Page 116 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“You’re in your fear, August. That’s the death of all power. Settle yourself and call to her—not mind-to-mind. Let your magic talk.”

“Trying,” I growled.

When another long beat passed and still no progress, Kingsley huffed.

“Look. Can you picture her in the throes of passion?”

My eyes snapped open, lip curling back with a growl I barely kept in check.

He raised his free hand, unbothered.

Fuck, I felt like a lunatic.

“Connect with her there. The way your magic and hers intertwine when you're intimate? That’s the same current you tap into now.”

I held his stare, heart pounding.

He chuckled, setting the bowl down in the snow by her feet and backing away with both hands raised. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t touch her—you jostle her out of that trance, and we’re screwed.”

Jaw set, I turned back to Ally and studied her face.

I thought of her lips beneath mine, the way her body melted in my hands, the breathless moans I pulled from her. I thought of her laughter. Her head thrown back in my Jeep, the sun lighting her face. Her smile, soft and full, as she ran her fingers over Estelle’s antiques.

I closed my eyes and reached into the space we shared in the depths of midnight. Relief slithered through me the moment I felt it—an ember flickering in the dark.

Christ. Relief was a sweet fucking thing.

Slowly, I opened the wall between us. Elation poured through me as my magic rushed into her.

Her lungs expanded in a sudden gasp, like she’d just broken the surface of a deep, black ocean.

There.

Just like that, our energy flowed freely.

And I watched in real time as her color came back, her breaths deepened, her shoulders eased.

She siphoned only the top layer of my magic—just enough to refill her well.

Holy shit.

TWENTY-FOUR

THIRTEEN?

FREYA

My gentle triple tap on Reyna’s study door sounded deafening in the now-empty hallway, nerves dancing in my belly as she cleared her throat inside.

“Reyna?” I called softly, hand settling on one of the blades at my hip, ears straining. Wetting my lips and pushing down the sting of hierarchy differences, I raised my voice as I knocked again. “Your Majesty?”

Something like a gasp slipped through the door. Goosebumps raced up my neck.

Oh man. This could go so, so badly.

Knowing that—and unwilling to risk her being in some kind of jeopardy—I drew a blade just before silently pushing the door open and slipping through the smallest gap I could manage.

One Bellaton queen. One open window. Two rippling curtains. Desk. Chair. Armchairs. Bookshelves. An empty wall behind the door I’d just moved through.