Chapter 8

Cameron

“Aww, whatsa matter? Teacher’s pet losing his status as favorite in the class?” I ignore Julian, the annoying woman who’s taken a fancy to riding my ass any chance she gets. My face might not show it, but the fading light outside fuels my worry. It gives weight to her words that once again, I’ve been forgotten.

That he’s left, because that’s what people do.

A lifetime of buried insecurity causes self-doubt to creep into my thoughts, but I push it away, frustrated with myself for letting her get to me.

For the past three days, an hour after a pitiful dinner is served to the inmates, Ronan and Elas collect me from the cell. They take me to the interrogation room, where I’m given clean, cold water and extra food, while they update me on their search for Boomerang. Each day that passes amplifies my dread, but so far, they have come up empty. I don’t know whether it makes me feel better or worse.

Ronan has kept his distance physically since his explosion the first night, but each time we find ourselves reaching for each other. Fleeting touches and brushes of our fingers, and somehow it feels significant as my body begs me to take just a little more.

Inevitably, the more time we spend together, the more we learn about each other. He’s realized my sharp tongue is a defense, nothing more than a shield, and I fucking hate that he’s figured me out so easily. It leaves me vulnerable, inevitably just causing me to be more sarcastic.

Insults and jabs take the attention off how scared I really am and throw the attention back on him. Most of the time, he sneers and fights back, slinging a few barbed words of his own.

Those are the moments the world doesn’t feel like it’s constricting around me.

When his teeth are bared and his temper is short, I can breathe.

It’s when his dark eyes flare in understanding and he becomes soft that I’m suffocating.

Because he is.

Soft. Gentle .

He hides it well, but I’m learning to see past his prickly exterior. It’s nothing more than armor, crafted over a lifetime of protecting something easily broken. A shield of his own to match mine.

I despise my awareness of this… of him .

But I also love it, and I despise that, too.

Even with my insistent questioning, Ronan remains tight-lipped about their grand plan. “The less you know, the safer you’ll be,” he insists, and as much as his words make sense, they force me to focus on how unsafe he will be. He’s risking everything for me .

A man he doesn’t even know. One who plans on abandoning him the first chance he gets.

“Whatcha doin’ that makes them want to pull you out of class, anyway?” Julian teases, bumping me with her shoulder and making my temper flare. “I’ll wager you can suck a dick real good with them big ol’ lips.” My eyes close as I try to continue ignoring her. “That purple man is awfully pretty. If I offered him my mouth, think he’d take it? Bet he’s got all the goods to back up that attitude.”

“Would you shut up already?” I groan, shoving my fingers through my hair and trying not to think about the goods that Ronan’s packing.

Every night, the magnetic pull between us gets stronger, the mark buzzing and burning when I’m with him and tingling when I’m not. The glow on my arm is like a branding iron—a constant, searing reminder from fate that I’m destined to be with a monster. They’re determined to show me that my path is immutable.

But I am no puppet, and strings can be severed.

No matter how soft he might be at his core, Ronan is a means to an end. He’s my ticket out of this cell and back to my freedom, and then I can forget this entire mess ever happened.

The mark will fade with time, and this will all be a distant memory.

Dust motes dance in the weak sunlight filtering through the tiny, barred window, and I frown again, wondering when I became so dependent on Ronan and Elas’s predictable visits. So, they’re a few hours late? Maybe they won’t even come today.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t .

That invisible string in my stomach gives a harsh yank, so intense that I push off the ground, walking to the window because my anxious body needs something to do. I swallow past the sudden nerves taking flight in my gut, pushing up on my tiptoes to glance outside. Nothing seems out of the ordinary—there’s the usual shuffle of feet, the low hum of conversation between soldiers, and guards staring off into the distance.

So why am I so ready to run?

An explosion of shouting crashes through the hallway, and the prisoners in my cell surge against the door. A disorganized mass of bodies pushes and shoves, faces pressed against the bars like monkeys in a cage. More voices band together, and a clatter of metal adds to the chaotic chorus. My cellmates huddle tighter against the door as I take a few pointed steps back.

Idiots.

Experience has taught me when shit hits the fan, you don’t want to be on the front lines. Hugging the wall, I try to blend with the shadows.

“There are people in the hallway!” a man yells. “That’s Bruce! Bruce ! Fuck, I think he’s got a key!” Feet thunder in every direction as voices shout into an unintelligible, ear-splitting roar, while the shrill screech of an alarm blares from outside the window. Disoriented, I can’t focus on a single thought.

“Stand back, motherfuckers,” a familiar voice booms. There’s a sharp squeal of the hinges before the heavy iron door slams against the stone wall. People rush out of the cell in a mob, and my blood runs cold when a single pair of heavy footsteps enters .

“Well, well… we meet again, don’t we?” Bruce’s scarred face sneers at me, and I glance around, trying to map my exit. “This was your fault.”

Indignation momentarily halts my escape plans as I shake my head in disbelief. “How the fuck is this my fault?”

“You led the monsters to us,” he says, a deep snort rumbling in his chest as he spits on the ground in front of me. “And you’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

“Pretty sure your attack on their supply convoys led them to you,” I point out, pulling my lip up in disgust as he spits again. “Oh, dear gods, do you have to be such a cliché? That’s gross.” A deranged smile spreads across his face as he pulls a knife from behind his back, the metal glinting in the sunlight. The blade looks dull, but in his hands, its threat is enough to make me move.

Based on the way he holds the handle and leads with his right leg, he’s right-handed, so I focus on his weaker side. Years on the road have made me agile, and I dodge a few swings easily, despite his impressive reach. He lunges for me, and I dart to his left, rushing past him and sprinting towards the door.

My body lurches as he catches the bottom of my jacket, and I lose my balance, pinpricks of light flashing behind my eyes as my chin slams into the hard rock. Thick, metallic blood gags me as it coats my tongue and slides down my throat. Scrambling to my feet, I try not to think about what’s bleeding.

Bruce seizes my wrist and throws himself against me, trapping the entire front of my body against the wall. A vise of rough fingers tightens in my hair as he drives my face against the stone, and everything explodes into a blinding white agony. The pain causes my ears to shriek, the world swimming in and out of focus as blood trickles from my forehead, making my glasses slip on my nose.

Steel presses an indent into my neck as a deep, sadistic chuckle blows across my ear. It extinguishes any chance of escaping even as I continue to thrash against his hold. Icy dread seizes me as the blade’s cold bite breaks my skin, and I freeze as it digs deeper.

“Say goodnight, pretty boy.” His mocking voice is the final nail in the coffin of my fading hope, and I’m paralyzed.

Paralyzed .

Can’t move, can’t think, sure as fuck can’t escape as it hits me. There’s nothing left for me to do.

This is it… this is how I go.

Murdered in a damp prison cell by a smelly man who doesn’t have three brain cells to rub together.

What a fucking legacy.

The pressure on my neck increases until I’m unable to swallow. When I expel a strained breath, my lungs scream inside my chest, but I can’t fill them. A slow blackness overtakes my vision as my eyes try to close, my head swimming as I fight in vain.

No one will remember my name , I think as I realize my eyes are shut, and I can’t force them open.

The knife clatters to the floor as Bruce’s oppressive weight disappears with a grunt, and without the support, I collapse to the ground. I suck in a loud, ragged inhale as consciousness floods back into my body.

“Get your hands off my mate.” It’s more animal than man, a growl that slices through the room. Ronan’s thunderous voice is an octave deeper than I’ve ever heard it, fury burning in each syllable. The sound seems to rattle the entire cell as dust particles scatter.

I push myself to sit as I clutch my throat, leaning against the wall as my chest heaves in heavy breaths. Precious oxygen rushes into my lungs, staving off the dizziness as I turn to stare at my rescuer.

Bruce dangles a few inches off the ground, Ronan’s hand tightly coiled around his neck. Two of his tails pin the man’s wrists to the wall as his body quakes, his control on a razor’s edge. Bruce’s face is flushed crimson, the pale scar on his cheek prominent, and his eyes bulge out of their sockets. Ronan’s grip tightens, his knuckles bone white as he trembles in rage.

“You dared to touch what is mine.” Their faces are mere inches apart as Bruce attempts to shake his head, like he could rewrite the story that was unfolding in here.

As though he could ever be anything but the villain.

Using my shirt to wipe the blood from my forehead and mouth, I take a quick assessment of myself. Although my hands are still shaking, the damage doesn’t seem too severe. Cuts and bruises and a busted lip, but nothing feels broken, and my teeth are all accounted for, so I’ll take it as a win.

My legs are weak as I stand, using the wall for support as I focus my attention on Bruce and Ronan. Purple-blue lips contrast against cherry-red skin as the man fights for air, and the poetic irony feeds that vindictive voice inside my head. Once I make sure I’m steady on my feet, I stumble over and place a gentle hand on Ronan’s arm.

He twists to look at me, eyes black and features contorted into something monstrous. A creature… a deliverer of death. It should instill fear deep in my soul—sh ould command my instincts to get as far away from the danger as I can.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, I find myself leaning closer, putting my lips against his ear.

“He’s the one who pointed a gun at me,” I whisper, a wicked satisfaction warming my chest at the snarl and snap of fangs so close to my vulnerable neck.

But he won’t hurt me. Of this, I am sure.

Panic overtakes Bruce’s bloodshot face as Ronan turns to stare at him with a chilling calmness. Bruce must see the finality in Ronan’s eyes, because he rasps a pointless plea as he fights for his pitiful life. Ronan’s fist tightens ever so slowly, one vertebra after another separating and cracking, bone shattering bone. Each sickening crunch echoes in a high-pitched cracking, splinteringlike china. Life fades from his eyes until they’re empty, glassy marbles, and he hangs there, limp as a rag doll in Ronan’s iron grip.

Bruce’s body slumps to the ground in a heap when Ronan releases him, limbs landing at awkward, unnatural angles. Ronan draws in a series of shallow inhales, and his dark eyes refocus as he twists to face me, hands gentle as they cradle my cheeks. Thumbs swipe over my skin as he turns me in all directions, inspecting me for injuries.

“He hurt you,” Ronan whispers, running his gloved fingers over the streaks of my blood.

“And you made him pay for it.” His fingers flex against my cheek as I nuzzle into his touch, his gaze darting around my face. Time seems to catch up to both of us as he snaps back into the moment, the last of the haze in his eyes dissipating as his thumb drags over my lower lip. He stops just short of the painful split, a quiet whine forming in his throat that I feel more than hear.

The roaring ring in my ears subsides, and the chaos hits me in a rush of sensations—the blaring of the alarms, the voices yelling and weapons discharging, and the roar of vehicles firing up outside.

“We have to go,” he says suddenly, seizing my wrist and charging forward at a pace so rapid I can barely stay on my feet. He leads me through the long, dreary hallway and bursts out into the evening sun, where I blink away the brightness after so many days in the dark cell.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he murmurs in my ear, right as he grabs both of my hands and wrestles them behind my back. He forces my body to pitch forward as he takes control of it, and I call out at the unexpected pain in my shoulders and elbows as they twist into extreme angles. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, and I try to relax and let him lead the way.

People are everywhere—monsters and humans alike, all moving in a turbulent sea of motion. Some run while others chase, a few bodies lie permanently silenced on the ground, and I understand Ronan’s need to make me look like his prisoner.

It’s anarchy, and sudden panic has me struggling to breathe all over again.

He marches me towards a different building, and a guard nods at him as we walk past. “Good catch. That one put up a fight, huh?” Ronan only grunts as the other monster gestures towards the brick structure ahead. “The rebels are getting thrown into the southern cells until we figure out what happened.” With another nod, the other guard jogs away, sword drawn. We’re approaching the new prison when Ronan darts into a narrow alley between buildings.

“Ronan—”

“Quiet!” he hisses, shoving me forward then dragging me sideways into another alleyway. It’s a maze of turns until we emerge in a separate courtyard, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos.

“Did you do that? Did you set them—”

“I said, quiet , Cameron!” He gives an aggravated shake to my arms. “Can’t keep that fucking mouth shut to save your life, can you?”

“No,” I admit, and he snorts an angry laugh.

We approach a passenger van, and his head swivels, studying our surroundings before yanking open the back hatch and releasing my wrists. “Get in and stay silent.”

“What about—”

“ Silent !”

“No!” I hiss, and the anger in his eyes could cut through stone. “What about Boomerang?”

“Gods damn it, you’re going to get us both killed! Now hush!” He stares at me for a moment, nostrils flaring when I refuse to move. With a frustrated growl, he lunges forward and grabs my arms, wrestling me into the van as I thrash.

“Ronan, you fucking promised!” My feet find purchase on his chest and shove him back, but somehow, he holds on and half-drags me until the edge of the bumper presses into my spine.

“Fuck!” he bellows as he releases me, dragging his fingernails through his hair as he takes a deep breath, shoving a finger in my face. “Get in there and stay quiet. If I die because of your fucking dog, I’m going to… ”

“Well, you won’t do much because you’ll be dead,” I interrupt, and he glares at me, breath coming in labored pants.

A noise from behind us stirs him into action, and he scoops me up and unceremoniously tosses me inside the trunk, slamming the hatch. There isn’t even time for outrage before he disappears, and I’m alone.

Without his presence, the fear I’ve been suppressing hits me in a flood. My adrenaline fades and leaves me a shaking mess as my limbs tremble, and it’s so quiet I’m aware of every breath and thud of my heart. The van is parked away from the action, so there are no voices or footsteps. Even the blaring alarm is muffled into a dull buzz.

I’m alone.

Again.

Knees tucking into my chest, I curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible, squeezing my eyes closed to hide from the fear churning in my gut. He didn’t leave , I promise myself, but the words sound forced as I hug my legs tighter. He’ll be back . I curl into the darkest corner, where I should be hidden even to someone walking past that might peek into the windows.

Minutes tick by like a time bomb, and the reality of my situation sinks in as the sun dips lower in the sky. What if Ronan doesn’t return? My lack of knowledge about the compound would make it nearly impossible to sneak out, even with the cover of darkness. And what if something happens to him? He’s only in this mess because of me, and —

The hatch flies open, and a ball of fluff collides with my body. “Boomerang!” I gasp, tears flooding my eyes as I push my face into her fur.

“Are you incapable of following simple instructions? Be quiet!” Ronan seethes, and his eyes are onyx daggers as I meet them. His gaze darts to the tear tracking my cheek and his expression softens as he swipes the traitorous droplet away. “You can’t let them hear you, mo’sziv,” he whispers, infinitely gentler.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and his thumb brushes over my damp cheek once more before he closes the hatch and climbs into the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life under my body as he cranks the key, gravel crunching beneath the tires. “Fuck, what about August?” I ask, and he lets out a warning growl from the front.

“There is no more time to waste, Cameron. Elas is doing what he can to find your friend. Now hush before I come back there and tape your mouth shut.”

A retort dances on the tip of my tongue, but I decide it’s best to listen and curl into Boomerang. She silently licks my face, slobbering up the lenses of my glasses, but I’m too happy that she’s with me to care. Brakes squeak as Ronan slows to a stop, and I force myself to become shock still.

“Where are you headed, officer?” an unfamiliar voice asks, and my pulse speeds up once again, thudding behind my ribs.

“Escaped prisoners, if you haven’t fucking caught on to the alarms,” Ronan snarks, accusation thick in his tone. “Someone has to chase the rebel scum that you let get past the walls. ”

“No one got past the walls!” the guard insists, and I can hear the smirk on Ronan’s mouth.

“Sure about that? Confident enough to turn me away and put both our heads on the line?”

There’s a stretched moment of silence before the guard says, “We need to search the vehicle before you leave. It’s protocol.”

“Damn it!” Ronan smashes his fist on something, and I have to bite back my surprise. “Do you want to be the one reporting to Commander Bravis that these assholes got away because you’re worried someone left a bag of grain in the van?”

“Fuck, don’t make me regret this,” the guard says with a sigh. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” There’s a loud whir of machinery as Ronan snickers darkly, and we start moving again. We drive for what seems like forever, me hidden in the trunk with my face buried in my dog.

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