Chapter 11
RAVENA
After Kieran had passed out, there wasn’t much more we could do. It was late, and if we had any chance of getting the ingredients for the spell, Malrik had to leave.
Once the wards were strengthened, they would know someone from this realm crossing through the barriers isn’t from here. He said not to worry about him, he’s done it plenty of times without being detected, and I believe him.
He managed to watch me for weeks without me noticing. Believe me, when you’ve been on the run for so long, feeling someone’s presence should be easy.
Malrik kissed me breathlessly, not caring who was watching, winked at Ronan and then whispered a reminder of the last ingredient that I had to get.
It would be a suicide mission; it made me feel sick to my stomach because to do this, I would need their help.
Now I stood in front of the mirror in my room early in the morning, dressed in nothing but black lace underwear, my fingers tracing the scars etched into my skin.
The deep bite mark on my shoulder stood out the most—a permanent reminder of the night a vampire tried to drain me when I was fifteen.
My mother was still alive then. We were ambushed, one of the rare times they got close enough to strike.
He wanted a taste, to see if my blood would make him stronger.
I could still remember the pain, the way his fangs tore into me like fire ripping through my veins. But before he could drain me, a shadow demon ripped the bastard’s heart out with his mind.
I never got the chance to thank him—or even look at him properly, to really see who he was.
Turning slightly, I ran my fingers down my spine, feeling the ink that had become a part of me, woven into my very being.
My tattoo was a masterpiece of shadows and silver, an intricate blend of deep blues and inky black.
At the nape of my neck sat a small crescent moon, its edges faintly glowing like silver caught in candlelight.
Below it, sleek tendrils of flowing smoke curled downward, tapering into sharp, curved points that mimicked feathered wings—angelic in shape, but dark and untamed, like something meant to fly beyond the heavens.
The further down it went, the design became more chaotic, with tendrils twisting and weaving like living shadows until they formed a single, clouded keyhole at the base of my spine.
“Shit, sorry.”
I glanced up, catching Ronan’s reflection. His black hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and somehow, his blue eyes looked even brighter in the dim morning light.
He had the kind of face that always looked like it was up to something—mischief or trouble, maybe both.
I turned to face him, making zero effort to cover up. It was my body—he could deal with it. And from the way his eyes dragged over me, slowly and unbothered, he didn’t seem particularly inclined to complain.
Love the blush on his cheeks, though.
“You’re up early,” I said, arching a brow.
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Kieran snores.”
I laughed, shaking my head as he wandered further into the room.
“I’m sure you snore too,” I said, eyeing him with mock judgment.
“Probably,” he shrugged. “But it doesn’t keep me up, so it's not my problem.”
“Selfish.”
He gave me that once over now he was closer—slow, unapologetic—and for a second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he met mine again. The way he looked at me made something buzz low in my stomach.
This man should have killed me, or at the very least turned me in for what I’m hiding. But he didn’t. He saved me. He saved Xarothar, too.
And that? That was something I didn’t know what to do with.
“You’re staring, Ronan,” I tilted my head, keeping my tone light.
“That so? Funny—I was just about to say the same about you.”
I bit back a grin. “You walked into my room uninvited. I think I’m allowed to look.”
He took a step closer, voice dropping into something that slid right down my spine. “And you’re standing there in lace, Cherry. I think I’m allowed to enjoy the view.”
I scoffed but held my ground. “Careful, Ronan. Keep that up and I'll start to think you actually like me.”
By the stars, I might like him. But I can't tell him that.
His smirk slipped—just a flicker—but it was enough. I saw it before he covered it with that cocky shrug of his.
“Well, you make it difficult not to.”
The air shifted—thicker, heavier, like the silence between us was holding its breath, waiting for one of us to say something we wouldn’t be able to take back. I tilted my chin up, refusing to look away. He was too tall, like the rest of them.
Ronan lifted his hand, slow and careful, like I might bolt. His fingers brushed the edge of the bite mark on my shoulder—just a whisper of contact—but it sent a jolt right through me. My breath caught in my throat.
His expression darkened. The playfulness vanished, replaced with something far more dangerous. His blue eyes were ice and fire at once.
“The vampire who did this…” he murmured; voice rough as gravel. “Deserves to die.”
A smile curved across my lips, holding his gaze. “Don’t worry, he did.”
His fingers lingered at the bite for a beat too long before they drifted down my arm—unhurried, deliberate. Goosebumps chased his touch, but I stayed perfectly still. I wouldn’t let him see how easily he got under my skin.
I couldn’t.
Then his eyes lifted, catching the spark behind mine. His expression shifted just enough—half knowing, half amused—like he could read me in ways I didn’t care to admit.
“That so?” his fingers brushed my wrist. The touch barely registered, but I felt it like he was touching me all over. “Guess I don’t need to track him down and rip his heart out then.”
A laugh escaped me. “You’re a little late for that.”
A soft hum left him as his fingers threaded through mine—effortless, like it had been his place all along. His other hand lifted to toy with a strand of my hair, letting it coil lazily around his finger. The red-tipped ends caught the light, a bold reminder of who I am.
His gaze held mine. “You’re beautiful, Cherry.”
Just a few quiet words, but they settled deep within me. And annoyingly, my heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sure you tell all the girls that.”
Something shifted in his pretty eyes, like a door slamming shut on the teasing glint that had been there a second ago. The air thickened, and before I could move, his hand tightened around mine, tugging me into him. Hard. Our bodies collided, like magnets snapping together.
His other hand found the small of my back, holding me there with a grip that left no room for arguments or escape.
“There are no other girls,” he said, voice low, nearly a growl. “Fuck, there’s only you.”
That caught me off guard.
“I don’t know why I feel like this… why I want you this badly. But I can't deny it. I want you, more than I've ever wanted anything.”
My heart skipped. Then raced.
His grip tightened as his lips hovered just a breath away from mine. My pulse thundered in my ears, but I didn’t pull back. I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
“I want to kiss every inch of your skin.” His hand slid along the curve of my spine, like he owned the map to every inch of me. Heat flared under his touch, and I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through me. His gaze flicked to my mouth, and I knew he felt it too.
“I want to learn what makes you laugh,” he went on, softer now, more ragged. “So, I can see that little crinkle on your nose, the dimple in your cheek. All of it.”
The confession cracked something wide open in my chest. But it was what he said next that destroyed me.
“When I saw that vampire almost sink his teeth into you…” His jaw flexed, like he was holding his rage back. “I lost it. I have never felt rage like that. Not once in my entire fucking life. I wanted to rip him apart.”
My breath caught. Not because I didn’t believe him, but because I did. It’s because it felt right; he felt right.
That’s what scares me.
His forehead pressed against mine, his breath ghosting over my lips, a promise unspoken. My hands flattened against his chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat as he barely held himself together.
“I’ve never felt like this before, and I know I should fight it. I should walk away.”
His hand dug into my back, and I could feel the tension radiating off him. “But gods help me, I don’t want to.”
Then he kissed me.
There was nothing careful or slow about it.
His lips crashed into mine with a hunger that stole my breath right from my lungs, like he had been starving and I was the only thing that could satisfy his ache.
My back hit the mirror behind me, his body following with no space left between us, and I felt every inch of him.
His hands roamed without hesitation, one gripping my waist, the other threading through my hair. I should pull away. I should’ve stopped it.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to, I wanted him, I wanted this.
I kissed him back with urgency. I curled my fingers into his shirt, fisting the fabric, dragging him closer when we were already pressed tight.
Oh, I really wish he had come in at least half-naked. I wanted to feel him like he could feel me.
His tongue brushed against mine—teasing, claiming—and I parted my lips just a little more, inviting him in.
A soft moan escaped before I could swallow it, and it snapped something in him. His grip on me tightened, and his kiss consumed me. It was messy and addictive.
But the intensity of it—the raw consuming heat—made my head spin, and I tore myself even though it was the last thing I wanted.
My lips tingled as I licked them, and he caught the movement. My mind was a mess, but my body already missed the feel of him. The taste of him.
Ronan stood there, chest heaving, eyes burning with something feral. He looked at me like stopping had physically hurt him, like the only thing keeping him from kissing me again was sheer, brutal restraint.