Page 156 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Not me.

Not August.

Us. Together.

To keep myself from breaking down entirely, I cleared my throat. “Did you look at the wine menu?”

Only to see two glasses already on the table.

“Oh. Oh, August,” I lamented, jamming my eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”

He lifted his glass with a forgiving smile. “It’s a Barbera. Server said it pairs with the dish.” He took a sip, then added more softly, “Listen, baby, I fully intend to plan your meals and spoon-feed you for the next four weeks if that’s what it takes to keep that brilliant mind of yours working. But…” He swirled the wine and stared into it for a beat. “I know it’s selfish, but I just want one last night to remember. One more night to memorize your smile. To feel your body in my hands when we dance. To drink your laughter like the finest French wine. To see that little happy dance you do when you eat.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks.

August set the glass down and reached across the table to take both my hands.

“And you’re right. It doesn’t matter. No matter how many times these demons beat us into the after, hell itself couldn’t keep me from crawling out of the grave to find you. I will always find you, Ally. In every life. In every form. And if that makes me a selfish bastard for wanting to memorize this one while I still can, so be it.”

Heart in my throat, cheeks burning, I nodded as tears streamed down my face.

“I love you,” I whispered. “It sounds so simple after all that”—I motioned at him with a teary laugh—“but I love you, August Porter, and I don’t think I’ll ever get to say it enough.”

We both leaned across the table at the same time. His hands cradled my face, lips brushing mine before our foreheads touched.

I wanted to stay there forever. Wrapped in August. Soaking in his breath, his cologne, his warmth.

Naturally, the devil himself rose to make sure that couldn’t happen.

That swaggering, lilting bass cut through the air, rolling over my nerves and bringing us both to our feet in a heartbeat. “As deeply as I loathe interrupting such a tender moment, I do believe you summoned me, Princess.” Adrastos turned those brooding brown eyes on me, a smarmy grin spreading across his face. “Hello…sister.”

Freya

Five years ago…

I must have screamed for help half a dozen times as I traced his ribs and positioned my hands for compressions, just like my brothers taught me. On the fourth heave of my bodyweight into his chest, Crew puked up a mouthful of water, eyes flying wide as he turned onto his side and heaved.

“Oh, thank fuck. Holy shit. What the fuck, Crew? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” The string of profanity poured out faster than the water coming out of his lungs. The footsteps were closer now—so much closer—but still, I yelled for them.

When Crew finally collapsed onto his back, smacking his head into the sand and writhing as he gasped for air, I leaned forward. I wiped blood from the side of his face, dabbing the stream from his nose with my soaked sleeve before pressing my hand to the gash on his forehead. It needed stitches—split clean through his brow and slicing into his cheekbone.

The contact earned a gruff wince, but he didn’t pull away. His breathing was rough, uneven, but the relief rushing through me was pure and blinding. He looked like hell. But he was alive. And some vindictive little monster inside me screamed that it made no sense to care—and yet I’d never known a relief like this.

A mess. But alive.

His wide hazel eyes wandered to my face, the effort to focus clearly costing him. Chest rising and falling hard, his brow furrowed in frustration as he forced out one hoarse word:

“Why?”

I didn’t get the chance to answer. Flashlights blinded me, shouts filled the night, and counselors rushed in. I scrambled back, falling onto the ground and tucking my knees against my chest.

One of the camp counselors knelt beside me, moving toward my face with an alcohol wipe.

Crap. Maybe she’d said something—I couldn’t hear past the blood pounding in my ears. When I brought my fingers to my cheekbone, they came away red. I blinked, dazed, just before the sting of the wipe set fire to my skin.

Someone settled a blanket around my shoulders. Someone brought warm tea.

But as supplies arrived, and questions were answered—it was me Crew kept looking back to.