Page 185 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“It’s a relief to see you in true form.”

My eyes were absolutely not stinging. I was not about to cry. Nope. Not happening. “Where we headed?”

“Aren said the Middle, so we’ll start there. If we’ve beaten him back, we’ll need to find him. Call Ally. Get a feel for things.”

I nodded, though my heart clenched at their outstretched hands. I needed to get back—to form a plan. Now that the Paladins knew my identity, surely Cyrus and Calypso had already reported back to their parents.

Groaning as I stood, bones aching, I muttered, “These healers…can they replace knees?”

Ansel huffed a sound so close to laughter I couldn’t help but smile. We stepped through the gate into Hazelharbor—which, at that moment, felt like a gilded wing of Hell.

Keening cries and ragged sobs met us. A woman with glassy brown eyes sagged with relief when she saw us, her shoulders dropping as a breath whooshed from her chest.

“We were about to close it,” she whispered, grief carved into every word. Her gaze flicked between Ansel, Lana, and me.

“Thank you, Kari,” Ansel said with a nod as the gate sealed shut behind us.

One of the few males stood beside her, grief pouring off him like smoke. He was the stark opposite of the woman—where she was dark-skinned and overtly feminine, he was willowy, pale, and sporting purple hair. Kari smiled gently as his jaw tensed, his eyes locking on Ansel with a silent promise of retribution.

“What now?” she breathed.

“File inside and get a headcount,” Lana ordered curtly. “We need to know how many souls made it through before the night is over.”

“On it,” Kari replied, slipping past the stunned circle of women. All eyes were on Ansel, looking for direction. And he gave it—flawlessly.

“Wes, reinforce the wards. Something bigger is coming. No one gets in or out anywhere but this gate. Lock it down.” The purple-haired man nodded and disappeared.

“Tana, prep the infirmary. I expect more injured soon.” A Latina girl nodded and took off running.

To the blonde watching her go, panic painted across her face, Ansel said, “Brooklyn—gather your seers. I assume I won’t have access to mine, or she’d already be here.”

One by one, he assigned them tasks. Missions. Purpose. He knew their names—all of them. And judging by the clarity that returned to their eyes and the precision with which they moved, they trusted him implicitly.

Grayshell’s Old General.

“Where are the gingers?” Lana muttered, scanning the group, the line between her brows deepening.

“Where the fuck is Aren?” I added, stomach knotting.

Ansel jerked his chin toward the side of the room, and I followed his gaze.

There.

A familiar mountain of a man wrapped around a curvy little woman. The way they clung to each other—like life preservers in a hurricane—made me feel like a voyeur. I looked away, throat tight, and followed Ansel through the crowd.

The Callahans moved differently—Lana slicing between souls with razor focus, Ansel among them. He offered glances, touches, comfort. In three minutes, he had the whole room running like a well-oiled machine.

God, I wished I were more like him. Loved and respected so swiftly. Their trust in him was so natural it was like they’d been following his lead their whole lives. He didn’t flinch from their tears or fear. He faced them. Moved slowly, methodically, filling need after need with quiet steadiness.

I could barely keep up.

A blade of grief sliced through me and I pressed a hand to my mouth, breath catching as I watched these women—their sobs. Their stories. Their loss.

They spoke of demons in leather masks.

Like Lonan.

Were they connected? Lonan and Renown? Did one serve the other?