Page 306 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Yes. We talk. Okay?” He caught my arms, dipping his head as though that might lessen the impact of his height.

“Since when?”

“Hang tight, for fuck’s sake.” The world tilted. Sound dulled. He yanked me into the shadows—slipping along the base of the house and through the damn crack in my windowsill. When color and motion returned, I sucked in a breath.

“Does that ever not suck?” I gagged. “I never needed to know what mortar looks like from the inside.”

“I think it’s cool.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

“Cyrus.”

He sighed. “He’s my cousin.”

“And a sworn enemy. Unless…”

“Calypso and I have never treated our mothers’ feud as a reason to dishonor blood. Family is family.”

Disbelief burned through my ribs. “How long? How? Where do you meet?”

“Since we were sixteen. We sent ravens. Met on neutral ground.”

“And he just agreed? You could’ve walked into a trap—he could’ve⁠—”

He clapped a hand over my mouth and cradled the back of my neck, forcing eye contact.

“Calypso and I got wind of a raid that would’ve endangered him—and Reyna’s refugees. We disagreed with innocent lives being collateral in a family war. So, we tipped him off.”

I blinked. Tried to breathe. Every inhale reeked of leather and cedar. Hesitantly, he released me.

“Unbelievable.”

“Is it though?”

“The raids on Bellaton assets?”

“We told him what we were fighting. He agreed to help.”

Fury rose, bright and cutting. “You set him up for treason, and you get away Scott free.”

“No,” he bit out, anger flaring in his hazel eyes as I shoved him back a step and lifted a hand to stop him from following.

“They’ve actually been supplying my people with imbued weapons,” a familiar voice cut in. I turned, pulse leaping.

Blaz stood in the doorway, arms crossed, the same arrogance dripping off him as Cyrus. “And sending updates on their Reaper’s venom research. Until a certain someone trashed our labs.”

“You lied to me,” I growled. The betrayal scraped raw and immediate. Blaz was—had been—a friend.

“I omitted,” he said gently, stepping inside and closing the door. Cyrus flicked his fingers, sealing the space in a soundproof bubble. “To be fair, you never asked if I was on speaking terms with my cousins.”

I charged toward him, but shadows snagged my waist, hauling me back into a wall of heat and muscle. An arm locked around me. Cyrus’ voice grazed my ear, low and quiet:

“How do you think your friends found you on Valentine’s Day?”

“Bullshit,” I snapped, stomping on his foot. His arm released. The shadows didn’t.