Page 236 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“We can’t both shut up and fill you in—it’s an oxymoron,” Cyrus explained dryly.

“Thanks for the vocabulary lesson. What happened? Why are you both beat to shit and covered in demon filth?”

“Long story,” I said between breaths.

“Long staircase,” Carrson countered.

“Touché, Landry,” I replied, feeling one bird shy of the nest. Was that the saying? My marbles were somewhere back on that third floor.

“The first two layers went fine,” Cyrus began as we moved single-file down the cliff face.

“The third is where it got tricky,” I explained.

“You gonna tell me why the fuck you screamed my name?”

“Not like that,” I muttered to Ajax, who snorted and shook his head.

“Wait. What?” Carrson asked, glancing back at me before wisely focusing on not dying during our descent.

“You died,” I said flatly.

“What?!” Cyrus blurted, instantly sobered.

“Yeah. There was a Renown in a demon mask and a couple crawlers. You turned to face him, and he threw a blade. Hit you square in the heart. You dropped, and I dove to stop you from pulling it out. You said you were scared, and that’s when I broke the rules and engaged with a specter.”

The unspoken reality came down between us like a curtain call at the end of the night.

I’d broken protocol because I thought he was dying.

Not even I could rationalize that one.

The Magic Bond didn’t compel us to sacrifice everything—it demanded we protect each other to the best of our ability, not at all costs.

Step by step, the pregnant silence deepened until our boots crunched against gravel. Back on the beach, I faced the uncomfortable reality that as soon as we jumped back, this alliance was over. We’d survived. That was it. We’d done what we came to do.

So why was my stomach twisting when victory should be swelling in my chest?

We grabbed hands, and Ajax took us home.

When our boots hit the damp cemetery grass, we released each other. I met hazel eyes that were suddenly too distant. Burdened. Forcing a smile, I dipped my chin. “Midnight tomorrow for the coordinates?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice flat—somehow hollow.

A prick of unease went up my spine, but before I could turn, he grabbed my wrist. My gaze snapped to the contact, then up to his face.

Cyrus wet his lips and unshouldered my pack, catching it as it slid forward before holding it out to me.

I shook my head. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“Not until the coordinates check out. Bring it back when you return with the diadem.”

“What?” My voice jumped an entire fucking octave.

“The deal was, I get the crown when I help you get the diadem. Keep it as collateral. I know you’ve got it now.”

I was frozen. In a huff, he raised my hand and shoved the pack into it while I just stared at him.

“Cyrus—”