Page 314 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Fuck it.

I shifted into higher gear, redpointing the route we’d studied—each placement like muscle memory, my hands finding holds like I’d done this climb a hundred times.

Had I? The thought struck me upside the head. The stronghold looked too new for my past incarnations, but the last stretch of the climb—the crux—was carved into my bones.

The last thirty feet.

My best hope to gain a vantage point and thin the herd.

“They’re gaining,” Cyrus warned. I looked again only to wish I hadn’t. Talons tore through chunks of stone below.

“Goddammit.” With a sharp exhale, I coiled, launching into a desperate dyno, stretching for the next ledge. The world tilted. My fingers caught and slid, and I cried out as my body swung wide over the drop. But I held. My toes scrabbled back onto the edge below, sending dust and loose rocks crumbling, ricocheting off their shields.

Thank fuck.

I lunged for the next hold. My grip locked onto a narrow edge, but my boots slipped.

“Freya!” Cyrus shouted, his voice raw and close to breaking.

It did something warm and terrifying to my chest as I breathed through the shake in my forearms. “Focus on your own damn climb!”

Because those clicking screeches were too close. Ghosting over the final ledges, I hauled myself into the tunnel, rolling into a crouch, blade drawn.

Clear.

I darted back to the edge, swung my pack off my shoulder, dropped it to the stone, drew my bow, and snatched an arrow from the quiver. Alvara’s voice echoed in my head. Make room for the bow.

Thank God for Alvara fucking Porter.

Bow drawn, I peered down, right as a crawler leapt for Cyrus.

No. Mine.

“Down!” I shouted. Cyrus pressed against the cliff, just as I released. The creature screamed and fell, the breath returning to my lungs as I assessed our position.

Clear airspace.

Three blood wolves at the base.

Double the crawlers, fifteen feet below my men.

Ten arrows.

With a quick prayer, I aimed and released, this creature’s scream more satisfying as it hurdled to the rocky earth below.

“Move your asses!” I yelled as anxiety closed its icy hand around my throat. I picked them off, one by one, guided by air magic until the only remaining threat was gravity.

Ansel reached the ledge first. I helped haul him up, then turned for Cyrus. We dragged him inside just as Ansel took point, disappearing into the darkness.

My hand still clutching his forearm, Cyrus and I locked gazes for an eternal heartbeat, scouring over each other as my mind reached for a connection that wasn’t there. My doing. My choice.

So why did it taste so bitter as we caught our breath on hell’s doorstep?

“Thanks for the cover,” he said, eyes full of an ache that set fire to my own.

“Clear!” Ansel barked before I could answer, both of us jerking our heads down the tunnel where The Old General still gave us his back. Cyrus bent to snag my backpack, holding it up in offering. I rotated, allowing him to ease it over my shoulders. A small, steadying gesture. When I met his gaze again, he nodded, and we followed Dad into the mountain.

We’re in. How are we looking, overwatch?