Page 320 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Maybe I’d already done my part.

“You’re beautiful, ma moitié. You always have been, ever since we were kids,” I murmured, knowing full well she couldn’t hear me. “Even with a knife to my balls.” I smirked faintly, a dark chuckle catching in my throat. “Hell, even when you were covered in blood like a feral avenging angel. Even then…you were beautiful.”

“I can’t hear you,” she signed, frantic now, desperation rising in her eyes as I raised the respirator to my mouth and drew another breath. Would it last longer if I spaced it out? Or would that fuck with the reaction and deplete it faster?

Shit. I should’ve asked when she made me memorize the pack contents.

The ground rumbled beneath me, a deep quake that even I could hear, and we both snapped our gazes upward as the lights flickered. Freya spun, arms flared wide as if calling for help from the air itself.

And then the alarm hit.

A screeching howl tore through the corridor, strobes painting the hallway in harsh, erratic bursts.

Freya’s wide eyes whipped back to mine.

“Run,” I signed again. “Please.”

“I cannot leave you.”

“Sure you can.”

“Be serious.”

“I am. Get to your dad.” It would be easier if she just ran. Easier if I knew she was on her way to Ansel. On her way to Aren. Easier if I knew someone would get her the hell out of here before my clock ran out.

The Commander would get her out.

But of course, Freya Porter had never done a single fucking thing the easy way.

Fury collided with the terror in her eyes. She slammed her palms into the glass. Then her shoulder. Then her whole damn body. Again. And again. Until I feared she’d shatter her own bones trying to break through.

Her lip trembled as I calmly raised the respirator to my mouth like it was a clunky vape. I shook my head slowly, even as her hands splayed across the barrier like she’d claw her way through it to reach me. Some sick part of me was relieved I wasn’t the only one losing my mind.

Movement flicked at the end of the hallway—three men. None familiar.

I pointed that way, heart breaking and grateful all at once when—for once—she listened.

Freya turned on them like a Goddess scorned, hands outstretched, draining their magic before they even realized they’d been stripped.

She reached for her blades, and became a storm.

One after another, she hurled them with calculated, brutal grace, her movements more dance than combat. Shadows lunged for her throat, but she batted them away with a pristine shield, weaving ropes of darkness through their defenses.

She was incredible.

Her fury coiled around the last man’s throat like a noose, slamming him against the tile and dragging him limp across the floor. She screamed something at him—eyes wild, canines bared—before smashing his skull into the wall.

Once.

Twice.

And again—like she’d shatter his corpse if he didn’t give her a way to reach me.

My next breath was thin. The one after weaker. Even with salvation standing on the other side of the glass. Her face split in a scream, shadows snapping his neck in a vicious twist before she tossed him aside.

Savage. Breathtaking.

Freya skid to a halt in front of me, her eyes frantic as she searched mine. I swayed. The world tilted. The respirator rasped in my hand.