Page 212 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“I-mean, I’mma just ignore that you’re not counting me.” August tensed beside me as Freya slid off her bench, yanking a hoodie over her head that was at least three sizes too big. “Deadly Eight just doesn’t sound as cool.”

“Please stand,” I said, pleading with my eyes now. “We’ve fought together for centuries. August may be an answer to prayers we didn’t know to send up yet—but we’re still just Grayshell. Rise.”

They did, but instead of returning to breakfast, the crowd surged forward.

August’s eyes went wide as he instinctively tucked me behind him, jaw tightening as dozens of hands reached for him.

They’re excited, baby, I assured.

They’re touching me, he replied, mental voice tight as soul after soul laid hands on him—first his hands, then his shoulders, until there was no room to breathe. The rest placed hands on their nearest hierarchy-mates until the entire room was linked, heads bowed in reverent unity.

“Lord, we ask you to bless this young man with strength and wisdom. We thank you for sending us a leader worthy of…”

Tears welled in my eyes as August’s went round, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard, mouth parting as the voices rose in solemn prayer. I knew I should look—should take in the sight of our soul family praying over the man who held my very being in his hands—but I couldn’t.

When the souls let go, August remained frozen, speechless. His eyes found mine. One hand rose to his mouth as if trying to hold something in.

His shield cracked, light spilling through the seam where our walls touched. His voice slipped into my mind, thick with emotion.

I’m not who they think I am.

But you will be.

You sound so certain.

That should reassure you. These are your people now, August. They believe in you.

It’s me believing that’s the problem.

Only one way to start, I thought, shrugging.

Out of the pan and into the fire.

I chuckled softly and squeezed his hand. The qualified aren’t called, I reminded him. The called are then qualified.

“You alright there, rookie?” Alec asked cheerily, as if we hadn’t just witnessed something extraordinary. When August only nodded—still dazed—Alec stepped forward, arms out like a bouncer parting a crowd. Ansel mirrored him silently, that little curl on his lips unmistakable. It widened further when Freya wedged her tiny frame in beside him, joining the effort.

I couldn’t help wondering what the hell she was doing here—relief blooming when my vision answered a heartbeat later. Oh, this should be good.

“Alright, alright,” Alec said, ushering the crowd back with spread arms. “I know he’s positively spectacular to look at, but back it up, people.”

Laughter rippled through the group as they drifted back toward their seats.

“Let the man breathe.”

I gave August’s hand a final squeeze, and he nodded, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, dragging a hand through his hair. When he tried again, his voice was magically amplified, casting calm across the room. “I’m not sure what to say to that, other than an unequivocal thank you. I uh…I don’t feel worthy of the faith you just placed in me, but I swear on my immortal soul—I will do everything in my power to earn it.”

Freya

To nobody’s surprise but my own, Ally didn’t even blink before whipping her Scottish dirk out from between her boobs—without me even asking. Sometimes, having a psychic for a sister-in-law was convenient in my oh-so-humble opinion. Titty knife and all.

I weighed the blade in my hand, balancing it on my fingers beside Ajax in the cemetery as we waited for Cyrus the following evening. The knife dated back as far as any of us could remember—Saoirse far. And I needed something from my first life for one of the enchantments.

The golden prince’s face dropped the second he and Carrson materialized on the outskirts of the twisting wrought-iron fence, eyes landing on the giant beside me. “What happened to alone?”

“You get to use the buddy system, but I don’t?”