Page 9 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

My shadows hissed as they slithered up my arm to my shoulder, pressing against my neck in warning.

Captain Nix has arrived, my prince.

Great.

Carr might’ve been my ride-or-die, but as kids, his brother had been synonymous with getting my ass beat with a rod. Nix was built like a truck, while Carr and I had been lean, and though his intentions were noble enough to earn those damned Wings inked into his forearms, his grasp of balance was murky at best.

Moral or immoral was subjective in his eyes. As long as our queen didn’t deem his actions out of balance, he didn’t much care for rules. Or civility.

Nor had he ever cared for our objections—he’d just pummel us into compliance with his meaty fists.

It was Nix’s preference for chaos that landed us all in trouble more often than not growing up, and when he was finally deployed elsewhere, Carr, Calypso, and I all breathed a sigh of relief.

His return did not bode well.

Look who it is, Calypso snarled in my mind, leaning back to drape one leg over the other, arms crossed in irritation. The tall slit in her black dress revealed bare legs none of the men in proximity missed. Of all life’s cruelties, a sister so beautiful she turned heads was the worst of them.

I all but snarled as a group of Wings strode by, flashing her smiles.

In their fucking dreams.

Oh, good. The devil himself, Carr added dryly, shaking his head as he followed her gaze.

While the claim was an exaggeration, the two of them couldn’t have been more different in nature, despite the undeniable similarity in their features.

Nix shook out his blond hair, droplets of water hitting the floor as the storm tapped against the glass above us.

A shit-eating grin stretched over his face as he spotted a few of the Wings summoned for the war room, embracing them like this was some happy reunion rather than a strategy meeting called on the heels of the fall of our stronghold.

Discomfort settled in my stomach. Reaching into my jacket, I found the pocket lining and pulled out a sucker, popping the sour candy into my mouth. The stick rolled between my fingers as I studied the inpouring reinforcements.

Ma abhorred smoking, but she didn’t wield her authority to forbid it anywhere but Luminark Manor.

Something about working my mouth helped dispel the anxiety.

Our war room was modeled after the Six’s gathering hall—the Paladin crest carved into the enormous stone wall. Six flags hung from the black ceiling beams, designating our covens’ roles within the hierarchy. Simple navy velvet-backed chairs surrounded the Goliath of a table, all except for the two winged armchairs sitting at opposite sides—one for my mother, the other for her mate.

While I didn’t agree with everything my parents did, I had to commend them for the respect they commanded, because the moment they entered the room, a hush settled over the gathering.

Dad led Ma to her chair, pulling it out before scooting her in close. He poured her tea, then set the kettle one space to the right, making the trek around the table to take his seat at the opposite end.

Jaw set, I watched as three Guardians took their places beside my mother, a fourth looming behind. Orion, Lynx, and Mars—heads of the third coven and Winged generals in our legion—stood at her side, willing sacrifices should her safety require it.

Perhaps that alone was why they were still breathing.

Carr and Nix’s father—my uncle Juno—claimed his place to Ma’s right, beside Orion. Next came Vesper, then Sidra, and Portia, the final coven leaders. Calypso, Carr, and I were last to take our seats, all gazes turning to us as we settled and met Mom’s blue eyes.

“A stello venomous, et ad aethera redibunt omnes.” From stardust we came, and to the ether, all shall return.

We bowed our heads in confirmation. The remaining souls found their places along the stone walls—there to observe, never to speak.

Nix, the arrogant bastard, sprawled into his seat against the far wall behind his father, somehow making sitting look like a challenge to authority. Irritation had me grinding the candy into crystals between my teeth as I refocused on our queen, who had just begun the meeting.

“Sound off,” she ordered by way of greeting, scooping up her teacup as Orion poured his own.

“Orion, first ascension, third coven, accounted for.”

“Juno, first ascension, second coven, accounted for…” And so it continued, each council member stating their name as they passed the kettle, filling their cups. The steam thickened in the room, infused with a spice that made my mouth water, promising relief. If The Rougarou was for letting loose, the war room’s herbs were for steady hearts and clear minds.