Page 360 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

But I saw that dagger leave her side—the black fabric darkening with blood. Saw it stain the grass. And for the first time in my life, I prayed to a God I didn’t believe in that she wasn’t already gone.

It was impossible to breathe as she struggled to stay upright, struggled to back away or parry.

I fucking need you, Freya Porter. Now, fight.

It wasn’t a word so much as a tug—one desperate pull on the line between us. Like she yanked the cord to say she heard me…but couldn’t respond.

She blocked two blows and landed a strike to the queen's face, but her next attempt was caught. The queen yanked her arm up. Before she could disarm her, Freya dropped the blade, caught it with her free hand, and twisted—aiming for her throat.

Reagan had to release her to dodge the blow.

When they came face to face, Mother lunged, fisting Freya’s hair and jerking her head up. But before she could strike, Freya grabbed her arm and dropped her weight, shoving a boot against her sternum and throwing her over her body.

Both women screamed a beat before colliding with the earth. Freya was quicker to her feet, but Mother wasn’t injured—and now she was moving faster.

And Freya was still bleeding.

How long before shock set in?

I’d watched my mother fight my entire fucking life. What was her next strategy? Could Freya still survive?

Your heart, chérie. She’s coming for your heart.

I didn’t know if she heard me or just sensed the blow, but she lifted a gloved hand and caught the blade an inch from her chest.

Fuck. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t watch. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe.

Whether it was Jo’s handiwork or pure adrenaline, my own pain had faded—but it still felt like dying.

Leather creaked. Her glove split. Blood slipped from her grip, but she didn’t let go, her whole body shaking as Mother forced the dagger down.

Face inches from my mate, Reagan taunted, “The only place a male has on the Paladin throne is as a consort.”

Freya trembled. The blade slid forward. A fractured moan tore through her lips as she growled, voice a snarl of pain and steel, “As my mate…Cyrus will be mine.”

In one swift movement, she yanked the dagger forward, dropped her shoulder back, and slammed her blade up between the queen’s ribs.

Freya

Well fought, Val.

Reagan’s last thought—and I could hear it. Tears burned my eyes. No healer could fix that wound—clean through the fifth intercostal space, just to the left of the sternum. Just like Ally.

I hadn’t realized how many of my favorite combinations came from Reagan until she was the one on the other side of my blade.

But she wasn’t the only master who trained me. And I’d watched the best warrior on the planet use that same strike to fell a bigger threat.

Reagan's blade thudded into the grass. Her hands clung to my arms as her knees buckled. We collapsed together. Something shifted in her eyes—just before they closed.

It almost…almost looked apologetic.

I bowed my head, chest heaving. Magic crashed into me like a tidal wave.

I killed Reagan Stuart.

Five minutes, and Paladin was—theoretically—mine. His.

Each breath came with a pained grunt, but I forced my eyes up. The crowd was silent. Stunned. Brody and Jax nodded their approval as I staggered upright. A blaze of pain lit my arm on fire. My jaw dropped with the breath it stole—only for the pain to vanish as quickly as it came.