Page 53 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Lock it down!”

A flicker of a smile crossed his mouth as he dipped his chin and flew higher. He’d done it on instinct during the siege of my city, though we’d had sunlight working in his favor then.

I looked around at storefronts haunted by silence, then up at streetlights that no longer hummed.

Blood ran through the streets as the wolves howled.

What would Aren do?

I squeezed my eyes shut and blew air into my cheeks, asking the shadows as much as myself.

I needed August.

Cyrus must have communicated with his queen, because Freya was helping the Commander steady himself when one bulky arm shot into the air.

The sky answered its master.

A great tear split the clouds, releasing a violent torrent of water. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled as the streetlights flickered to life above us.

An angry hum rose from the abandoned cars lining the road, their headlights buzzing on as a high-pitched vibration filled the street.

In a flash, the surrounding buildings came alive, their windows filled with searing light as August pushed every current of electricity to its limit. Demanded it burn brighter.

Demanded it eliminate the darkness.

A psychotic smile split my face.

I reached skyward and pulled the shadows into myself as Cyrus did the same.

Together, we claimed them.

Ruled them.

The enemy flickered and solidified, forced to remain in the physical realm as we drained every pocket of darkness August’s light couldn’t reach.

I blinked, and the Commander stood twenty yards from our enemy, lightning pulsing through his veins as he drew back a longbow, his glowing eyes set in a murderous snarl.

A bellow of fury split the air.

Then a distinctly feminine scream.

I scanned the battlefield, frantic, even as I continued pulling on the shadows.

Mine. They were mine to rule. Mine to command. Mine to reign over.

But someone was screaming, and the bellow cutting through the chaos sounded too goddamned familiar.

Alec.

There.

My gaze locked on Bellamy—Adrastos—who had Aphaea pinned against his chest, a blade pressed to her throat. Roots and vines whipped from the earth, wrapping around his limbs and wrenching them backward until they snapped taut.

I didn’t know where to look.

Déjà vu curdled my stomach as my attention flicked from one horror to another. I glanced back just as Moros vanished, a gold-fletched arrow protruding from beneath his collarbone and utter shock carved into his face.

August launched another arrow into the closing jump radius, then wielded his bow like a staff with a roar of fury.