CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ronan
TWO DAYS CAME AND WENT, morning seeping through the forest in copper streaks that didn’t quite reach the ground.
Ronan tilted his head back, drinking from his canteen until the metal clicked against his teeth. The water cooled his throat but did nothing for the burn crawling beneath his skin.
The tether in his mind went taut as he turned to where he felt her.
She stood across the camp, hair dripping, a nightshirt clinging in sin, the fabric translucent in the morning light.
Even scowling, she was a vision carved from contradiction.
Her eyes caught his, azure fractured with murk, pupils blown wide. There was madness in them. Hunger. Maybe sorrow once.
The oath tapped against his pulse, tightening.
He could reach her if he let the smoke take him, close the space between, close his hands around her throat.
Thunder answered the thought before he could, carrying her snarl as the wind caught her hair, ripping it across her cheeks, her neck. The first drops fell, tracing cold paths down his face.
She started toward him. Slow at first, every step steeped in anger as lightning split the sky behind her, white fire feeding off her fury.
In the same flash, Elva burst through the tent flaps, bare feet splashing against mud as she rushed for Verena.
Ford caught her wrist mid-stride, reeling her back to where he stood in the huddle of rebels before she could reach.
“One hundred coins says Verena wipes the ground with him,” Ford drawled.
Rain splattered against the shimmering ward that surrounded him, a neat little bubble of dry air that made him look smug enough to punch.
The others clustered nearby, watching in wary silence as the sky broke open, water pouring in sheets now. None of them moved to interfere.
Beside Ford, Wells gnawed at his nails, eyes darting between Verena and Ronan. His leg jittered, splattering mud up his trousers.
Ford nudged him with an elbow. “Well, are you betting on our girl or the fire-breathing reptile?”
The last word barely left his mouth before smoke whirred through his shield, burning it away in an instant. The ward collapsed, and the downpour hit him like blissful punishment.
Ford yelped, sputtering as his coat soaked through. “What the—”
Nezra laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. “Next time, maybe don’t tempt the dragon.” She pointed to where Ronan stood across the clearing, legs braced, arms folded, a smirk drawn on his mouth.
Ford froze under that look, water dripping from his hair. “Right,” he muttered. “No bets.”
Verena took Ronan’s distraction as an offering. But not everyone missed it. Elysian dropped from the air in a gust of feathers, wings folding into flesh as he landed, shifting mid-lunge. Steel stroked the rain as his blade flashed, moving to intercept.
Ronan’s pulse spiked. Even now, drenched to the bone and seething, she was all venom.
Between her knuckles, a presence glinted, a jagged shard of metal, like the weapon was part of her hand, part of her madness.
The canteen crashed to the ground when Ronan moved, shoving Elysian as it split the air.
His hand shot up, the edge of what she’d thrown biting into his palm as he caught it mid-flight.
Blood mingled with rain, pink ribbons spiraling down his wrist as he turned it over, recognizing the shape, the weight. An arrowhead sat in his hand, white and weathered.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded.
She only smirked, rain sliding over her lips, her neck. He barely had time to curse before she moved again, a dagger flashing now. Two steps. Four. Six.
And she was on him—
He pocketed the arrowhead, catching her wrists, stopping her blade one inch shy of his cheek. Her movements were fast, too fast for someone who should’ve been on the verge of collapse.
Canines grazed his forearm, close enough to have consequence. On instinct, he released her, his hand catching in her drenched hair before she could bite down. Water streamed from the strands as he yanked her head back, the motion sharp, tilting her face toward the ether.
She laughed. It was a wild, near-mad sound as her lips parted, drinking in the rain like sacrament.
Ronan’s brows furrowed, until a heartbeat later, he felt a piercing sting against his thigh. His eyes fell to the white-marbled hilt jutting from his leg, crimson already spreading through the black of his pants.
That sly, cursed little viper.
His glare snapped up as he shoved her away, the blade sliding free with her, another flash of pain biting deep. The dagger twirled through the air, rain painting streaks of red as she brought it to her lips, her tongue catching the droplets until the steel shone clean again.
Lightning split the sky as her eyes lifted, illuminating her dilated pupils. Her feral pupils.
The dagger spun in her palm as she neared, taunting him, that fanged smile drawn from her mouth.
Fine. If she wanted to play dirty, he’d burn with her.
A twitch, the barest shift at her mouth, and she lunged, blade slicing for him recklessly. No precision, no aim. Just rage in motion.
Her darkness met his fire, and Ronan, he should have lit it all ablaze.
She struck again, desperate to draw blood until her voice finally came. “You killed something of mine. A limb for a limb, prince. Or maybe,” she hissed, “my snake for your head.”
Ah. There it was.
Effortless, he dodged her every time. Each miss dragged her deeper, darker, until rage was all she had left to wear.
Then he misread her. The blade skimmed his chest, slicing cloth and skin, and before he could recover, her head collided with his nose. Bone cracked, stars bursting behind his eyes as he stumbled back.
The camp fell to a hush in a ring around them as his nose wrinkled, bones snapping back into place. She was angry. And flames burn him, he knew that kind of anger. The kind that begged to be burned out.
“You’re savages,” she spat, circling. “Vicious. Soulless.”
Ronan shifted his weight, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You sound like you’ve met one worth hating.”
She struck again, blade screaming as he hit her hand away. “Better yet,” she laughed, “a maddening one worth killing.”
His tongue clicked against his teeth, the sound almost affectionate in its annoyance. “I inspire that sort of devotion, don’t I?”
Her scowl deepened, rain streaking her face like false tears.
“You feed on ruin, stand there pretending nobility. No wonder they call you the Harrowed Prince. But you can’t fool me, dragon heir—” the way her voice dropped to a whisper meant the next words were for him and him alone.
“You’ll die a disgrace. As your blood tends to do. ”
The world went still. Then his temper hit.
Rain hissed as heat rolled off him, turning every droplet to steam. He closed the distance before she could blink, hand fisting in her hair, dragging her close until her breath mingled with his. Smoke coiled from his palms, sliding around her wrists, her throat.
“What did I tell you about that mouth?” His voice was calm as he traced his thumb over her swollen lips. “One day, it’s going to ruin you.”
She bared her teeth and snapped at him, barely missing his cheek. He almost smiled. She swung again and he caught the blade at the last second, the edge biting into his palm. He didn’t even wince.
“Why,” she hissed, breath ragged, “are you so damn annoying to kill?”
He looked up at her, voice low enough that only she heard it through the chaos burning in her chest. “Vows, love,” he murmured. “I’ve still got one left to keep.”
Before she could move, his hands caught her bare shoulders and slammed her down to the ground, hard enough for the realm itself to quake. A gasp split the crowd, a sob breaking somewhere behind them.
Mud splashed beneath her palms as she pushed up, too slow. He was already there, straddling her hips, one hand circling her throat. Her claws raked his arms, legs thrashing, but he pressed harder, not to crush, only to secure. To make her stop. To make her listen.
Wrong move.
She went utterly still. Her eyes closed, breath slowing, steadying.
When she opened them—
Ronan realized what he’d done.
Her pupils were no longer wide with ire, but vertical slits, black as ink, stretching top to bottom. Veins slivered out from them, threading up her forehead and down her cheeks, crawling in sigils.
These weren’t the wild, broken eyes he’d seen earlier. What stared back now was at last the Viper, maybe even something that remembered hel before its fire was ever named.
Ronan only shook his head and said, quietly enough for the rain to almost swallow it, “You can be angry, but this rage, it isn’t meant for me.” Her pupils honed, her heart a furious unrhythmic beat. “Don’t waste it,” he warned. “You’ll only bleed for it later.”
She leaned forward, baring her fangs. “I will kill you.” Muscles loosened as she went still. “Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But this isn’t over. Watch for me.”
The fight drained from her limbs, her eyes glassing over with what looked too much like grief.
Ronan clicked his teeth. “Promises, promises,” he muttered, pushing off her and rising to his feet.
Her stare followed the chain sliding around his neck, then to his outstretched hand. For a heartbeat her expression changed, almost soft. She took it, fingers tightening around his, and the softness died.
With brutal grace she yanked him down, and before he could recover, she rolled. Ronan landed on his ass while her legs pinned him to the ground, her fangs sinking into the side of his neck.
Her lips followed, silk where the bite had torn him open, a trembling press that undid every defense he’d built. An ache flashed through him; pain tangled with a vicious heat that was far worse.
She clung to his shoulder, shaking, a sound between a growl and a moan breaking against his skin. A shudder swept over him as the pain vanished, gone as suddenly as it came, instinct snapping his arm around her waist to drag her closer.
Her gown was no armor, only a hush of fabric as her body pushed flush against his, soft where everything else about her was sharp. The ground caved beneath them, slick soil giving way as her nails tore through leather and skin alike.
She moved against him, her fangs still buried in his throat, but the hunger wasn’t for blood, it was for him. For the pulse beneath his skin, the life threading through his veins.
He could feel her, every heartbeat, every tremor, melding with his own. The air thickened with the scent of rain and power, of corruption and wildfire.
Then everything snapped.
Her body went rigid, and the pain returned as she tore free. Blood welled, painting her lips in a ruby no storm could wash away.
Breath catching, Ronan blinked through the daze. What in the gods’ hel was that?
Only Verena remained now. Her eyes had relaxed, color bleeding back into them, the veins now missing from her skin.
But what replaced the rage was worse. Her chest hitched, and Ronan caught it then. Not fury. Not power—
Fear.
He lifted a hand, thumb tracing the rivulet of red down her cheek while phantoms of wraith curled at her wrists. “Got that out of your system?”
A fractured sound caught in her throat as she shook her head, turning to stand and run—
Ronan’s hand shot out, capturing her jaw and forcing her stare back to his. The space between them narrowed until their breaths fused, until he knew she could taste the smoke and salt clinging to his skin. Rain gathered on her lashes, trembling before it fell.
“If you ever do that again,” he said, “you’ll learn that death is kindness in my hands.” He released her, palm opening as she stumbled back, falling into the mud as it splattered up her bare thighs.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement—Callum’s arm shooting out, stopping Elva before she could run forward, a smirk cut across his face.
His stare was focused on Verena where she still sat, shivering through her parted lips. Her fangs were gone, the blood washed clean. But her eyes, that bright blue-green that had once dared to dazzle, now snared him completely.
The left one, where the cluster of brown hid near the edge, had changed. Grown. Thin, dark lines radiated outward from her pupil, a world eclipsed by its own shadow.
That’s where Ronan got lost.
It looked just like the painting that once hung in his father’s study, not the radiant land of the Gods, but the one that rose after ruin.
The one that promised rebirth.
The pupil shifted, a slow, conscious ripple, movement alive beneath the surface. Something was waiting there, caged.
His head tilted, body leaning in as the world contracted to the pulse between them. He didn’t know what she saw reflected in his eyes, if she caught the confusion laced beneath the anger.
If she did, she didn’t shy from it.
She was the most dangerously unhinged creature he’d ever met. And fates burn him, if he hadn’t been destined to destroy her, he might’ve already fallen.
She broke the spell first, springing to her feet, racing toward the tents. Elva followed, calling her name once before slipping inside.
Elysian’s hand hovered at his dagger as they passed, nostrils flaring; anger carved new edges across his face. The crowd thinned, disappearing into their own tents, leaving only the rain and the trees as Ely stalked toward him.
“You should’ve ended her when you had the chance,” he said. “We don’t need these rebels. Kill the Viper, and we’ll finish off the king ourselves.”
Ronan slid the chain beneath his shirt with a practiced motion, hiding more than metal. “Not yet.”
“This isn’t a game.” Ely jabbed a finger toward the camp. “She’s a feral animal.”
Ronan brushed his thumb over the ridge on his leg where the wound had sealed. “Is it not?”
“She bit you,” he snarled. “In front of all of them. If she hadn’t stopped, you’d be dead. And I’d have ripped her apart right after.”
“You worry too much, brother.”
Elysian scoffed, “You’re stalling. Anything to avoid going back to Ryuu. Find another excuse, kill her and let this end.”
Flame surged beneath Ronan’s skin, the damp vanishing in a fizz of steam.
“Let her rise again,” he said. “Let them follow her to the place where this ends.” He pulled his jacket over the scars she’d left, each mark hidden but not forgotten.
Cursing, Elysian threw his hands in the air.
Ronan’s own hand closed into a fist, smoke bleeding through knuckles. “Then—” A breath. A vow. “I’ll end the Viper.”