Page 144 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“What are you doing?”

“Fighting, dammit. Who’s running now?”

“Don’t be cute.”

“I’m not. You want a fight, August? Here I am. Away from prying ears. If you want to go nuclear on a nest of Mortiferous Nóchtaithe, we can do that. Later. After we’re on the same damn page.”

I barely held myself together. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to leave you either, dammit.”

“Then don’t.”

“I’m not sure we’ll have a choice. But tell me—honestly—who would you kill, August?”

I recoiled at the question. “That’s not the same.”

“But it is. Isn’t it?” Her voice was so calm, it hurt. “That’s your solution—let someone else die. So who do we trade for our lives? Alec, just as he’s about to become a father?”

“Stop.” I staggered back, as if distance could protect me from the image of Fae in mourning black, clutching their baby.

“Ansel? Finally reunited with his daughter. Aren? He just found his mate after millennia of solitude.” She stepped closer. “Who goes?”

“I won’t choose for them. But you shouldn’t either.”

“Freya?” she pressed, driving the knife deeper. My pulse spiked.

“No—”

“It would take more of them to pay the same price. And even then, I don’t know if all of them together could pull it off.”

“Then give them the choice.” My voice cracked. “Just…give them the choice.”

“No.” She stepped close, pressing a hand to my chest plate, over my heart. I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, holding her there. My other hand cupped her cheek, sliding along her jaw.

“This is my burden. Don’t you see? That’s why I have this gift. Why no one else does.”

With a ragged breath, I slid my hand up to the back of her neck and lowered my forehead to hers. Her scent, her fingers drumming against my armor, steadied me.

She slowed her rhythm like she could sync my pulse to hers.

Then she tilted her head, our lips a breath apart, like she was asking permission. As if the weight of our future fractured the right to simply take what we wanted.

That broke me. So, I took the kiss.

I scraped my fingers through her hair and pulled her in, claiming her mouth like it could anchor us to this reality.

When she pulled back, her voice was a whisper. “Fuck the odds, August.”

“We’ve faced worse,” I rasped, grazing my lips across hers. Her eyes lit as the warmth of her surged into me. “We make our fate. Promise me.”

She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to mine more firmly. My resolve faltered. Because if she was right—if our days were numbered—then this was what mattered most.

Gravel in my voice, I swore, “We’ll make it count,” and backed her toward the lake house.

The second the door clicked shut behind us, Ally’s hands were already undoing the clasps on my armor, her gaze burning into mine. Our mouths collided with frantic need—hungry, urgent, desperate—as her fingers wrenched off my scabbard and sent it clattering to the floor.

We were in this together, no matter how cruel the ending. And we’d cherish every second in the meantime.