Page 233 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Maybe later if you’re a good girl.”

“Ew,” she muttered, but her grip tightened around my neck. I took that as the only consent I could count on. We shifted into a jog. She tensed, but didn’t complain. I wanted to sprint—put miles between us and whatever that was—but she was already halfway to unconscious.

“Historians always get it wrong,” I muttered, mostly to keep her awake. A distant gray light came into view. This space looked…bigger. Brighter. Another chamber?

“What?” she mumbled into my shoulder, her voice shredded with agony. It lit something violent in my chest. I wanted to burn this whole place down for her. Fuck history.

“They say you’re notoriously light on your feet, not dead weight.”

A breathless chuckle, and equally reedy response: “Remind me…to stab you later.”

“Deal. Just stay awake.”

“You stay awake,” she whispered.

The screams behind us crept closer. I grimaced and shifted my hold.

“Sorry about this,” I muttered, and before she could protest, I tossed her over my shoulder and broke into a dead sprint. Her stifled cry hit me square in the gut, but pain meant alive. That was the only metric that mattered.

Every step was torture. Like her torment was bleeding into me—like I could steal the damage if I just held her tight enough.

The magic here was fucked.

Fuck Koa. He could go to hell. Whoever built this labyrinth of torture could follow. Fuck Freya for stashing her secrets in a goddamned crypt. Fuck the demons guarding them. And fuck whatever vision of me had broken her so badly she lost her grip on reality.

If I made it out, I was demanding answers.

Just ahead, a ripple of power flickered over my skin—too familiar.

Wards.

Thank. Fucking. God.

Magic surged in my veins. Shadows peeled out like unleashed beasts, racing down tunnels ahead and behind us.

We burst into a vast chamber carved entirely of obsidian stone. I ducked us out of the archway’s line of sight and slowly bent to lay her down. This was not Rhiannon’s tomb—this one gleamed with gold instead of vines. Carvings sprawled across every inch of black marble, shimmering like starlight in the dim rays filtering through a cracked dome.

The shadows whispered—beasts diverted, took a wrong turn. Relief rippled down my spine.

My eyes swept over the inscription carved into the wall:

“Equites nati ex duobus regibus umbrarum quattuor. Quando virtus manifestat, magicae mors promissio in venas eorum cantabo. Quattuor animae regnabunt super omnes.”

A prophecy. The prophecy?

I fumbled for my phone and snapped a photo.

Then turned back to the girl who’d saved my ass—again. I cupped her face, coaxing her half-lidded gaze to meet mine.

“Almost there?”

She nodded faintly, lips curving into the ghost of a smile. Just then, a wave of magic rolled over us—Carrson. Were we past the hour mark?

Where are you?! His voice boomed in my mind.

Third circle of hell, but alive.

Something ain’t right, man.