Ronan (Mate’s Mark #1)

Chapter 11

Cameron

My eyes flutter open to the sunlight streaming through the window, the throbbing in my forehead milder than I could’ve hoped. Score one, Cameron. The warmth of the sun on my face is comforting, but not enough to pull me from my slumber, so I tug my jacket over my head. It was late when Ronan left last night, and despite the exhaustion of my body after the day’s events, I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, our interaction played on repeat in my mind.

Had I really been about to kiss him? And not just a chaste thank-you-for-the-prison-break peck, but a kiss. One leading to lips and tongues and hands in places they have no business being with a monster.

I mean, it makes sense, right?

He saved my life and risked his own for my freedom, and asked for nothing in return. The rush of affection I’d felt towards him was only natural after what he’d done for me. A biological manifestation of my gratitude, and certainly not a physical response to his gravelly voice in the dark. One hundred percent not a reaction from the swell of his chest under my palms, or the dull ache in my core as I caught his sweat-heightened scent.

Hello, denial—it’s been a while.

Laser focusing on everything that happened between me and Ronan has done nothing to answer the questions in my mind. If anything, time has only amplified them until my head is a jumbled, confused mess.

A broken spring from the couch jabs me in the side as I groan my frustration. It smells faintly of mildew and soil, but even though it’s lumpy, it’s far more comfortable than the hard, grimy floor.

“This is a mess, Boomerang,” I moan, and she shifts beside me. I don’t have to see her to know she’s lying by the couch, resting her head against the old fabric as she stares at me with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. “We should go, right? Hit the road and never look back?” Even as I say it, my stomach twists in dread at the thought of putting even more distance between me and Ronan.

A shadow looms over me, and I peek from underneath my jacket to find her hovering there, a droplet of drool hanging precariously close to my face. “Alright, alright,” I grumble, pushing her away just in time for that slobber to plop onto the floor instead of my chin. “I’m up.”

Disorientation hits me hard, the unfamiliarity of the house jarring. The uncertainty of where I am or how safe it is makes me extra cautious… and uncomfortable. All I know about my location is how long it took Ronan to drive me here, but even that tells me nothing without knowing our speed. I don’t know which direction we travelled, or if the path was a straight line .

Double checking each window for movement, I make two sweeps through the house before letting Boomerang outside into the faint dawn to relieve herself. Birds chirp in the distance, and the scent of damp earth is comforting as I sit back and breathe in the morning’s quiet calm.

My heart tugs as I notice a protein bar and fresh clothes set on top of Ronan’s pack, like he knew I’d be too overwhelmed to go digging through it this early. I chew in silence, wincing at the sting from my split lip and tongue, then whistle for Boomerang and wait for her to come bouncing inside.

The house is filthy, and it doesn’t appear that much has been touched since it was abandoned. From the state of things, that might’ve been several decades ago. “Want to see what we can find, girl?”

For hours, we scavenge, digging through crumbling old cabinets and hunting for hiding spots under beds and sofas. I dust my hands as I survey our pile of treasure—a few intact glass bottles, a backpack with minimal moth holes, a leather belt, and a decent sized knife that needs sharpening. There’s a cabinet full of canned goods, but even with the lids still holding pressure, botulism isn’t something I want to risk today.

“No point in wasting the daylight.” Boomerang tilts her head at me as I glance at the afternoon sun high in the sky. “Come on, let’s go hunting.”

The first thing we locate is a water source, although I’m disappointed when I determine it isn’t safe to drink without boiling first. Still, it’s more than I’ve had in many camping spots. The bloody, filthy clothes from yesterday turn the water a faint pink as I wash them, hanging them over a branch to dry.

I glance down at the clothes Ronan brought me, another of those annoying fluttery sensations rising in my chest. The leather pants fit well, although this humidity causes my legs to sweat underneath the thick material. A tad small, the cotton shirt shows my belly when I lift my arms, but it’s clean and comfortable.

He even had the foresight to throw in extra pairs of socks and underwear. At first, the military issue tighty-whities made me feel odd, not only because they’re hideous, but because Ronan grabbed them specifically for me. He was picturing my body when he stole someone’s freshly bleached underwear from the base laundry.

Talk about your romantic grand gestures.

While I wait for the clothes to dry, we explore further and find a few blackberry bushes. I eat until my tongue is stained purple and my stomach sloshes with the juices. Overindulgence isn’t the best idea, but fresh produce is uncommon, and I’m not about to waste it.

More fruit gets piled up in a basket for later, but we find nothing else of interest as we circle the cluster of trees. The sun droops low on the horizon as we close ourselves back into the house, and I dig through the food that Ronan left for me.

I tear a loaf of bread in half, chewing on a piece when I discover a bag of jerky that causes an involuntary smile. Meat is a delicacy on the road, one you don’t get unless you hunt it yourself. I grab a few small pieces to savor and pass some to Boomerang, whose eyes light up as she settles in to chew .

She’s always been self-sufficient in feeding herself and today was no different. The fat squirrel she caught was so unused to danger in this private little clump of trees that it didn’t even run from Boomerang, and I left her alone to eat. Circle of life or not, I don’t need to watch it unfold in all its bloody glory.

After dinner, I dig through the rest of the supplies, curious about what Ronan deemed necessities. The other half of the bread loaf is wrapped in a towel, along with more meat and a bag of nuts and dried fruits. There’s a satchel of rice that will be amazing when I can safely burn a fire, and a metal bowl that can be used for cooking. I snort when I notice the familiar white bottle resting inside it.

It’s the same soap I was holding when Ronan first found me. Aware of my goofy grin, I wipe it away and put the soap aside. Medical supplies sit in the bottom—bandages, a sewing kit, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol that’s worth its weight in gold. Thinking the bag is empty, I drop it on the ground and frown when it thuds with unexpected weight.

Against my better judgement, curiosity overcomes my caution as I glance at the near-total darkness outside, then strike a match to light the lantern. A strange emotion causes my breath to catch in my throat as I pull out a worn book. The paperback cover is battered with scratches and folds and the multi-creased spine barely holds on.

My fingers run over the weathered letters of the title, whispering the words, “Watership Down,” as I trace them. Books are a rarity in this world, most of them casualties of the war between the factions or lost to time in the forgotten corners of the wilds. Rumors speak of grand libraries inside the cities, but even if they exist, those are nothing more than a dream for a rambler like me.

There was a small collection in my childhood village, a few dozen books that we’d found over the years, but since I left? I can count on two hands the number of physical books I’ve held.

Something heavy lodges in my chest as that string pulls tight in my gut, the mark on my arm flaring under the cover of my jacket. Emotion clogs my throat, taking me a few attempts to swallow past it.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Boomerang chews happily on a decaying stuffed animal, cotton stuffing sticking in her teeth as she pulls away long enough to smile at me. “It doesn’t!” I argue, and her head tilts in a very skeptical way.

“Yeah, okay,” I whisper as I drop onto the couch, staring at the book. “Maybe it means something.” The words seem to echo in the silence, forcing me to acknowledge them. Because as much as I want to deny it, as much as I want to throw the fates a few middle fingers and tell them I’m not interested in what they’re offering, I can’t. No matter how much I drag my heels, or how much I kick and scream and fight , the attraction between us keeps growing.

There’s this blurry little picture forming in the back of my mind—a fuzzy image of a future where he keeps his word, and he comes back. A future where he stays and proves there’s something left in this world for me.

I want him…. want him to come back. Want to know him.

And I hate every fucking second of it, because above everything else ?

I want to not be hurt again.

My palm rubs over my chest, soothing that relentless, insistent ache as I curl into the couch, dimming the lantern as low as it’ll go as I open the book. Holding the flimsy pages with care, my eyes focus on the first lines, and I get lost in the story.

In two days, I’ve ventured further from the house, finding a fresh water source I trust enough to drink and a handful of other useful items.

Years of scavenging have honed my skills, but unless I go further—unless I leave —I’m running out of things to keep me occupied. The stillness is grating on me, a restlessness in my soul that wants to move, despite the voice inside that screams at me to wait. It’s a tug-of-war, a push-and-pull, as my logical brain battles my influenceable heart.

I can leave at any time , I tell myself. It’s not like I promised him anything. He doesn’t invade my waking thoughts or take over my dreams at night. And I’m certainly not waiting for an answer to my question.

I don’t even want him to come with me.

Sweet lies, all of them—ones we whisper to ourselves when the denial is too strong.

A rainy-day adventure underneath the house led us to a stash of clothes with a few salvageable items inside. I’m sitting at the creek, washing and drying them, when the crunch of gravel kicks in the distance. Boomerang freezes, her ears perking up as she points her snout in the direction of the noise. Together, we sneak back to find an unfamiliar vehicle parked in the driveway. I duck behind a bush and wait, Boomerang crouched beside me.

Ronan’s giant, leather-wrapped frame walks out of the house and around the side of the sedan. Relief flutters in my stomach, rising into my throat as I realize just how worried I’d been that he’d gotten caught helping me.

His expression pulls tight, and he leans against the car, crossing his arms as his shoulders slump forward. Long black hair drapes in front of his face as he stares at the palm of his gloved hand, before suddenly shoving it through his hair and standing tall. Maybe I should put him out of his misery, but it’s fascinating to watch the kaleidoscope of emotions that crosses his usually stoic face.

He opens the back, and my eyes widen as he moves several large bags to the ground, then slams the trunk with so much force I swear the shockwaves blow across my skin. His gaze lingers on the overflowing packs, heavy with uncertainty, and I realize he thinks I’ve moved on without him.

Ronan crouches and scrubs his palms over his face, his shoulders wilting as his head thunks against the metal of the car. I’ve never seen him so defeated—so beaten —and suddenly, I want to take that defeat away.

Careful not to make any noise, I approach, but Boomerang steps on a twig and Ronan’s head snaps up, his eyes finding mine as he rushes to his feet. “You’re here,” he says as I step closer, staring at me with something akin to wonder until he realizes he’s gone doe-eyed and masks it with his usual apathy .

“You don’t have to do that around me, you know.” He glances at me in question as I gesture at his face. “Pretend you’re an emotionless robot that doesn’t care.”

“I don’t pretend —” he argues, but I interrupt with a laugh.

“So, you are an emotionless robot? Good to know. I’ll adjust my expectations accordingly.”

“That’s not what I said,” he grumbles, kicking at the rocks under his feet in an adorable act of rebellion.

I gesture at the giant sacks beside the car. “So, that’s a lot of stuff.” His foot kicks again, and I’m thrilled when a dark mauve blush tints his cheeks. “Like, a lot of stuff… almost as if you expect me to stay here for a long time…?”

“You don’t have to keep everything,” he mutters, “but I’d rather be over-prepared.”

“Alright, big guy, let’s take this haul inside and we can talk.” He nods and reaches for all three bags, but I knock his hand out of the way. “I’m not helpless, you know.” His gaze slides down my torso as I toss a bag over my shoulder, that blush staining his face darker. I glance down to find the tiny shirt he’d brought me riding up, exposing my stomach.

Pupils blown, his eyes find mine again, tongue darting between his lips as his throat bobs in a swallow. I can’t help myself as my gaze drops, tracking the movement, and I think for a moment he’s going to come closer, but instead he turns towards the house.

“When your supplies weren’t inside, I assumed you’d left.” His voice is soft as he drops the two bags on the floor of the kitchen, and I plop mine less gracefully beside them .

“I never keep my stuff in plain sight,” I explain, then gesture to the trees, “and I’m washing my clothes in the creek.”

His gaze blindly follows my hand, staring at the wall. “I just thought…”

“I know what you thought,” I say, taking a step closer and waiting for his eyes to find mine again. “And I saw how it bothered you.”

“I came back,” he whispers, and a weak smile pulls at my lips as I try to ignore the thundering of my heart. It doesn’t prove anything, not yet… but it’s something.

It’s a start.

“You did.” He doesn’t respond, but his breathing speeds up as I reach out and squeeze his fingers. “You came back, and I didn’t leave, Ronan.”

“No, you didn’t.” His gaze dances across my face. “You didn’t leave… but did you stay ?”

“I…” The words catch in my throat, and I can’t force them out. The moment is suddenly too intimate, and we’re standing too close, and I’m touching him too much, so I take a step back and drop his hand, gesturing towards the supplies. “What’s in the bags?”

Ronan clears his throat, as if the closeness was affecting him as well. “Probably more clothes than you need, but I snagged a leather jacket that should fit you. It will serve as good protection, even if it’s hot this time of year. Blankets and packs, a few knives…”

“Any more books?” Fuck, I love how that color deepens on his cheeks.

“A few,” he mumbles, glancing at me then doing a double take as another smile spreads over my face. He licks his lips and darts his eyes away, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “Theres, um, more water and dried foods… lots of rice and grain. I know it isn’t fancy, but it’s filling, and you need to put on some weight.”

A loud laugh explodes out of my mouth, and he jumps, startled by my outburst. “I’m sorry,” I say through my laughter, “did you seriously just come in here and announce you’ve brought me rib-sticking food because I’m too skinny?”

He scoffs, obviously flustered, and I’m enjoying his discomfort way too much as I stand and lift my arms in a stretch. His eyes fall to my stomach again and a low noise rumbles from the back of his throat, a growl that doesn’t fully form. “What’s wrong, Ronan?” I ask, unable to help my grin. “Thought I was too skinny for a big, muscular warrior like yourself.”

He stands and moves in front of me so fast it’s a blur, leaving only a tiny gap between us as his eyes roam my body. It’s like a rope winds around us both, pulling tighter and tighter, and demanding we get closer. His hand lifts, hesitating, before he places it on the bare skin of my stomach, and I jolt at the spark of electricity that passes between us.

“Do not put words in my mouth.” His other hand joins the first, and they’re so large they can nearly circle my waist. That heaviness in my gut sinks lower, my cock trying to run the show as it thickens inside my pants.

“I could put other things in your mouth,” I whisper, staring at his lips with a boldness that’s completely unlike me. A boldness I haven’t had since the last time I got close enough to someone else to let them rip my heart out.

He could do it all over again if you let him .

Indecision wars inside me as Ronan forms another of those quiet growls. The hauntings of my past disappear as his thigh pushes between my knees, and I can’t hold back the pitiful sound I make at the friction. “Something tells me we’d both enjoy that,” I say, my voice a rasping mess, and Ronan lunges forward, lifting me as though I weigh nothing at all as he sits me on the countertop.

We’re face-to-face now, with his breath ghosting over my lips, eyes burning into my skin as they rake over my body. “Do not tease me, Cameron.” His voice is husky as his tails flare out from his armor, fanning behind him. “Unless you want to back up those words with action.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I whisper, and his eyes close as his nose nudges mine, his lips parting. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

His palm settles on my neck, thumb tracing over my bottom lip as his eyes open again. He drags it down until it releases, popping back up against the upper one, and his eyes land on mine again. “It’s not just me? I can’t fucking focus , Cameron.”

“No,” I murmur, leaning into the sparking heat of his skin on mine. “No, it’s not just you.” He’s so close, I wouldn’t even have to move to kiss him. Just a simple pucker of my lips, and I could quench a fraction of this thirst. My every muscle wants to give in to this maddening attraction between us, but I hesitate as I stare into his eyes, pupils almost fully eclipsing his irises. Forcing the last of my brain cells to function, I throw out my final life preserver, hoping I don’t drown. “You never answered my question. Would you leave with me?”

Lip worrying between his teeth, he stares, tracing the lines of my face before finding my eyes again. His gaze feels like a deliberate assessment, like he’s determining if I’m worth the risk, and the disappointment that splinters through me hurts more than it should. Indecision is written all over his face, bringing me crashing back down to earth.

All those visions of a future where I could be happy dissolve in a matter of quiet moments as I realize how much I’d wanted him to come with me.

To choose me.

My feet thud as I jump off the counter, dodging around him and busying myself by digging through the sacks. I try to ignore the ache in my chest as I toss the contents everywhere, making a mess in my agitation. It’s no surprise he’s stronger than me, able to resist this feeling that draws us together.

Or maybe he doesn’t feel it at all, and this was fate’s grand idea of a joke. Plant the seed in my mind that I could actually have a life worth living, then rip it from the ground before it ever has the chance to grow.

He doesn’t want me, and I was an idiot to stay.

“What are you doing?” He keeps his distance, staring at me as though I’m a wild animal.

“Figuring out what I can carry with me when I leave tomorrow.” I don’t keep the contempt out of my voice as I slam a blanket onto the ground, irritated when there’s no satisfying thud to accent my temper.

“Cameron.” His frustration is obvious as he grabs my arm and forces me to face him.

“No!” I shout, shoving at his shoulders, and I know he’s letting me win as he takes a step backward. Even in my anger, I can’t overpower him. “You don’t get to fucking mess with my emotions like this, Ronan. You don’t get to do that! ”

He shakes his head, confused. “I told you I would bring supplies—”

“Supplies, yes, but not…” I stutter for a second, gesturing towards my pitiful reading nook. “Not books and things that make me believe you actually paid attention. You don’t get to waltz in here and tell me you missed me… claim that you can’t stop thinking about me when you have every intention of walking away again. It isn’t fair to pretend like you care, Ronan. Not when I actually do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sneers, shaking his head as he steps closer. “Of course I care. You’re my mate.”

“Fuck being your mate!” I shout, and he reels back like I’ve slapped him. “Fuck the mark, fuck the godsdamned Fates! If that’s the only reason you’re doing this, take your attention elsewhere. Give it to someone else… shove it up your own ass for all I care!”

His mouth drops open, his eyes darting between mine. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

“Of course you don’t,” I mutter, fuming. “Let me spell it out for you in ways that your simple little monster brain can comprehend. If this was ever going to work between us, you need to care about me for more than some stupid mark on my arm. I need to be a choice , Ronan, and not just an obligation.”

“Have I not shown I’m trying?” He grabs my wrists, tugging me forward until our bodies knock together. “This is as foreign to me as it is to you, Cameron, but I’m trying. I just need time to figure this out.”

“How much time, huh? A few more days? A week? A fucking month? ”

“I don’t know,” he says, gritting his teeth .

“That seems to be your motto, doesn’t it? You want to keep me here, holed up in this claustrophobic house while you continue to live your life the way you always have.” I rip away from the magnetic pull of his body, and he doesn’t chase as I back up a few steps. “Nothing’s changed for you, has it? An extra pit stop on your patrol every few days, a half hour of time spent making sure I’m well-fed .” I grab a bag of grains and chuck it at him in my anger, a spiteful smile crossing my face when it thunks into his chest and falls to the ground. “Well, don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your routine any more than I already have.”

“Cameron, wait.” He reaches for me as I storm towards the door, but I rip my hand away, glaring at him.

“Do not follow me,” I hiss, pushing his shoulders one last time for good measure. “I never asked for any of this, and I won’t be fucking kept . You can’t just lock me in a tower and expect me to be here when you have time to come check on me. Everyone leaves— everyone —and I will not sit here waiting for you to leave, too.”

“I would never leave you,” he utters, and gods, how I want to believe it.

But I don’t. I can’t afford to.

Blindly reaching behind me, I search for the knob and fling the door open, flooding the room with sunlight and illuminating the stupidly handsome planes of his face. Pouring contempt into my voice, I sneer as I say, “I never asked for a mate, and I don’t want you, Ronan.”

Pain tears through my chest as hurt flashes across his face, and he stops, not trying to hide his emotions as he reaches for me, but I’m gone. I march through the door, wanting to get as far away from him as I can while my heart is still intact.