Page 48 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Now, carry on. You’ve got a long day ahead of you,” she added with a vindictive spark in her eyes before motioning toward my damn tutor.

Nobody rose to my defense.

Dammit, Brody.

“It’s some kind of drug, I think,” I said as Ansel and I tiptoed through the fresh crime scene that afternoon, studying what had been taken, what was broken, and what remained undisturbed. Ansel and Lana had helped Aren lead the first training session with the Hazelharborian witches today, but he’d still jumped over to help me find answers.

“Any indication of what nature?”

“None yet. Damien is digging through the hard drives up in Westerlund.” Damien, one of the three Westerlund brothers, was our best contact when it came to technology. The drives I’d stolen from Paladin labs were heavily encrypted, and I didn’t stand a chance in hell of breaking through them as quickly as he could. When Ally didn’t answer her phone, I figured he was my best bet for a quick resolution.

“He’ll fill you in soon.” Everything The Old General said sounded like a promise—like he spoke in vows rather than statements. It was oddly reassuring, and I understood how he’d been such a steadying presence for Aren and Alvara for centuries. “How are lessons?”

I snorted, frustration slumping my shoulders. “Reyna thinks that since my lives have been so fragmented, I need a full overview of Nephilim history.” When he shrugged a shoulder, I just gaped at him, both of us kneeling to study the movement of one of the dirt spills. “You can’t tell me the bitch is right.”

“Our enemies are likely ancient, judging by Agamemnon’s and Adrastos’ power on that field. Does it hurt to dig backward?”

“Why wouldn’t she just tell me if she has a suspicion?”

“Much like Aren, Reyna believes in equipping her souls to function fully without her. Should you find information in her absence or after her death, what good is her knowledge to you if you don’t have access to it in your own mind?”

“Damn you and your logic. She’s just so hateable. Like that pink bitch in Harry Potter.” My response made one corner of his mouth tip up as we both stood, moving to the next spot our thieves had targeted in the video. “It’s just so boring.”

“It can’t all be boring.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Freya,” he scolded, his disapproval wrapped neatly into two syllables, sharp enough to make me rethink my stance. Centuries apart, and he still had a wicked dad-voice. A tone he now used to challenge me. “Find something of value.”

I sighed, mentally thumbing through the archives she’d had Blaz force-feed me. “The wars are fascinating.”

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Yes, well. You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Thank you,” I chirped, grinning as I simultaneously wished she hadn’t been left behind to babysit our Commander and the hippies.

“Any of them particularly interesting?”

“The Ardensian war with Bellpost was insane. I never imagined something so volatile could even happen in The Middle.”

“Ahh,” he breathed, quirking his head at the shattered glass front of a now-empty fridge. “The fall of Rome’s pyros.”

“Did you know there’s no record of their royals? There was a picture, but it’s just assumed he was their Commander because the painting was hung in their castle in The Middle. But…their history was wiped from existence when they fell.” The flash of golden skin and pale blue eyes had me furrowing my brow. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Before my timeline, I’m afraid. Ardensia was supposedly beautiful. But they’re just folktales at this point. You could ask Aren.”

“Eh,” I shrugged. “He’s got enough legitimate things on his plate. No need to add Reyna’s homeschooling.”

“Fair,” he said, smirking. “Do you see…?”

When Ansel’s voice trailed off, I narrowed my eyes on the fading footprints across the floor before closing them, replaying the video in my mind. Their focus had been on the plants behind us, only briefly considering those on the opposite side. “Yeah,” I breathed as we rounded opposite ends of the row, converging on a plant with only a few missing leaves. “Well. That’s intriguing.”

“Hmm,” he agreed, studying me more than the plants.

“Think your witches could help us out?”

“They’ve barely agreed to tolerate us, but I can ask.”

“Thanks...” I swallowed hard as those silver eyes lanced through me, pinning me to my spot on the floor. “What should I call you? The Old General makes me think of some elbow-patched, stogie-smoking jarhead, so that doesn’t work. I mean, there’s Papa,” I suggested sardonically. His deadpan didn’t let me down. “We could go with Poppi? Or Father? Too old and formal?”