Ronan (Mate’s Mark #1)

Chapter 5

Ronan

“This is a terrible idea.” Gravel crunches beneath my feet, a counterpoint to the rhythmic thud of Elas’s boots as he walks ahead of me. An infuriatingly smug grin is plastered across his face, with ivory tusks peeking out from his bottom jaw. They’re capable of crushing more than I want to even consider, but his gigantic smile is somehow still friendly. The cheerfulness contrasts with his uniform, but that’s never stopped him from cheesing in the past.

Hell, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him charge into battle while showing off those pearly whites.

When he doesn’t respond, I smack him in the side with the back of my hand. “Your stupid fucking face is going to get us in trouble.”

A sigh pushes the smile from his lips, a palpable shift in his demeanor as he stops and turns to glare at me. “First of all, we won’t get in trouble because we aren’t doing anything wrong. Second of all, my stupid fucking face is perfectly fine.”

My fingers tighten on his shoulder as I pull him close, my eyes darting around before I hiss into his ear. “We are sneaking into the prison to search for my supposed mate.”

He rolls his eyes, as calm as always. “Dear gods, could you be more suspicious? You are the biggest drama queen I’ve ever met. We are both high-ranking officers with full access to the prisoner compound, and we’ve done inmate checks a hundred times in the past. Stop with the theatrics. You’ll give yourself an ulcer.”

With the way my stomach churns, I’m not convinced he’s wrong.

We’re allowed in the prison—encouraged, even, to show the captives who’s in control—but it feels strange to enter under false pretenses. Since I was barely an adult, every day of my life has been governed by the military. Strict rules and regulations. Iron-clad schedules.

They’re all I’ve ever known.

Soldiers obey, and that’s what I am—a soldier. Even when I struggle over the morality of my orders, I comply. Regardless of my hesitation or uncertainty, I push through.

In the end, I always obey.

No matter how many times it’s kept me up at night afterwards, I grit my teeth and follow .

Stay in line.

I don’t stray, don’t veer, and I certainly don’t actively defy.

The perfect soldier.

Until now.

Nerves have my pulse playing an anxious rhythm behind my ribs. It’s an uneasy cadence that Elas’s superior hearing must detect, since his gaze lingers on my neck. His eyes soften as they move back up to mine. “If this is too stressful for you to handle, let me scout for you. It shouldn’t be too hard with the mark, and if I find them, we can figure out a plan.”

“To hell with you,” I snarl, pushing him with enough force to make him step backward, but the contact only amuses him. “I’ll show you exactly what I can handle,” I mutter, and Elas tosses his head back with a booming laugh.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

The insinuation in his words takes a moment to register, and when it does, I push him again. “Fuck you.”

“Aww, don’t be offended, Ronan. Rejection is hard, buddy, but I appreciate the offer to take you for a ride.” My growl is annoyed as his grin turns manic. “You do have a nice ass,” he adds, and I’m fuming as I grab his arm and turn him.

“Idiot,” I mutter, and he chuckles as we walk towards the holding area, but as we get closer, his levity vanishes.

“There were hundreds of rebels in this camp, and we need an excuse to see their skin. When you were loading them into the cells, I’m assuming you were touching above the belt?”

Indignation flares in my eyes, scrunching my face as I turn to stare at him. “Above the… of course I was touching above the belt! Did you think I was leading the men around by their dicks? Dragging the women by the ankles? Or just gripping everyone by their ass cheeks as I locked them away?”

He hums an amused sound as he struggles not to smile. “Would make things more exciting around here. ”

My lips tighten, and a breath of pure frustration escapes as he continues to chuckle. “Arms and shoulders, maybe the occasional neck or back, if they were difficult.”

“And were any from this crew being difficult?”

“More than a few,” I admit.

Elas glances at my glove-covered hand. “Is the mark giving you any guidance?”

My eyes close as I concentrate on the swirling magic beneath the skin of my palm. That insistent tug in my gut, the one that feels like a string leading me along, pulls me towards the prisoners. Beyond that is fuzzy and indistinct. “Just that we’re headed in the right direction.”

Two lower-ranking guards stand watch at the entrance of the holding cells as we approach. They snap to attention when they spot us, their backs going rigid and their nerves obvious.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Elas drawls.

“Officers,” the smaller of the two says with a respectful nod.

“Is anyone working inside with the rebels? We have some…” He trails off, rubbing his chin as his grin twists to a dangerous smirk. “… interrogating we need to do, and require privacy.”

“No, sir. They were served their nightly meal an hour ago and the cleaning crew has already been through for the night. No one will interrupt your interrogation.”

“Fantastic.” Elas holds his hand over the electronic locks, waiting for the approving beep before he reaches for the handle.

“Do you need any help?” The guard’s eyes are wide with excitement, and I barely contain my growl. These are the types that feed off the military’s power, always searching for a chance to abuse their position. My hands bunch at my sides as I force my face to stay neutral.

Elas, on the other hand, is relaxed, seamlessly mollifying the starry-eyed guard that’s trying to get his hands dirty with some casual torture. He chuckles, easy-going and completely absent of stress, as he claps a heavy palm on the guard’s shoulder. “We’ve got it handled this time, boys. Appreciate the enthusiasm, though.” Then he shoots them a godsdamned finger-gun, and both guards look like they might either faint or jizz their pants on the spot.

The door swings open and the two of us disappear into the building, the dim lighting making my vision flash solid green until it adjusts to the darkness. Sunlight struggles to penetrate the scarce, tiny windows, leaving the space relying on the weak, flickering overhead lightbulbs.

The first cell holds roughly forty humans, barely more than wild animals in a cage as they sneer and snarl at us. One by one, I scan their faces and come up empty. My irritation amplifies, searching for any hint of connection where there is none.

“This is a weapon and contraband check,” Elas announces, his no-nonsense voice a stark contrast to his usual jovial demeanor, and all their eyes shift to him. “Lift your shirts and spin in a circle.”

“Want to come in here and make me?” A burly man near the back of the room snarls, and a smile stretches over my face to rival Elas’s. His ability to match his personality to the situation is unparalleled—it’s a performance, whereas my deranged delight is genuine. After what they’ve done, it would give me immense joy to punish these murderers .

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, human,” I say, voice clipped, and the man glares at me with a defiant chin jutted forward. My smile stretches to show my fangs, and fear makes him shrink as his shoulders droop. The first sign of a fight, and he concedes with a step backward, swallowing as his eyes drop to the floor.

Coward.

“I don’t have the patience to ask a second time,” Elas drawls, sounding bored, but the hint of a threat is enough. Men and women alike lift their shirts and spin, but nothing stands out. There’s no inexplicable draw to any of them or tugging at my core.

No marks or glowing, just skin.

Elas glances at me and I give a subtle shake of my head. “Thank you for your cooperation.” Sarcasm drips from his tone, and I bite back my smile as he fans out his hands, giving an exaggerated, mocking bow.

Four more times, we repeat this process with no results, each one chipping away at my patience until, finally, we reach the last cell in the hallway. Elas opens his mouth, but I nudge him in the side.

“Wait,” I mutter, the tingling in my hand intensifying into a warm buzz that vibrates beneath my skin. Fear and hatred war on the faces inside—some scowl, while others flinch as my gaze sweeps over them. Three times, I scan the crowd, confused when the pull in my gut gets stronger.

None of these humans stand out.

None of them are mine .

“If you keep staring and trying to look intimidating, I bet it’ll make them set you free.” The man’s voice rings out from somewhere in the room, and I’m instantly drawn to it. “Such an amazing idea, right? They invaded your little rebel camp, but if you give them the stink eye long enough, they’ll realize the error of their ways and march you right out of here. Maybe even apologize . Gods, I’m surrounded by geniuses.”

A few people turn to glance behind them, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of a man sitting on the ground. “You there,” I call, and Elas tenses beside me, interest piqued. “Show yourself.”

“Ahh… yeah, no thanks,” he says in a cheerful, singsong tone. “I’m good here. Nice and cozy in these five-star accommodations, you know? I’d hate to miss room service by leaving too soon… I hear the dessert is to die for.”

Elas snorts a laugh, but I’m too fixated on the man to care. “That wasn’t a request, human,” I snarl, but he only hums a low note, ignoring me. My temper flares, my hands gripping the bars of the door so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if they bent. “The rest of you, move !” My voice echoes through the space as they stumble away, giving me a clear view of a man whose mere presence makes that string inside me yank until I almost fall forward.

Long legs stretch out in front of him as he casually leans against the wall, one foot kicking restlessly like he can’t bear to sit still. Thick, messy brown hair hides his eyes, and he doesn’t even bother to look in our direction. Instead, he’s focused on something in his hand.

“What contraband do you have, human, and how did you get it?”

“Oh, my gods,” Elas mutters beside me. “Smooth… so smooth. ”

“What, this old thing?” He twirls the white container in his hand and gives it a little shake, still refusing to look at me. “This is what we call a soap bottle.” He annunciates the words as though he’s talking to a child, and my lip pulls into a snarl. “If you ask nicely, I might even explain how to use it. Now, I feel like it’s my duty to point out that this isn’t nearly enough for this many people to stay clean. These heathens don’t seem to care too much about hygiene, though, which is extremely unfortunate for me.”

Stunned, all I do is stare. “What—”

“What am I doing with it? Glad you asked. Since they’re not using it, I’m reading the label because the ingredients are infinitely more interesting than anything else going on at this little party.”

A frustrated scoff pushes from my throat. “ What —”

“Never was a fan of parties, y’know?” he continues, talking over me as I gawk. “I’d rather find an animal to hang out with, instead of suffering through all that gods forsaken small talk. Like, no one cares about the weather, Janice .”

My wide eyes sweep to Elas, who’s having the time of his life as he bites his lip, trying not to laugh. I turn back to the man, who continues to ignore me. “Approach the door, human,” I finally say, and he shakes his head again.

“Nah, no, thank you.” This time, my mouth drops open at the nerve of this infuriating man.

“ No, thank you ?” I repeat in an outraged growl as my skin flames.

His sarcastic laugh is barely more than a breathy snort. “Mean monster says what?”

“ What ?!” I demand, and his shoulders shake as he laughs .

At me .

“Rebels lose their right to argue when they are behind these walls.” My voice is gruff with my anger, but he cuts me off with another condescending laugh.

“Ah, there it is. That’s your first problem, buddy. You’re assuming I’m part of this merry band of rebellion, but you and everyone else in this compound is either too stubborn to listen or too stupid to comprehend. Let me say it at a level that will make it through your thick skull and penetrate that smooth brain inside…”

Rage overrides my common sense as I rip the door open, slamming it against the stone wall as I storm into the cell. The other prisoners throw themselves against the walls, out of my warpath. Hands shaking, I crouch beside him and snatch his chin, forcing him to face me.

Sparks ignite under my skin, and that pull in my gut settles into a fuzzy warmth that spreads through my limbs. Mine, the monster inside me snarls, and I fight my instincts as the thought clouds my mind.

Bright blue eyes are framed behind a pair of glasses, sharp as a razor and angry as a hornet. His nose is scrunched in an adorable display of defiance, but when our eyes lock, his soft pink lips part in a quiet inhale.

Every sensation disappears until all that’s left is the magnetism where we touch.

“What?” he whispers, so faint it’s barely more than an exhale. Brows bunching, his eyes dart between mine until he seems to collect himself, ripping his face from my grip. “Who are you, and what do you want? I’m too busy to play charades.” His anger and indignation burn bright as he turns away from me to read that stupid bottle again. “What do you think phthalates are, and why do they need to add them to soap?”

With a quiet snarl, I yank his denim jacket down his arm and catch a hint of a yellow glow on his biceps. The light under my glove purrs in response, flaring and demanding to touch.

“The fuck?” He shoves me away and yanks his jacket over his shoulder, glancing at where his mark shines underneath his clothes. A pit forms on his cheek as he bites at the inside of his mouth, eyes crawling back to mine. The apprehension on his face tells me he’s definitely aware of its presence but doesn’t want others to see.

Is that because he doesn’t know what it is and fears it…

Or because he knows exactly what it is?

Which is worse?

“I asked you a fucking question, monster. Who are you?” His delicate features contradict the fearless way he speaks, and for a moment, I stare, soaking in the strange familiarity in the planes of his face. When I stand, his eyes follow me, and he sneers at my hand as I reach for him. “Are you deaf or just an idiot?”

Why am I not surprised the fates have dealt me a match whose stubbornness mirrors my own?

“You insist on doing this the hard way, do you?” His eyes find mine again in question as I sigh and snatch his wrists, forcing him to stand as the soap bottle thunks to the floor. “You’re coming with me.” I march him from the cell, practically dragging him to an interrogation room as he struggles against my grip.

“So, so very smooth,” I hear Elas mutter from behind us as he closes the door with an iron click.