Page 3 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

I thought the Westerlunds were second.

He shrugged, but it was Brody who answered. The Westerlunds are an extension of us at this point. Family.

Still confident Grayshell bears the crown? I arched a brow, not that he turned to see it.

The location of our pillows doesn’t dictate the might of our forces, Brody thought mind-to-mind. The devil himself can’t rob us of that. Mano a mano, we’d steal the clothes off their backs.

But they’re still linked to The Middle, I pointed out.

Ajax bobbed his head as we caught up to Brody, just as he crested the divide between looming shadows and striking sunlight.

And it was Marcus and his brothers who came to our aid in that duel, I added. Not Reyna.

Marcus would sooner chew his own arm off than allow the hand at the end to betray a brother. This time, it was Alastair’s voice that rang in my head.

And Reyna?

Has too much damn pride to admit she played a part.

And I’m supposed to fix this? I skeptically protested before barking a harsh laugh.

If Alvara says you’re meant to be here, you’re meant to be here, Brody encouraged.

Nodding, I blinked into the blinding yellow, squinting as the white glare gave way to a sprawling, palatial estate—a colonial, white plantation erected over rolling green grass. But my eyes fell to the men standing on the front porch steps. Three of them, feet shoulder-width apart, hands braced behind their backs. Two visible firearms each, and a knife sheathed in leather hanging off each belt. Inevitably, more lay concealed beneath their crisp slacks and button-ups. Two guards roamed the back corner of the perimeter, and one sentinel stood at the back porch, barely visible before we closed too much distance to see him. Not outrageous numbers, but a decent line of defense for a supposedly peaceful estate.

Anyone who knew about the Bellaton-Paladin divide knew better than to believe the pretty little lie of this idyllic painting she’d crafted. Still, I softened my expression, going for that dumb, young, doe-eyed look that disarmed most men.

The loose-limbed brunette’s muscles were taut, shadowed eyes locking on us as we approached. The center one was the tallest, though not the broadest. His blond hair was brushed back into a meticulous, gelled wave, and even from the closing distance, I could tell his bright eyes stared back at me. The broad one to his left absently moved his hand to the blade at his side, and I battled the obtuse desire to do the same. Friends. We were here to make friends.

With that in mind, I tossed my hair and plastered the softest, most innocent smile onto my face before dropping my eyes when the center one returned it. Let them see me as the innocent little doe, and perhaps I’d get to Reyna that much sooner. Last go-around, she had been hard to gain a private audience with—though hopefully, the urgency of the timeline would change that.

The Greeks moved to flank me, allowing my spine to straighten as I took the lead at the center. I lifted my eyes to the blond, who descended the stairs in swaggering steps, gaze flicking between me and my escorts. His tan face was still a bit boyish, and he cracked a smile meant to be disarming.

“Welcome to Bellaton, Miss Porter.” His baritone voice was smooth, each word draped in that southern lilt as he stretched out his hand. I accepted in a rush. “The name’s Blaz. I’ll be making sure you and your companions are comfortable.” He gave my fingers a little squeeze before releasing them and motioning to the lanky one beside him. “This is Montague—Mont, G, it’s up to you. He answers to either.”

Montague grinned and nodded, adding, “For you, darlin’, I’ll answer to just about anything.”

I kinda liked the look of ‘G’ and took a moment to admire the high set of his cheekbones, dark eyes, and panty-melting smile set against rich mahogany skin. I giggled, flashing a grin that sent his full bottom lip rolling between his teeth before those deep eyes dropped to his feet.

Blaz was quick to rescue his easily flustered companion, gesturing to the brunette beside him. “This is Darius. He’s the head of security for the estate.”

“At your service, ma’am. I’m afraid I only answer to that, no matter how sweet the bestower of names is.”

I turned that practiced smile on the broad-shouldered one, softening my expression and biting my lip as if nervous—a feeling I hadn’t sincerely experienced in lifetimes. Darius had that polished air my brain immediately categorized as a Bellaton: coiffed dark brown hair, hazel eyes framed in thick lashes, sun-kissed skin that crinkled around his smile. Interesting. Likely the oldest of them. But not the alpha.

“Nice to meet you, gentlemen.”

“Pleasure is all ours, I assure you, Miss Porter,” Blaz said, bowing his head before motioning toward the double doors beyond the front porch. Damn, you could cut glass with that boy’s cheekbones, and there was something undeniably charming about the way his caramel eyes flashed when he smiled. Maybe this brief field trip would hold some fun after all.

Mirroring his expression, I skipped up the steps, regretting not listening to Aunt Fae and slipping into a dress just to let it sway as I ascended. The faster I had these men wrapped around my finger, the faster I could win over their Commander—Queen, whatever damn title she took—and be back beside my family.

Spinning on my heel, I traced the immense details of the looming columns and swaying porch swing, hoping to look fascinated by the history or architecture or whatever conceited feature I could plant in their pretty little heads. Meanwhile, I cataloged every visible escape route and vulnerability. The Queen of the South had four damn cameras on the front of the house alone.

Blaz reached a tan hand for Brody, his smile shifting to one of camaraderie as they exchanged that weird bro-mance handshake-embrace thing guys always did with old friends.

“Nice to see you, Brody.”

“You look good, kid. Nineteen suits you well.”