Blood Bonds(The Bonds That Tie #3)(9)

He turns to keep his eyes trained on the opening of the tent like he’s keeping watch, but I know all too well that we’ll hear the woman coming. There’s no mistaking it.

“My bond doesn’t protect me like that. Mine is more… placid compared to yours. I’m the one in control, not it.”

I hand him my plate so that he can set it down, because my restraints won’t let me do it myself. “I’d love to think I’m in control, but I’m pretty sure my bond is just humoring me. I think it lets me run the show, but the second I’m in danger, it takes over. It’s handy until some little jealous bitch starts throwing perfume around.”

I shouldn’t bring it up, not here, but there aren’t enough details to tell the Resistance anything.

Obviously Gryphon didn’t give his second all of the details, but he knows enough to smirk at me and shrug. “Could be worse, Fallows. Could've been your arch-nemesis. Or his brother.”

I snort at him and mutter, “I’m not actually sure which one you’re referring to, but yeah, I guess you’re right. It could’ve been much worse.”

The smirk slowly melts from his mouth and he glances at the camera one last time before he turns his body into mine a little more, covering his mouth from sight as he murmurs, “You need to warn them… about who we saw here. You need to tell them sooner rather than later that there’s a potential sleeper cell.”

Atlas.

He’s talking about Atlas, because we’d seen his father here. The likeness between them both was striking, absolutely no doubt of their relation, but then Davies had turned to him and called him ‘Bassinger’ and sealed the freaking deal.

I still don’t know what to think of it.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell Gryphon while I was speaking to him.

I hope to God that I haven’t fucked up royally by not saying something, but I just… I couldn’t. I can’t believe that he’d betray me like that.

My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the woman coming back to collect our plates. She grumbles under her breath about the waste of good resources on us sheep, and I roll my eyes at her. They’re all the same here. The more I can cultivate a spoiled brat persona with them, the more that they’ll underestimate me.

It’s how I got out last time.

I wait until her back is to us both, scraping off the plates into a scraps bin, before I cast out my gift to find Kyrie. I need to find my way over to her sooner rather than later, and when I find her in the showers tent, I try not to shiver in disgust.

It’s the worst place in the entire damned camp.

I pitch my tone to be whiny and demanding. “I need a shower.”

Kieran scowls and glances up at me, but the woman doesn’t react to him. I’m sure he just looks like an overprotective Bond, so it’s probably a good thing he’s acting up.

“The others are in there now, you’ll have to wait.”

My eyes shift to black and I watch the color drain from her face as I smirk at her, letting my bond take over to snark back at her, “I’m not going to wait.”

Her mouth opens and shuts soundlessly for a second before my eyes flash back to their usual violet hue and she recovers enough to croak, “I need to get more men here. I can’t take you both over there by myself.”

I shrug and make a dismissive noise. “I don’t need my Bond to hold my hand in there, leave him here. I smell, and I need to get some of this filth off before I puke at my own stench.”

I’m hamming it up because I barely smell, only a little bit of the clean sweat scent of sitting around in a hot tent for days while I slept off my gift usage.

The woman glances down at Kieran, unsure at what the hell our dynamic is because we’re obviously not acting like the Bonds she knows. Of course, she’s probably totally submissive to her own Bond, the good little Bonded woman following orders, and for a fleeting second, I think about being sorry for her.

“You’re going to just let her leave like that?”

Kieran grits his teeth at us both and then snarks back at the woman, “I’m not worried about my Bond’s safety. You should ask yourself why that is.”

She doesn’t question either of us again.





The showers are in another smaller, darker tent on the other side of the camp. I’m sure they’re not lit up with appropriate lighting like the rest of the camp for nefarious and disgusting reasons, but I already know that the women are alone in there.

For now.

“Clear out of the far stall! There’s a VIP here.” Sarcasm drips from her words, and I roll my eyes.

The women all look over at us both and shuffle away from the stall, and I turn to get my restraints loosened. I still can’t do all that much with my hands, but in theory, I’ll be able to undress my lower half and wash off. My shirt won’t come off, but I’m not going to go over the semantics with this woman right now.

All I care about is that, by some insane stroke of luck, Kyrie is in the next stall over.

I walk into the tiny space and snap the curtain closed as though I’m actually going to shower. The Resistance woman stands so close to the stall that I can see her feet poking through underneath the curtain. I want to punch her through the fabric, just to catch her unaware and serve the bitch a little justice, but I’m sure she’ll get what’s coming to her soon.