Page 54 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

When I jerked my gaze back to Adrastos, his blade was shaking.

His hand trembled as he arched his neck away…

As though he were trying to escape.

Not her roots.

Her.

As though he were fighting not to touch her even while his arm held her pinned to his chest.

Brown eyes locked with mine, an unspoken plea filling their depths.

“Don’t!” I screamed, the image of Ally impaled on his godsdamned blade still fresh in my mind. “Bell, don’t!”

“Please,” he mouthed, hopelessness draining the color from his face.

The world went still.

Please.

My mind raced through the last three minutes.

Writhing bodies.

Quick takedowns.

Nonlethal blows.

He’d used nonlethal blows to carve a path back to Moros. He’d left every one of my people breathing.

The image of the mangled McLaren burned across my mind—the entire side of it torn away.

Had he…

Bellamy pressed his lips to Fae’s ear and whispered something that sent her eyes flying wide. His hand trembled over her carotid as her vines snapped and more surged from the earth to take their place.

Alec had his bow trained on Bellamy but no clear shot. Apparently, neither did August, because he bellowed Bellamy’s true name but didn’t fire.

Neither of them could risk hitting Fae.

Fae, whose hands grappled with Bellamy’s face, her nails tearing into his skin as her fingers sought his eyes.

His gaze remained fixed on me as he jerked his head back.

Help me!

His voice slammed through my mind, the words forced through clenched teeth. Ice followed in their wake as the trembling blade moved, almost of its own accord.

Witchling!

It was an agonized plea.

A roar of fury.

And I stood frozen at the epicenter of a shadowed funnel, eyes wide as the steel crept closer to her neck.

Fae tucked her chin to block its path as crimson bloomed across her face.