Page 139 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Of course, he knew me that well.

My tells were as blatant as neon signs these days.

I’d broken down the threads. The delegation had debated each scenario, weighing the cost and merit of every outcome. Whatever distraction had tied up Adrastos long enough to grant me space had bought me the time I needed to deliver the odds to our allies. And now, they’d carry that information far and wide.

But there was one truth I’d kept for myself.

Because I was the one who’d walked those paths. I’d nearly crumpled under the pressure of all I’d seen.

Fate marked me to carry that weight.

And if they knew—if he knew—it would open new pathways. Dangerous ones. Deviations from the outcomes we still had a chance at.

So I tucked that truth close. Against my chest. Just for me.

I stuck out my tongue and caught a few oversized flakes. The frozen tickle drew a smile across my face. Sled races with Aren and Alec. Ansel’s low, begrudging laugh. The sting of a perfect snowball to the face. The weight of August’s body over mine, his hips pressing into me for the first time…

Most of my joy had lived in the snow. And now, knowing how fleeting it truly was⁠—

Every memory felt all the sweeter.

Seeming to remember our only Christmas together, August huffed a breath that bordered on a chuckle before giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

Fighting back the truth threatening to spill from my lips, I studied him—my breathtaking mate. The man who’d stayed out here in the freezing cold to stand guard over me for days. The man who wouldn’t—couldn’t—submit to the reality I was about to lay bare. Who would fight like hell to rewrite it. The man who’d chased me through lifetimes.

Being cleaved into twin, gaping wounds wasn’t new for us. But somehow, that made the words that much more bitter on my tongue.

Silver lined his eyes as he studied the tears welling in my own, and August’s expression crumpled in pain—as if he knew what I was going to say before I did. As if he were drawing in his last breath.

August Porter, the Great Commander, my mate in all incarnations, dove for me. His beautiful, calloused hands cupped my face, cradling me in his palms. His desperate lips found mine in a crushing collision, as though he could kiss hard enough to erase the reality before us.

As he poured all the unsaid things into that kiss, painting stars across my vision, I realized: there is no crueler fate than the star-crossed lover.

The love that’s doomed from the start.

I breathed my question against his lips, throat tight. “Do you remember Zeke?”

He nodded, silent. I whispered my story nearly as softly as the snow falling around us.

“Decades ago, I spent a summer in the Arizona desert with him, before he met Livvy. Poor bloke was trying to teach me earth magic—something about how it pertained to desert flowers.” August’s thumb stroked a barely-there pattern over my cheek, his nose brushing mine in a quiet rhythm. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“I am completely useless in a terrarium,” I murmured. “Turns out my skill set is more blunt force than delicate bloom.”

He said nothing, only whisked away an errant tear before it could fall.

“One night stands out most.”

“Not sure I like this story,” August breathed, aiming for humor despite the hollow ring behind his voice.

I chuckled anyway. His need to make me smile in the face of devastation was one of the most beautiful blessings of my life.

“Have you ever heard of the night-blooming cereus?”

When he shook his head, I swallowed down the emotion climbing my throat.

“They’re beautiful. Like a daffodil crossed with a magnolia.” My eyes drifted closed. I could almost feel the velvet of the petals on my fingertips—but I reached instead for the map of his forearms, tracing each proud tendon with reverence. “They bloom once a year, in June. The smell, August—God, I’ll never forget it. They open just after dusk, but wilt before midnight. By morning, they’re gone.”

He brushed the hair from my face with so much gentleness it could bring me to my knees. His eyes pleaded with me not to say it. Not to destroy the fragile bubble we’d built these past few weeks.