CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
My cheeks failed me too, heat blooming hot and uninvited at the thought of what was hidden beneath it.
Thick brows lifted, one slashed by a scar that cut it nearly in half. Another, almost twin to it, nicked his upper lip. As if blades couldn’t resist tracing him. As if destruction wanted to mark him for its own.
“You know—” It was a smoky exhale, braced by the flex of his hand on his knee as he lowered himself to meet my face. “I’ve never quite preferred that nickname.”
I bit my bottom lip before I could stop myself.
His nostrils flared, his hand lifting, reckless fingers tugging at the leather on my shoulder.
My blade was faster, pressing to his throat before he could bare another inch of me, the steel kissing the vein that pulsed there.
A trace of amusement pulled at his mouth when my voice dropped to a whisper that hissed like the darkness hidden in me—
“Do not touch me.”
The blade sank deeper.
The knuckles grazing my collarbone dropped, but didn’t move to retreat, only leaned closer as he said, “Prince sounds so…” The breath that ghosted my ear was a molten whisper, sending tremors racing down my spine. “…fragile.”
Warmth drifted off him in waves, wild heat tasting of cinnamon and fire, comfort and chaos colliding.
When he finally drew back, I could see where my blade had nicked his throat, coaxing a bead of blood that lingered like a promise before it dissolved.
I brushed my tongue along my lip, considering.
The first thing he did was smile. Just enough to be insulting.
“Careful.” His focus moved to the blade for a split second. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m restraining myself.” I aimed the point back toward his pulse. “There’s a difference.”
His eyes, too bright for him, tracked the line of my arm, my wrist, the steadiness of my grip. Genuine amusement sparked there.
That annoyed me more than fear would have.
He took a step back. I followed. Another step, as if this were a dance and he’d decided the tempo.
Then the smoke moved, slipping quietly, curling from his shoulders, brushing my cheek as he shifted. It caught one of my loose curls and tucked it back from my face.
The contact was nothing, less than nothing, and still, my pulse jumped at the warm presence of being acknowledged.
I hated it.
The moment stretched just long enough for me to register the betrayal of my own body. Then I snarled and lunged. Steel flashed as I drove forward with everything—elbow, knee, blade—aiming for throat, ribs, anything that would force him to react.
He didn’t retreat. He barely moved.
One finger lifted, that was all.
The air warped as pressure slammed into my chest, halting my momentum mid-strike. My boots skidded uselessly over slick ground, hitting an invisible wall. My dagger screamed as it dragged against something unseen.
Ronan tilted his head, studying me. “That’s better.”
I twisted, snarling, trying to break free. The pressure adjusted instantly, anticipating, then correcting. Every move I made met resistance before I finished it.
I slashed again, forcing the blade through this time, angling for his shoulder.
The smoke responded.
It snapped tight around my wrist, guiding, redirecting the strike a hair’s breadth off course. The blade bit air instead of flesh.
I swore and went low, sweeping for his legs.
Ronan sighed.
The ground dropped out from under me. Not literally, he didn’t shatter the realm or throw me back. He shifted his weight and the pressure tilted, sending me stumbling past him instead.
I caught myself at the last second, spun, and came up swinging.
He was already there.
His hand hovered near my throat, the smoke coiled between us, a living boundary.
“You’re angry,” he sneered. “That makes sense.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped.
His mouth curved. “No.”
I screamed and surged again, rage cracking something open in my chest. Power answered, and for half a breath I almost broke through his hold.
His brows lifted. Interest, this time. Then—
A sharp whistle cut through the trees.
My body froze, my breath hitching as instinct overrode fury.
Ronan felt it.
He moved, the pressure vanishing and becoming a force. He stepped into my space, one smooth motion, using my own stalled momentum. Smoke hardened, just enough to be something solid, and the ground rushed up to meet me.
I hit hard.
Air punched from my lungs as I rolled, trying to recover, but the smoke was back, staring me down, waiting to replace the breath from my throat.
“You’re dangerous, too,” he whispered. “But you’re not in control.”
I bared my teeth.
“I’ll see you when the smoke clears,” he promised, eyes hovering on me before he turned, retreating to the trees with his smoke back at his heel.
The words settled like a vow I’d never outrun.
I opened my mouth to respond, to ask whatever the hel that meant, when something brushed my lip. A fleck, small and white, floating from the sky.
Snow?
Wails split the air, mayhem, hushed by my fixation on him, all crashing back at once. Screams so raw they deafened. My heart plunged, my stomach twisting with sickness as I turned toward the sound.
Ruin. It was only ruin.
Flames devoured the village whole as ash rained down, smoke floating across the sky until it blackened.
And above it all, the white dragon wheeled, no longer dazzling, only destroying.
“No!” My voice tore ragged from my throat.
That venomous whisper in my blood uncoiled, lashing in time with my fury. My anger ignited, stoked by the blaze until it was an inferno of its own. I ripped the serpent free from my wrist, unleashed it, and let it swell, until it was three times its length, a shadow born of venom.
Until it was fury incarnate.
It lunged through the air, my scream its fuel, straight for the dragon prince, fangs bared, curse striking for the vein that had pulsed beneath my blade.
Ash rained heavily, some catching on my lashes. I didn’t blink them away. I let them burn, let them power the venom I poured into the beast. Spice coated my tongue, like it was me seconds from sinking fangs into flesh.
The air trembled, then split, as dark vapor spilled from his spine like wings as he turned and caught my snake by the throat.
No. No, that wasn’t possible.
His hand closed around its neck and my heart ceased.
That snake was mine. Untouchable. A nightmare made real only through me. And yet it writhed real in his grip.
He squeezed harder, and I choked. The grip on it was a grip on me. My throat cinched, a phantom grip closing around my neck, my vision swam, my knees buckled.
I reached, gasping, a hand thrown toward him.
There was no change in his face, no shift in his grip. It was stone.
With one final squeeze, the serpent convulsed, black scales flaking, and before sense could catch up, Ronan collapsed it to dust between his fingers.
The scream strangled itself in my throat, dying to a harsher, agonizing burn. It seared up my arm, blistering through muscle and bone. My knees hit the ground as I clutched at the raw flesh around my wrist where the snake had lived.
His steps came methodically. Then he crouched, a shadow bending too fucking close. One finger hooked beneath my chin, lifting it until I met the dragon fire of his stare. Fume curled from his knuckles, caressing me as cruelly as it burned. “You’re not so scary, are you, Viper?” he whispered.
He opened his hand, ash spilling free, the ghost of what was mine, and he blew it into my face. A taunt. A threat. His fucking death wish.
The ancient thing inside me stretched its spine, tasting the air, thrashing, venom dripping hot from my teeth. I forced it loose, nightmares bleeding into my skin, ready to lash, to tear, to end him.
I lunged, claws slashing for his face—
Before my rage could finish, he vanished, swallowed in his own glory, leaving only the echo of that murderous sneer.
And me, kneeling in debris, tongue dragging over my nails, memorizing the last thing he left behind.