Page 1 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

PART 1

THE BISHOP’S PATH

ONE

PANDORA’S BOX

FREYA

Eight weeks before the portals opened...

That bitch slit my throat.

That thought alone kept me compliant with Ally’s grand plan—one that would rip me from my family just as we’d finally found our way back to each other after centuries apart. Lana. Ansel. Even Aunt Fae. A soul-uncle I’d never known in any role beyond one of Aren’s callings. And, for some Godforsaken reason, Ally believed I’d be beneficial to the cause. But I wasn’t any happier about being stationed thousands of miles away than my soul mother was. She’d made her displeasure about being sent to “babysit the hippies” more than obvious.

Still, guilt twisted in my stomach as Aren lowered his voice, his gaze following suit. “Freya.”

The man was anything but subtle as he cleared his throat, his protective glower somehow muting the crash of waves beyond the Florida estate. Even Brody and his brothers’ chatter faded beneath the glare of the sun.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and instead batted my lashes, pasting on a doe-eyed smile.

“What?” I said innocently, swaying on my feet with false bravado.

Unless last week’s battle had given him a severe concussion, Aren knew me too well to fall for that bullshit. Knew that this was personal. Every millisecond I’d spent clawing my way back here had been fucking personal.

“Leave it be.”

My lips curled into a mischievous grin. I winked up at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Right. Reagan had been my friend—or at least had fooled me into thinking she was—right up until the moment the skill set she’d most admired in me revealed a truth she wasn’t willing to be held accountable for. And like hell was I going to let her slink away, believing her sins were forgotten.

Sure, telling Aren and Ansel I couldn’t remember who had sent my body careening into that swampy-ass river had been a questionable decision. But not nearly as contentious as what I had planned for the next few weeks. Nothing tasted as exquisite as retribution, and I was already salivating at the thought of her face when I ripped her hierarchy from her blood-soaked talons.

Aren’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t go digging up old history. You deserve answers—hell, we all do—but now’s not the time to open Pandora’s box. Stay focused on the mission. We survive this war, and then you get your chance to unleash hell. Understand?”

Understand? No. I didn’t understand. When was the last time he had gone to question a friend only to end up with a blade through his jugular before being kicked off a muddy riverbank, King Leonidas style? I still wasn’t sure if I had drowned in my own blood or the murky water first.

I fought the urge to touch my throat, where that slender silver birthmark had always piqued my curiosity growing up with the Porters.

My official mission had nothing to do with my personal side quest, and I’d make damn sure one didn’t impact the other—beyond what was absolutely inevitable, anyway. The Paladins were everywhere in the South. Conflict was unavoidable. But come hell and high water, I would return with Reyna as our ally and Reagan face-down in a goddamn swamp, and a big-ass army for this man to wield.

One trip. Three problems solved.

I flashed Aren a bright smile, swaying side to side as though mulling it over. “I’ll do my best.”

“Freya.”

Smirking, I reached up and patted his muscular arm. Had his biceps gotten bigger since last time? Jesus.

“Easy, old man, you’ll burst a blood vessel.”

He barked a laugh, then spun me around and kicked me in the ass. When I parried, he grinned back at me with the same level of defiance I felt. There. That was close enough to permission, right?

“I mean it, Porter. Stick to the plan. I’ll personally help you get closure when this is over.”

“Fine,” I huffed, rolling my eyes like a petulant teenager before flashing him a wink and striding across the perfect lawn to my new babysitters.

He would help me get closure. Already had by sending me back to where this all started.