Chapter 11 #2
I didn’t trust my voice. So instead, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his chest, grounding myself in the rapid beat of his heart. Strong arms wrapped around me instantly.
He held me like I was the most fragile thing in the world—and somehow, that only made me want him closer.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Cherry,” he said quietly into my hair, a breath of frustration. A whisper of something dangerously close to devotion.
I huffed a laugh, looking up. “I’m not that bad.”
“You are,” he whispered, brushing his lips against my temple. “And the worst part? I don’t even care.”
I took a step to the side, moving away to create some sort of space so I could think clearly. “We need to talk to Kieran about Darian.”
And about everything else.
Ronan’s expression shifted as he nodded, his lips a little swollen from our kiss.
“I’ll see if he’s awake, but fair warning—he’s not exactly a morning person.”
Truth be told, neither am I.
“That makes two of us,” Xarothar grumbled in my mind.
“Nobody’s keeping you awake, sleeping beauty.”
The dragon scoffed. “You are with your emotions about the chatty one.”
“He has a name.”
“Don’t care.”
“Go back to sleep, grumpy.”
Focusing on Ronan, who now seemed a bit twitchy. “If I can handle a drunk Kieran, I can handle a grumpy Kieran.”
He chuckled, stepping close again, his warmth curling around me. “I don’t doubt that.”
Then he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, his lips lingered just a second longer than necessary, “But can you handle me?”
He pulled away with that damn cute smile and strolled towards the door. As his fingers brushed the doorframe, ready to wake Kieran, I couldn’t help myself.
“Ronan.”
He paused, fingers curling around the wood, muscles tensing, then turned to me, one brow arching. “Yeah?”
I swallowed, shifting where I stood. For once, I didn’t have any snarky comebacks or a biting joke, just this gnawing question clawing at the back of my throat.
“Why are you nice to me? And it can’t just be because you want to get me into bed.” I ask.
“Okay, first, it’s more than that, and you know it. Secondly, what do you mean by ‘why am I nice?”
I motioned to myself, unsure how to make him understand. “You’re… you. I’ve seen what you're capable of. The way people look at you. They’re scared—for good reason, well apart from the women who want you in their bed. But you’re dangerous, Ronan, you all are. But with me…”
He studied me, quiet and unreadable, his eyes narrowing. Then he crossed the room as I twisted my hands together, and when he stopped right in front of me, he gripped my chin to look at him.
“You’re not like anyone else, you don’t flinch, don’t fake it. You don’t treat me like a monster, because Cherry, I’ve done some messed-up shit.”
I held his gaze, my throat tight.
“And maybe I like the way you see me,” he went on, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “Because when you look at me… I don’t feel like one.”
I used to think they were just Vesperas soldiers, but they're more than that. Maybe someone did need to stop her, to bring some semblance of peace—and a little order—back to Velmore.
“Life’s short, I’ve seen enough of it to know waiting around just gives the world a chance to take shit from you.”
His tone wasn’t soft; it was pleading. It was steady and honest.
“So yeah, I feel this. I’m not pretending, and I’m not running from it. Whenever you're ready… I’m here.”
His fingers still traced lightly along my jaw, nothing more, but every brush set my nerves alight. I found myself studying him properly—the faint scars on his cheek, the way his eyes held me, like I could drown in them and never surface.
“And when you are ready to trust me, just know I already do.”
Something twisted in my chest, sharp and sudden. Not pain exactly—just the gut-punch ache of seeing someone seeing you too clearly.
I didn’t have words. Hell, I barely had thoughts. I was still untangling this thing between us, still figuring out how I feel without falling apart. So, I said nothing—just let my hands rest against his chest, grounding myself in the steady rhythm of his heart.
Ronan didn’t push; he never did.
“I’ll go wake Kieran, get dressed,” he finally said, his voice gruffer now. His hands skimmed down my waist before he turned and left, not looking back.
I stood there for a second longer, exhaling slowly.
First Malrik, I understood, but now Ronan. Kissing them was a bad idea, because I couldn’t think straight when they did.
A loud thud cracked through the quiet, followed by Kieran’s irritated voice echoing from below.
“Fuck off, Ronan.”
Ronan’s laugh rang out in response, and I kind of felt sorry for Kieran, knowing he would be nursing a hangover and maybe a bad back. I’ve never drunk alcohol before, but I've read about it in books, though, and it doesn’t sound too pleasant.
I didn’t need to see Ronan to know he was grinning like the smug, adorable man he was. Shaking my head, I threw on a dark green sweater dress, slipped on some socks and headed downstairs.
Kieran was rummaging through my kitchen cupboards, still in the same clothes he had passed out in, as he muttered about the lack of food. Ronan, on the other hand, was seated with one of my books in hand, his eyes scanning the pages far too quickly.
Then I noticed the faint flush on his cheeks.
Adorable.
Ronan looked up, and as soon as he spotted me, his eyes widened in sheer panic, maybe a bit of embarrassment.
He slammed the book shut as if it personally offended him and threw it over his shoulder.
I knew which book it was, the certain kink in that one was that the male main character liked to be called a good boy.
Interesting.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the railing as a slow grin tugged at my lips. “Read anything interesting, Ronan?”
He cleared his throat, straightening in his seat.” Nope.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound more amused than surprised, and turned on my heel to face Kieran, who was watching me like I was a puzzle he didn’t like the look of. Now that he wasn’t drunk, maybe we could actually talk without him growling at me.
“Who are you?” His voice was low and rough.
I met his stare. “Does it matter? The real question is, what am I supposed to do with you?”
The truth was, too many people knowing about me was a problem. A dangerous one. I was never meant to be found. But the second I found Xarothar, everything spiralled. Malrik showed up. The vampire soldiers. Then Ronan, and now Kieran.
“I’m pretty pissed that you followed me, and for that, you can’t have any of the muffins I made.” Ronan stood next to me now, eating said muffin in front of Kieran, who was scowling.
“I don’t want any of your shit muffins.” Ronan gasped dramatically.
With his hand on his chest, and mock disbelief. “I’ll remember that when you want pancakes in the morning.”
I looked between them—so different, yet equally impossible to ignore. Kieran was rugged and scarred, he carried himself like a war-worn general—broad, imposing, with the kind of strength that didn’t need to shout to be known. One hug from him, and he could probably break me.
Ronan, by contrast, was all smooth edges and deliberate calm.
He looked untouched by chaos, too clean for this kind of world, but I know differently.
The only sign of violence was the faint scars along his cheek, delicate and nearly hidden beneath his composed exterior.
But no matter how different they looked, the truth was obvious—they both held the same quiet intensity, the same restrained, dangerous power waiting just beneath the surface.
I know Ronan won’t leave; he’s determined to gain my trust, and he might have some of it because I am still safe, and so is Xarothar.
“Like I said, Raven, trust him, trust them.”
As the two continued to bicker, I tapped my hand against my leg. “You know, don’t you?”
“I have my suspicions. If it is to be true, then don’t fight it.”
Easier said than done, especially with who they are and who I am.
“Cherry.” Ronan placed his hand on my shoulder, and I looked up his face was full of concern.
If I told them about what I had to do, and they agreed to help, Vespera would torture them for breaking one of her rules.
I can’t put them in that kind of danger; my life isn’t important, and Malrik obviously doesn’t care; he told me so.
I can’t let them be involved, Kieran wouldn’t agree.
Hell, he doesn’t even know me, but I like Ronan.
He’s sweet, funny and someone who deserves happiness.
“You both should go.”
I didn’t meet their eyes as I moved around Ronan—but of course, he shifted in front of me, blocking the doorway with a frown.
“I don’t think so,” he said, voice low. “Or did you already forget what I said upstairs?” his eyes flicked down to my lips. “The kiss?”
The way he whispered it made my chest flutter.
Like I could forget that kiss. It had been perfect—dangerous, addictive. I was one second away from climbing him like a damn tree.
“You don’t understand, Ronan,” I said quietly. “If you stay… you’ll die.”
He just tilted his head with a small smirk. “You don’t understand, Cherry, my job's practically a suicide mission every day.”
If he agreed to do what I needed, it would be like signing his immediate death warrant.
His expression softened, voice dropping just for me.
“But I’ve never once thought someone was worth dying for—until you.” That cut through all the walls I had built around myself since my mother died. The thought alone terrifies me that somebody else could die because of me.
There was no hesitation in his voice, no cocky grin to soften the blow. He fully meant it.
I took his hand in mine, holding back the tears threatening to escape.
“This is cosy and all, but firstly, I’m not helping you with whatever the fuck it is you need, and Ronan, relationships are forbidden.” Well, he’s blunt.
And grumpy.
Ronan just waved him off, never once looking away from me as his thumb brushed against my hand and tingles spread up my arm.
“Tell me what you need, Cherry.”
I took a deep breath, ignoring the feeling of Keiran's stare burning in the side of my head and straightened up.
“Malrik went to get some ingredients for a spell.”
“Okay.” He said, waiting for me to carry on.
“My magic was bound years ago, making it weak, and I need to break it, so Malrik is getting what I need to do that. The only problem is, I need to get the last ingredient for it to work.” Kieran walked over. Now, he was interested but still looked pissed.
Hangovers are probably unpleasant.
“That doesn’t sound too hard,” Ronan said, looking down at me.
Kieran didn’t blink. “What’s the ingredient?”
“Thought you didn’t want to help?” Ronan asked him with a raise of his brow, and Kieran shrugged.
“I don’t, just nosey.”
I bit my lip. “The last ingredient is the blood of a living relative.”
“Do you have any?” Ronan asked curiously.
I bite my lip nervously. “I have a grandmother.”
Ronan clapped, and Kieran shoved him because it was so loud.
“Easy enough, we just go and see her, ask for a donation and bam, we can unlock your powers.”
He’s not even asked why they need unlocking. And I doubt he will feel this happy once I tell him it won’t be that simple.
Kieran just watched me, eyes sharp, taking in every flicker of emotion crossing my face. The faint crease between his brows deepened as he studied me, focused.
“Who's your grandmother?”
Rip off the Band-Aid, Ravena.
I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see their reaction.
“My grandmother is Vespera, the queen of Velmore.”