Lucille #3
He stared at me with his mouth slightly open, nostrils flaring, and a second punishment lurking in his gaze.
Messy and Ronen were two words that didn’t go together.
While baking, he had cleaned up after himself, keeping his area as pristine as possible.
Even his room reflected his need for organization and cleanliness.
The only time he ever seemed unkempt was after training, but no one left that arena without a coating of sand and sweat on their body.
“Oh, Hellion.” He shook his head, pulled me up, and nuzzled his sticky face against mine.
I giggled, trying to bat him away, which only made him laugh. I loved the sound. I wanted to record it so I could play it on repeat, remembering this moment forever. Remembering his joy. Unfettered. And all mine.
I drew back, thoroughly sticky and in need of a shower. But my giggles cut off when I realized how close his lips were—the decision to claim him sitting a fraction of a second away.
Like it’d ever be that easy.
“It’s late,” I murmured. “We should probably go to bed.” I twisted and slipped one half of my dress on, then the other, buttoning it back up.
When I looked at him, his eyes were black and his face a mask.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and dressed, but the mood had drastically changed.
Was it because I didn’t kiss him? It couldn’t be.
He knew the terms and agreed. But I didn’t know what caused his sudden dark mood.
We quietly walked back to our rooms, both in need of a good shower.
My thoughts drifted to the conversation I’d had with Oliver the other night.
Ronen would want to know. But he was already in a sour mood.
I couldn’t tell him now… right? Lost in my thoughts, I stopped at Oliver and Aspen’s door. Ronen stopped at mine.
He stilled. There was no time to slide up next to him and act like I’d been there the entire time. He knew I wasn’t beside him anymore. He knew where I stood.
My heart sank.
I messed up. I should’ve been paying attention, should’ve thought this through. Oliver said he’d look after Aspen. He told me to take time to think and process away from him. So why did I stop at their damned room?
“It’s not…”
What you think? I didn’t know what he was thinking, and I sure as Heavenly Hell didn’t know what I was. What words could I possibly say to remove his deafening silence?
He continued keeping his back to me.
I crept over to my door and stood beside him. He gazed at the wood, refusing to shift his attention. I grabbed the shadow-coated doorknob, thinking that going into my room would somehow make up for my lapse in thought.
“Don’t,” he said, slowly turning to me. His mask was on; shadows covered the gold in his eyes. “Go check on him.”
“Ronen, I wasn’t going to. I just—I don’t—”
He slid his hand into my hair and kissed my forehead, rendering me silent.
“It’s okay, Hellion. Sleep in whatever room you choose.” Then he walked away, leaving me stunned.
I sat on my bed with Cato’s book in my lap, reading the same sentence on Inviso for probably the tenth time.
“Get it together,” I snapped at myself.
Ronen was fine.
Yeah. Like I’d be fine if Moira were still alive and he was bonded to her—stopping at her room after a mind-altering date. Totally. Fucking. Fine.
My head fell back against the headboard. “What am I doing?”
I slid Cato’s book aside. If I didn’t take the time to process, as Oliver had suggested, I’d never be in the right mindset to dream-walk and actually help my mom.
So I dove in.
After being cut off from people and reading stories about other people’s adventures, lives, and romances, it only made sense that my mother and I fought as much as we did.
She wanted to suffocate me with her protection and fear.
I wanted experiences. I wanted to fall madly in love.
I was a teenager with no future. A piece of me died every second my mom kept me locked away.
And that was how she wanted it, for the rest of my life.
So paired with her revealing her secret about hiding me from, well, everyone, I wasn’t okay. And I never thought I would be.
Until Aspen.
In the hallucination I showed him, I had told him he saved me the night he covered me in the forest. But he didn’t. He freed me—opening my eyes to the possibilities of love and life. I’d become addicted to his visits and those dimples I sometimes tugged out of him.
I fell in love with him.
Yes. Fell.
Looking back on everything, I realized I’d been deluding myself. I’d always been in love with Aspen. At least parts of him.
I loved the way he listened to everything I said in rapt silence.
I loved how, on the rarest occasions, laughter sprang from his lungs.
When the Hell Rune’s influence quieted beneath my touch and he smiled, he shone with the purest light.
It transformed him. He dazzled, exuding an energy that made everything seem possible.
He was like sunshine. But I only ever got tastes of it—caught between moments and a mystery that left me wanting.
Then there were times when he became cold and detached.
Times he refused to give me even a sliver, and the mystery around him turned frustrating.
He said he was protecting me. But the secrets between us became too much.
We were becoming my mother and me. We even fought like it, when I’d thought he was my solace away from home.
Now he was willing to share anything with me. Give me anything I wanted. And I knew once he forgave himself for his past, he could outshine just about anyone.
Then there was Ronen.
He hadn’t freed me the way Aspen had. He’d done something quieter and somehow more terrifying—he’d made me feel like I already belonged somewhere.
Even more than that, he made me feel safe.
Not like the safety of walls and locked doors my mother had built around me. Walls could be torn down, doors unlocked. His safety, even when he blocked the bond, felt absolute. Never-ending.
He had proven that over and over again. Not in grand gestures, but in his quiet fury. In the way he always stayed by my side. In the way he refused to let me break, even when I tried. He was always there. Unrelenting. Solid. Mine.
He didn’t dazzle the way Aspen did. He didn’t need to.
Ronen was steadier—felt in the weight of his presence, in the way he could hold me together with a single glance. In the way he met me where I was and never demanded more, but knew I could be more.
I could try to blame it all on the bond. It was designed to protect each other. But it didn’t manufacture Ronen’s fury when I’d almost drained all my energy or his fear when I fought the Shard Storm alone. Or the awe I’d felt only hours ago.
Nor did it manufacture this fuzzy warmth filling me with hope. It might pull me toward him, but the rest—that wasn’t the bond.
That was just him.
And somehow that was scarier.
Because I couldn’t blame fate for these feelings.