Page 135 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

My brow furrowed.

Thankfully, his mate wasn’t one for ambiguity.

“It’s unfair to hold that against her, love. What happened with the Solskari wasn’t Alvara’s fault. Aren answered our call faster than anyone, and summoned her. She rained down hell—for us, for them.”

“Seers are for the living,” Fae added softly. “Necromancers walk the line. They’re veiled from the other.”

“Right. So what if they side with Adrastos and his keeper?” The voice was male, soft, unfamiliar.

Another answered before I could place it. “She can’t account for participants who aren’t in the threads.”

“It’s not a science,” Alec said. Only someone who knew him as well as I did would’ve caught the irritation in his voice. “She’s doing the best she can.”

“And even then, it’s not good enough,” Kingsley barked. A heavy thud followed—palms on wood.

Yeah. That was enough.

I gripped the leash on my temper tight as I stepped into view. “She’s a soul, not a God. The fact that she suffers so severely to give our people even the slightest edge? That’s more than enough.”

The room fell silent.

Way more than four pairs of eyes turned toward me. One pair—cerulean, bright and sharp—belonged to a stunning woman whose features mirrored Marcus and his brothers. Skin a lighter shade of amber, maybe, but unmistakably Westerlund.

The energy coming off her was more telling than anything. Familiar and foreign all at once.

“I assume you’re a Westerlund?” I asked.

She nodded, offering a gentle smile, her braids swaying with the movement.

I turned to the others.

A woman perched in the windowsill, limbs folded into the narrow space, skin a ghastly pallor. Pale hair fell in a sheet to her waist, and her eyes—icy blue, almost translucent—locked onto me with open assessment.

Beside her sat a man so impossibly symmetrical he had to be a Soul. His light tawny complexion all but glowed in the sun now streaming through the windows, giving him an ethereal quality that spoke to hours spent in the Middle.

At least, it did—right up until he smiled. Fine lines broke around his light brown eyes as he dipped his chin in greeting. If Rosaleigh was joy personified, this man was her male counterpart: the same bright complexion, the same dark hair and eyes.

Brother, maybe?

A dozen new faces studied me as carefully as I studied them. Some dipped their chins, others bowed like they’d been waiting for a deity. I ran a hand over my jaw, scrambling for how the hell to start this particular conversation—lucky for me, Fae had her own plans.

She danced her way over, blonde hair swaying, and looped her arm through mine like she had the day we met before turning to the room.

“August, these are the leaders of the sovereign Western hierarchies. This is the first branch of your…delegation, if you will. This is Kalma, of the earth wielders,” she said, motioning to the lanky woman with snow-white hair. “Tieran is Rosaleigh’s brother, a fellow shifter from farther north.”

Canada, then.

That sunburst smile flashed across his face again as he offered a wave-salute hybrid.

“Sable and Onyx hail from Northern California. Water wielders.” She gestured to two women who looked like they hadn’t seen daylight in years, matching green eyes watching me intently.

“Ajéí, her mate Kai, and their son Otto,” she continued, motioning to a trio at the breakfast table clutching coffee cups like life preservers. The matriarch, with wavy black hair falling to her waist, had a youthful face that belied the age in her eyes. It was to her both males turned for cues—subtle, instinctive.

And so it continued, Fae introducing each newcomer in turn.

“Guys, this is The Great Commander.”

“August,” I corrected quickly. “Porter.”