Page 211 of Commanding Blood And Bonds
“Most show up in the acceptable threads, if that counts for anything. I have faith they’re okay.”
“And in the less favorable ones?”
“We don’t restore communication in time.”
“Aren has to find our way back into Grayshell.”
“I know,” I said, my feet finding the warm floor. Twisting, I popped my spine in at least three places before repeating the motion on the other side. Without another word, we dressed and made our way back to the bustling Westerlund grand hall, hugging familiar souls and shaking hands along the way.
When at last we reached the hall, we were greeted by an entourage of expectant Grayshellians and Westerlund souls alike. Boisterous laughter and the murmur of voices danced with the clatter of silverware on porcelain.
Or…at least it did until they noticed us.
The expansive wood tables fell silent as eyes turned our way, August’s hand finding mine as reverent voices whispered in chorus.
“The Great Commander.”
“That’s him.”
“August Porter—that’s what Marcus called him.”
“Mated to the Angel of Death. Can you imagine the power ranking for their children?”
Benches scraped against the stone floor as the room seemed to rise in unison. My eyes went wide as, one by one, the souls knelt.
August’s grip tightened on mine. I gave what I hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
The only time I’d witnessed mass kneeling like this was beside Aren, and even then, it hadn’t been this…overwhelming. My throat tightened, heart racing as I tried to parse the flood of thoughts pouring in. Most were filled with gratitude. Others…less so.
Marcus was right. They’re really going to stand with us.
The Angel of Death!
He doesn’t look like much.
Oh good. The bringers of war.
We will rise together.
It will be an honor to fight beside souls so bright.
He’s just a newborn.
He’ll only be a puppet for the Deadly Six. For the Commanders.
“Seven,” I corrected stonily, eyes locking on the cynic in the back—the only one who’d remained seated, his chin dipped, brows drawn in wary assessment.
The room froze. Several faces drained of color.
A familiar voice slipped past the din, weaving smoothly between the mental bonds like it’d sidestepped them entirely. Nice opening, sis. Gotta scare the shit outta them right out the gate, don’t you?
Good morning, Alec.
Smiling faintly, I snapped my shields into place before the crowd’s collective curiosity could flatten me.
“We are now the Deadly Seven. August ascended as my calling. Therefore, he is as much one of us as any of the rest. We fight as a coven.”
As if on cue, Alec, Fae, and Ansel stepped forward from the crowd. A familiar voice piped up from my right, still chewing through a bite of breakfast.
