Page 17 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

I anchored myself in centuries of training, willing it to counteract the reckless youth of this damn vessel and the adrenaline of a lingering forced ascension. Inhaling deeply, I honed in on Brody’s thoughts. Once I knew he’d leave that connection open, I turned and stalked back to my damn rooms.

Watching the meeting through Brody’s eyes, I muttered curses, begrudgingly stripping down to wash the sweat of the morning off my skin. The updates consisted of two planned strikes on human targets, along with a status report on the Paladins as they worked to recover from those unfortunate fires.

Pity.

Reyna was taking full advantage of their distraction, reclaiming a warehouse they’d seized, as well as the disputed territory border still at odds between the twin twats.

Not a damn word was said about Adrastos. Or about the fact that all major hierarchies were seeing unprecedented attacks on healers. Or about the war bearing down on us.

Ask her about her response to the threats on humanity, I told Brody.

But something tugged at my attention, like two magnets pulling too close in proximity.

I was still surveying my room, warily eyeing the windows, when Brody said, Easy, kid.

I have more than a millennium of experience in this dimension, you douche nozzle. Ask the damn question.

His snort of amusement caught Reyna’s attention.

Using our connection this way was odd—the updates came more as thoughts than images. It wasn’t like Alvara’s ability to see what we saw. Blurry outlines at best. Just words or intentions at worst.

The idiot feigned a cough to cover his slip-up, then cleared his throat and asked my question.

It seemed Bellaton was considering alliances with a handful of sovereign hierarchies, including a few nomadic clans. Grayshell wasn’t the only one that had stayed away from The Six when their council formed. And with good reason.

My focus on the meeting below cut off as that magnetic pull had me whirling toward the balcony—just in time to see black leather gloves clasp onto the rail.

Smirking, I sauntered over as Ansel and Lana Callahan scaled the terrace, their boots landing so softly they were barely audible.

For a man who had stood behind the world’s deadliest Commander, he sure had soft eyes for his shithead soul daughter.

Grinning, I stepped into his immediately open arms.

“Hey, babygirl,” he murmured, resting his face against my hair as he crushed me in his embrace.

Hah. That was oddly endearing modern vernacular for The Old General. Not that I was complaining.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” I mumbled into his strong chest. His strong, miraculous chest.

How cruel to nearly lose him the day I finally ascended as his calling.

“Us either,” he breathed as Lana set a gentle hand on my hair.

Stupid, to have tears prick in my eyes after centuries cleaved apart, but I couldn’t help it.

Perhaps it was the freshly eighteen-year-old body.

Perhaps it was the agony of never knowing if we’d find each other again.

Or maybe it was just the connection between soul daughter and mother.

Whatever the reason, I had to steel myself to keep from weeping like some hormonal mortal.

“But Marcus has always been efficient,” Ansel finished.

“We can’t stay long,” Lana amended. “Ally needs us heading west.”

“Just had to see you before things escalate,” Ansel explained, as though he needed a reason to drop by unannounced.