Page 80 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Come on, damn you,” I growled between gasps. “Stay with me!”

Ten yards. Then five.

I felt the lake bottom under my feet and staggered upright, dragging his body through the muck and weeds. “Thank fuck.”

We hit the sand. I collapsed with him, dropping to my knees and yanking him up by the arms, just enough to clear the waterline. Blood and water streaked his face, painting his features in warped color.

“Crew?” I slapped his cheeks lightly, then harder, panic rising. “Come on, kid. Don’t do this. Don’t fucking do this.”

His hair clung to his skin in thick, wet tangles. Blood was gushing from a wound somewhere above his temple, streaming down in rivers.

Footsteps thundered behind me—finally. I didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

I just pressed my shaking hand to his chest, and screamed again.

“HELP!”

Six weeks before the portals opened…

“Help!”

I jackknifed out of bed, sweat slicking my skin, exhaustion blurring the numbers on my clock as I blinked into clarity. Not again. Reyna had worked me to the bone this week—training, missions, and my own private war against the psychopath who slit my throat. The first of the Paladin trials was still in progress, though incomplete until I earned an audience. The second was shaping up. I’d intercepted three scores this week alone and delivered more drives before Wednesday afternoon than most managed in a month.

But…my hair hadn’t even dried from my shower.

Had I imagined it? My body felt like lead. I popped my jaw, then rolled my neck. “What the fuck?”

“Help!”

Shit. That was real.

By the time I hit the hallway, I was already running. Blaz was there, fully dressed down to boots and a jacket, his face pale with alarm. His cold hands caught my arms, steadying us both before we bolted down the stairs together.

And then I heard the scream.

Not the pain of a broken limb or the frantic cry of a training injury. This was something else. Ripping. Ragged. The scream of death—or birth. But the voice was male, and I was afraid it was the former.

I’d trained with these people. Freed captives beside them. Cut throats and cracked skulls until every hostage was accounted for. Men. Women. Children.

None of them deserved to feel what that voice was feeling.

Blaz and I took the stairs two at a time, skidding into each other as we hit the landing to find chaos erupting as souls came from all sides. The front door gaped open. Blood streaked the floor. Montague was on his knees in the foyer, cradling a writhing, long-limbed body in his arms. Blood matted dark brown curls to an ashen forehead.

Darius.

No.

“What happened?” Reyna snapped as she swept into view, absurdly regal in a robe rimmed in feathers.

“Renown—attacked us,” G gasped. Darius screamed again, clawing at his shirt, the veins in his neck bulging.

“Get it out!” he howled, tearing at his own chest.

My stomach lurched. He was peeling away his skin. Screaming like an animal. I’d never heard anything like it.

Guys, where the fuck are you?! I begged down the line. Please.

Someone sobbed from the hallway—the kind of grief that only came from love.