stood, and I lunged, blade sliding through a Renown’s Achilles before I rolled and came up with steel in both hands.

Seven. Seven enemies, one of me.

Perfect.

I struck low, dodged high, drove a blade through one brute’s belly and yanked up into his chest. Just as I evaded one, three more descended on us.

There.

A flash of blue.

The tallest bore a firearm with a glowing blue magazine, and with no shadows to retreat into, there was no choice but to fight and attempt to keep his men between me and those bullets.

Good plan in theory. Only, the next had a garrote around my neck in seconds.

Motherfucker.

My stab barely slowed him. His grip tightened as I clawed at the cord, scrabbling for air, stars flaring in my vision.

“Cy!” a voice barked in warning.

I twisted, jerking sideways, but my eyes locked on the big guy as he raised that cursed weapon—aimed dead center at my chest.

And my captor shoved me into the line of fire.

With a final wrench, I ducked sideways, jammed both arms up, and flung myself free. I was still gasping when another knocked my legs out. The world tilted and I collided with the floor, crushing the wind out of me. Boots soared past me as I rolled, spluttering⁠—

A shadowy figure was sprinting across the rafters.

A Wing? That was our black uniform, but...the proportions were off. Small. Lithe. Fast as hell. Was I fucking hallucinating?