Page 401 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

The shadows flitted in and out of the world between us all—popping into reality long enough to drive in a blade, then vanishing before the beasts could retaliate.

Wicked. The thought went wayside as I climbed toward the park, a soft tug pulling me toward the treeline. The line of bodies in my wake did little to lift my wounded ego, but the look on Magnolia’s face as she burst through the bushes did plenty.

Shock skittered across her expression as she looked from me to the corpses scattered behind me.

“Hey,” I said softly, opening my arms just as she hurled herself into them.

“August. Oh gods, August,” the little healer sobbed, burying her face against my chest, the warmth of her tears mixing with the chilled blood on my clothes.

I pushed her back to look her over, noting how much more blood coated her hands. I blew out a breath. “Is he…?”

“I don’t think so. I ran when I could.” Because of course that would’ve been too easy.

“Good. Get to Aren.”

Magnolia nodded, stepping over a body toward the brawl—then staggered.

“Aren’s allies came through.”

I nodded, stepping up beside her, taking in the reinforcements just as the light seemed to shift. Nathara, Rika, and Kenna appeared on the border of the trees, with a massive huddle of witches in their wake. All of their eyes flicked to Mags just as a sob tore from her chest.

“Girls,” Magnolia called, her voice morphing into a doctor’s calm, collected tone. “I’m going to need those of you who jump to bring Nat the injured.”

She swallowed her grief, assessing the chaos. Her bright eyes found mine, jaw set as she gave me a final nod.

“Stay safe, little witch,” I said, offering a soft smile.

She nodded, then buried herself against Nathara. And then the healers turned to the carnage—heads held high, hands already glowing with blinding white.

Alvara

Never in all my lives had I seen Aren fight like this. He had always been formidable—a force few would dare challenge—but this...this was different. There was no restraint. Only raw, righteous fury, rippling off him with every strike, every lunge, every howl of anguish he didn't voice aloud.

It took only moments of watching him tear through demons to realize: he wasn’t himself.

The weight of betrayal. The agony of losing Ansel. It had undone him.

Again and again, he threw himself into the onslaught, and still his fury grew—compounding, mutating. Each snapped neck, each severed spine, only deepened the fire behind his eyes. And with every decapitation, he roared louder. Angrier.

He’d paused only once—when the allies arrived. A flicker of recognition. A flash of pride. But it passed like breath on glass, and then he was whirling on a tormentor and rending it apart with his bare, glowing hands.

Ansel had been his oldest and most loyal friend. The only one of us who had never disappointed him. His brother. His anchor. His heart.

But even that grief didn’t encompass the storm inside him. No—the storm was wider. Darker. His gaze had already drifted to the beautiful healer throwing herself into the devastation as though she’d been born to it.

Over and over, she plunged into the chaos, pulling limp bodies from the wreckage and jumping them to safety, always away from the epicenter. Her magic flared white, bright and ruthless. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch. Even among countless casualties, her mind worked with trauma-trained precision—identifying wounds that could be saved and triaging the rest.

She gave preference to the humans. Just like Aren would’ve told her to. My heart both sank and soared. And I sent up a silent prayer—for them. For their bond. For it to hold fast through this hell.

But as Aren crashed into a wall of walkers, oblivious to the claws raking through his shirt and skin, blades flashing in rhythm with his rage, I feared we might not get the chance. I had seen glimpses of it in the threads—that tether between them—but I hadn’t let myself believe.

Aren was Aren. Infallible. The hinge upon which all fate turned.

If we lost him now, we would fail. Long before August could rise.

And yet…even the visions had begun to blur in the wake of his fury, as though the fates themselves hesitated to look him in the eye.

The skeletal, horned bodies began to collapse at our feet, and slowly—just barely—the sound began to change. The screams of humans grew muffled by distance. The demons had abandoned their hunt of the mortals the moment the hierarchies arrived, drawn to us instead.