Page 275 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Cyrus,” I said, quieter.

“Hmm.”

“What are you doing here?”

Heavily lidded hazels found mine. He licked his lips. Gave a half-shrug. Shook his head like it weighed too much. “I dunno, okay?”

His eyes fell closed. He gave a great lion’s yawn, and damn it all if I didn’t smile. That wasn't good.

“Cyrus,” I hissed. “You cannot fall asleep here.”

“I know, ’m not sleepin’…jus’ restin’ my eyes.”

Another monstrous yawn cracked across his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Muscled. Inked. Arms. And my God, if those wings didn’t transform snackable morsels of man into something truly worth salivating over.

Jesus Christ, Freya. Pull yourself together.

Attraction to this man was not something I could afford.

Cyrus

I woke tangled in Bellaton blue, stiff as hell and cradled in scratchy sheets that reeked of disuse. Blinking hard, I shoved the blanket away and scrubbed a hand over my face, wincing at the angle my neck had endured.

What the fuck had I been thinking?

Crossing the river. Slipping into my aunt’s territory like a damn shadowspawn. I’d lost my ever-loving mind.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw that masked bastard with his hands on her. And that thought—just that thought—had short-circuited every ounce of logic. I’d needed to see her. Make sure she was safe. Then, maybe, I could finally sleep.

Apparently, I had. A little too well.

I cleared my throat and forced my limbs to cooperate. Sitting upright felt like a full-body negotiation. My surroundings were stark. Bare. Sterile. Like the room itself had been scrubbed of personality. No photos. No trinkets. Just weapons, neatly arranged and ominously gleaming. A room prepared to be abandoned at a moment’s notice.

Of course. Freya Porter didn’t settle—she survived.

She stood pressed between curtain and wall, completely still. Dressed head-to-toe in black, every weapon strapped on. The only reason I’d even spotted her was because my shadows nudged me toward her presence. Otherwise, she could’ve been a ghost.

But my mind betrayed me—flashing back to the moment I entered this room and found her in an oversized band tee, one shoulder bare, all lean muscle and carved legs and shower-rough hair.

She looked different now. Sharper. Brighter. Ascension had carved something feral and precise into her face. And those legs…

Fuck.

Guilt soured the thought. I’d come here seeking peace. Instead, I’d stolen hers. Whatever threadbare trust we’d spun in the crypt, it hadn’t held. The only thing that hadn’t changed about her was the heat in those jade eyes.

But this time, when she looked at me, something in them softened.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

I nodded—useless, lying motion. Truth was, I didn’t know. Maybe she’d been right. Maybe this bond was a weakness. She made me vulnerable. And I couldn’t afford that.

“Mother is demanding you make a formal declaration for your petition.”

“Ahh,” she exhaled, gaze turning back to the window.

“Calypso refused on your behalf.”