Page 256 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“But first,” he said, nodding toward my chest, “you have to burn some of that off. Or you can try to funnel it back—if you don’t think you’ll hurt them.”

“I’ve never had this gift before,” I admitted. “I feel like I should call Aren or something.”

“I figured. I’ve been reading up on siphons the last few days while you slept. Whatever we’re doing, we need to hurry. Magic hates being bottled up—it’ll force its way out when you least expect it.”

“We?”

“I think the last few days have made we pretty essential. Don’t you?”

“I got the Cali and Carrson Reader’s Digest version. Care to fill me in?”

“Only if you eat something while I do.”

“God, yes,” I breathed.

Cyrus nodded, watching me—either scanning for fissures in my control or taking in the changes. Maybe both. I had to look like hell. I silently vowed to find the nearest bathroom and reclaim my dignity.

“I think I downed three days’ worth of food in one sitting when I ascended. And mine didn’t even take as long as yours.”

“Is it a race?” I shot back, earning a twitch of his lips.

“There she is. I was wondering how long it would take for the pain-in-the-ass to resurface.”

“First—rude. Second—I could eat.”

“I’ll get you something. Then we’ll talk. After that, we’ve gotta siphon some of that energy out—or you’re not gonna like the results.” When I nodded, he did the same. “Bathroom’s through the black door by the bookshelf. Towels are in the first cabinet on the left.”

“Are you saying I stink?”

“What would you say if I was?”

Wrinkling my nose, I muttered, “Sounds about right.”

“Would it kill you to say thank you?”

“Probably.”

“Go. Clock’s ticking.”

I nodded and scurried away like a damn mouse—then froze, grimacing at the sight of his souls crumpled on the floor.

“I should…”

“I’ve got ’em,” he said. “Go, Freya. You’re in for a bitch of a wake-up call. Take a minute.”

About an hour later—showered, dressed in clean clothes they’d left out for me, and nauseatingly full after shoveling down everything Cyrus put in front of me—I sat dumbstruck on his luxurious sofa while he watched me from the seat across the room. Sometimes he studied me. Other times, he just stared out at the Paladin grounds like the weight of the world was still on his shoulders.

For someone so devoted to avoiding the emotions of life…I was drowning in mine.

Denial had led the charge, right up until he described what he felt in the cemetery—how viscerally my pain had echoed through him. And some part of me, deep in the soul that had once died under his mother’s blade, believed him.

Every time I opened my mouth, confusion yanked my tongue back down. Cyrus, having said all he needed, seemed content to sit in the thick, suffocating blanket of what the actual fuck.

The Prince and his coven had ensured my autonomy when I couldn’t. They’d defended me. He’d strategized with a truth-sayer. Fought his own cousin in trial by combat to defend both my honor and his own. But he’d also forged documents naming Calypso as my Crucible sponsor—something I hadn’t even thought about since assuming Reagan’s endorsement still stood.

This was…better.