Page 59 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Thank you.” Relief thudded through my chest—not surprise, but that quiet release that came from progress, from checking off one more crucial task before the wheels fell off completely.

“I apologize. I’m being rude.” I gestured between them. “Kingsley, this is⁠—”

“August Porter. The prophesied King Calloway himself,” Kingsley said dryly, not looking at August’s outstretched hand. “Even the game in these woods knows his name by now, Alvara.”

“August,” I said with a soft smile, “this is Kingsley. Our…elusive cousin of the North.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kingsley. Alvara and Aren speak highly of your abilities.”

“And of their need for them, I’m sure,” he replied coolly, eyeing August’s hand like it might carry disease.

“They didn’t mention you were a jackass,” August said at last, withdrawing his hand, no longer hoping for a formal introduction.

I blinked. Blunt wasn’t usually his default. When I glanced over, his face was unreadable, but Kingsley’s lips twitched, clearly amused. The tension broke with a chuckle, and a reluctant grin crept across his lightly freckled cheeks. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, still creased with perpetual concern, but the air shifted.

And then I felt her.

I turned toward the hallway, a broad smile breaking free. Her power reached me before her presence did—a quiet, steady beacon that pulled warmth from my ribs.

Rosaleigh emerged from the gloom, every step deliberate, graceful. Her cropped brunette pixie cut framed her delicate face, and her ears glittered with gold and diamond stars that climbed the curves. A slender gold moon pendant rested against the creamy gray of her sweater. Purple liner rimmed her soft brown eyes, silver shimmer dusting her lids. The shifter moved like a memory—familiar, regal, grounded. She stared up at me through a fan of lashes, lips twitching.

And then we collided.

Arms around each other, laughter spilled into the hallway as we rocked from one foot to the other like schoolgirls reunited after summer break. When we pulled apart, both men were watching—August amused, while Kingsley appeared to be tolerantly exasperated.

“August,” I said, breathless. “This is Rosaleigh. Rosaleigh, this is⁠—”

“Your mate!” she shrieked, hands flying to cover her mouth—though they did very little to muffle her excitement. I couldn’t help but beam back at her. “Fuck,” she squeaked. “Took you long enough, for pity’s sake!” She flung her arms around August’s neck, hugging him tight.

He laughed, eyes flicking to me as he gingerly returned the gesture.

Kingsley grumbled something behind us, and I glanced back just in time to catch him rolling his eyes as Rosaleigh bounced away and wiped her cheeks with her sleeves.

Still grinning, I looped an arm around August’s waist. He mirrored the motion instinctively, pulling me flush against him. His warmth, his breath on my temple—it settled me instantly.

“Rosaleigh, really?” Kingsley teased.

She slugged his shoulder without missing a beat, though tears were still streaking her face.

“She waited so damn long,” she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t imagine…I’m just so grateful you found each other again.”

Her sincerity hit me like a wave. My throat tightened, my eyes stinging. That old ache—grief and hope tangled in a knot—rippled through me. I turned toward August, letting my gaze trace him. The angle of his jaw, the small kink in his nose, the soft curve of his lips.

He smiled and pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my hair.

Weeks had passed since our reunion, and still—still—it struck me like a blow. Crushing and exquisite. Whether it was his emotions or mine overflowing, I couldn’t say. But he held me tighter, hand fisting gently at my shoulder.

Rosaleigh sniffled, then turned flirtatious as she raised her brows at August. “A man who makes pot roast for company?”

I giggled as he gave her a rueful smile. “Only what my lady requests, ma’am.”

“We’ve always shared our favorites,” she said with a wink, earning a groan from Kingsley and a blush from August.

With a flourish of ring-bedecked fingers, she waved us toward the kitchen. “Come on. Kingsley brewed coffee. I’ve got Bailey’s in the cupboard. Now tell me what kind of trouble you two have stirred up.”

TWELVE

VENDETTAS