CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR #2
Rain thickened just as my throat tightened, a thought clawing uncomfortably through. Zyran halted, muscles tense beneath me.
“He wasn’t supposed to go hunting today.” I shook my head, fingers tracing the dagger beneath my cloak.
Ronan’s reins drew taut. “What?”
I clutched the hilt. “Gus,” I said, hoping he didn’t catch the shake in my voice. “You asked me to hunt, not him.”
Elva wasn’t feeling well, her body struggling against the endless trek. And Gus, bright-eyed and insistent, had offered to take my place. Ronan had hesitated. And then let him.
The trees widened as Niveus stepped beside me again and Ronan’s eyes caught mine, unreadable, but his hand pressed to his chest.
“And unfortunately for Gus, I’m glad he took your place.”
We’d managed a few days without threats. And still, his words burrowed like barbs.
Liar. He lies.
“Are you?”
His brows knit, like he wasn’t expecting a rebuttal. Like I’d asked something I wasn’t meant to. He didn’t answer at first, only shifted his attention toward the weeping sky.
The downpour drowned everything in sight. Luamis, the land of relentless sun, had given us nothing but storm after storm. And I wondered, when we dragged Elva from her throne, if we had changed more than just her fate.
“Let’s get back,” he said.
That was all he gave me.
But I didn’t move. I let Niveus walk past, leaving Ronan’s back to me. Because why had he been so adamant about me going to hunt today? Why had he hesitated when Gus offered?
I swallowed, every raindrop slamming against my skin like an accusation. It wasn’t chance we ran into the monsters. Ronan had known. He’d known the Eldritch were waiting.
Only it was supposed to be me sent into its jaws—
Kill him.
I didn’t think, barely even blinked, before the thing inside me slithered back out.
I realized too late what I was doing. Too damn late.
Ronan’s fury was already back in full force as I stood, lunging off Zyran’s back, slamming him and I both to the ground.
“You set me up.”
He threw me off his body, my dagger flashing for the tendon at his heel but he twisted off the ground, his boot snapping out.
It missed my face by a flinch.
The horses bolted, thundering down the path leading toward camp. They hadn’t spooked at the Eldritch, but at this?
Ronan’s fist came for me, and I dodged, spinning and driving my boot into his chest. He didn’t even stagger. His hand just clamped around my ankle, steel-tight like the godsdamn shackles from that cell.
Anger sharpened his face, his eye’s nearly bursting with flame, as he growled, “What the fuck are you doing?”
I could have blamed the curse, but it hadn’t stolen this. My vision was clear, the rage my own, and he knew it. I twisted from his grip, driving my other foot for his temple, but he was too fast.
His arm shot out, catching it, securing both legs in his grip until I was thrown on my back, flat against the forest floor.
My dagger burned in my fist. “You tried to set me up.”
I jerked up, blade slashing for his face. He spun me again, air bursting from my lungs as my chest slammed into the ground.
I managed an inhale. “You wanted the Eldritch to attack me.” With my cheek pressed into the muddy terrain and arms sprawled uselessly beside my head, I was at a disadvantage.
Any breath that had returned went ragged as his weight sank into my back.
“I told you,” he leaned in, warmth bleeding through the cold, “if you ever tried to kill me again, you’d regret it.” I writhed, elbow driving for his temple. He just pressed harder, his voice coming low against my ear. “That’s another strike, Viper.”
My back arched, hips shoving up against him. His tongue clicked, a shift of his knee locking me in place. A laugh tore from me, muffled but vicious. “I won’t miss on the next one.”
I felt his restraint cede, felt the tether shift between violence and something we both refused to name as he eased up.
“I didn’t set you up,” he said. “If I wanted you dead, you’d know. I don’t do subtle. Now,” he drew in a long breath, followed by an exhale that leaked out like smoke, “take a breath. And if I ever decide to kill you, you’ll be the first to know.”
My dagger slackened in my hand, my teeth grinding together so hard it hurt. A slow, furious breath snuck out of me anyway.
“Fine,” I snapped, turning to face him as he stood. “But for the record, that’s the worst reassurance I’ve ever been given.”
Ronan cocked his head, that near-smile tugging sharp at one corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said. “I’d hate for you to imagine I put that much thought into you.”
My arms crossed, chin tilting in an angle that meant I wanted to stab him. Repeatedly.
“Don’t be an asshole.” My gaze tore away first, my version of truce.
For now.
The walk back to camp was...awkward.
Ronan’s stride never faltered, his glare always fixed straight ahead. Even when the rain eased and sunlight broke through the clouds, he didn’t so much as glance my way. But his shoulders had loosened, his steps had steadied.
Like the bit of warmth grounded him.
And still, the air between us stayed tight, fraying at the edges.
Maybe I’d misread everything and Gus’s death was nothing but a cruel twist of chance. But my bones were imprinted to expect betrayal. To believe anyone who knew what I was would, sooner or later, try to kill me.
What made Ronan any different?
My eyes traced his form, the smoke following close behind. The way the sun hit his hair, showing the warm undertone. Like embers hidden under ash.
“Are you just going to ignore me now?”
His voice dragged. “You tried to stab me. Again.”
I threw my hands up in annoyance. “Okay, fine. Sorry I got a bad feeling and reacted. You’re not exactly an open book, Ronan.”
He stopped so abruptly I nearly collided with him. “Say it again.”
My brows furrowed. “Say what again?”
His gaze cut to me, heated in a way that left no room for levity as they cut from my eyes to mouth. “My name.”
Just to watch his reaction, I did. “Ronan.”
The syllables left me softer than intended, slipping into the air between us. Something flickered in his face then, hewn deeper than his rage had. As if the sound scalded him. Or, melted through him where he was already raw.
His chest rose, but he said nothing. Only turned back to the trail as though no words had passed through him at all.
Leaving me to wonder which truth was more dangerous. That he hated the way I said his name, or that he craved it.
“Why—”
A curtain of smoke slid between us like a barrier. “Let’s continue in silence.”
Don’t stab him. Don’t stab him.
My jaw dropped as I feigned offense. But he just kept walking. I rolled my eyes, rushing to catch up. “Why are you always so grumpy?”
He didn’t look at me, but his smoke thinned, enough to see the tic in his jaw. “I am not grumpy.”
“Mm, I don’t know,” I said, plucking a leaf off a tree and pretending to study its points. “You’re so offended I’ve tried to kill you, like I’m the first one who has. Seems kind of cranky to me.”
His barrier shifted completely at that, curling off his hand like it wanted to answer for him. His eyes shot to mine, hurricane green and burying something beneath the unyielding exterior.
“You’re the first one who’s tried to kill me who I haven’t been able to kill back,” he eventually said. “It is not crankiness that burns, it's irritation. And I will be happy to be rid of you when the time finally comes.”
Those words struck, a tiny sting in the ribs, but I didn’t let it show. Didn’t let him see how easily he could bruise me if I let him.
My hands clapped together and I lifted them beneath my chin, lashes fluttering as if I hadn’t felt the blow. “I said I was sorry,” I sang. Too sweet, too careless.
He only muttered something to the gods about sparing him from this torture.
“Fine.” My palms slapped against my thighs. “I promise I will try not to kill you. At least until we find the Dark Kingdom heir, happy?”
A branch cracked in his grip as he shoved it aside. “Do you mean that?”
I bit my cheek to keep from grinning, because for a heartbeat, the dragon prince, all myth, and menace, sounded almost…fragile.
Not the heir carved from smoke and wraith, but the man whose pulse had thundered when I faced the Eldritch.
From fear.
“Yes,” I lied. “I did say try.”
From the corner of my vision, I could see how deeply he rolled his eyes and I bit back another smirk.
Our steps fell into rhythm without meaning to, the conversation dying the moment the stench of rot at last subsided. Gravel crunched under our boots, wind hissed through the trees. I let the quiet sit for a while.
After a few paces, Ronan slowed, just enough that I felt him thinking. Calculating. His brows curved together, glare cutting sideways like he’d finally pieced something together.
“Your blade is nix metal, yes?”
My fingers moved over the hilt, my skin absorbing its pulse. “Yes.”
Inhaling, his eyes searched the depths of mine as I met his stare. “Why rip the Eldritch to shreds if you knew your blade had already killed it?”
He towered, waiting. And for a second, I almost didn’t know what to say. Why did it matter what I did? Sure, the blade was killing it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to try and attack me while it waited for death.
So, I told him the truth. “Because it told me to.”
Smoke recoiled, and for once, he had no retort. Only the cold understanding that I didn’t mean the Eldritch, but what lived inside me.
At what it could make me do.
The fresh hoof prints leading straight back to camp were a relief to see as we made it to the forest’s clearing.
At the boundary, Nezra and Inessa were tending to Niveus and Zyran, both pausing to stare as we emerged. Nezra dropped her rag, rushing toward us, her stare sweeping the mud and gore clinging to every inch of me. Then her eyes darted to Ronan, who wore the monster's crimson in honor.
“What the hel happened to you two?” she asked, searching behind us as if the forest might spit out more horrors.
I twisted my hands together, Gus’s death tightening the remorse in my chest. Ford rose from the bonfire, where Elva and Callum remained, likely waiting for the lunch we failed to bring.
Ronan rubbed the nape of his neck, sweat glistening against his tanned skin as I parted my lips to speak. But his voice cut through first. “Gus was killed.”
Elva gasped, hands shooting to her mouth as Callum surged to his feet, running toward my side. His grip found mine and the suddenness of his touch was a shock after weeks of cold silence. His eyes scoured me, searching for wounds, the tenderness in his gesture nearly breaking me.
Ronan’s voice stunned me more. “He ran into an Eldritch. He was gone before we reached him. I’m sorry.”
My head snapped toward him. Sorry? That word didn’t belong in his mouth.
Callum dropped my hands, saying nothing as he stepped back, still observing the slaughter soaking my leathers, my face. As if that was confirmation enough that I still breathed.
My head shook, my chin lowering. “There was a hoard of them.”
“Nezra,” Callum swallowed. “We need an illusion—”
“Was,” Ronan cut in, sharp as a damn blade. “They’re dead. Thanks to Verena.”
I turned back to Callum, my fingertip grazing the side of his hand as it lifted to brush wet strands of hair from my lashes. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.
And when my hand lowered, his shifted—a subtle move, a breath closer, and stayed, instinct making the choice for him before thought could.
There was a trace of warmth where his knuckles hovered near mine. It was quiet and unseen, but undeniable.
Still, he wouldn’t look at me. As if looking might unravel him altogether.
Ford sniffed, eyes darting between the mud and blood plastered to me and the crimson streaks painting Ronan like war-markings. His grin was slow and I saw the tears he swallowed before he spoke.
“Well,” he wagged a finger between the two of us, “should I assume the monsters weren’t the only ones you tore into?”
I suspected he’d use humor in place of sorrow, but that assumption was just not anticipated...
“Oh gods, Ford.” I shoved him, but he caught my arm, dragging me in for a hug.
“I smell something,” he whispered slyly into my ear. “Nothing like a little carnage to set the mood, huh? I’ve heard of blood bonds, but this is a bit much, even for you, V.”
Heat flared in my cheeks as I reeled back in disgust, striking his arm. He flinched, shrieking like a child. But it wasn’t because of me—
Flame had waved across Callum’s hand, a whip of gold aimed at Ford’s head. Ford ducked, but not quick enough. Embers caught in his hair, lighting the tips aflame.
Callum snarled, his entire arm blazing, “A member of our team died, Ford. He was ripped apart by a creature that stalks these woods. This isn’t Csolenia, you’re not surrounded by those who will tolerate your dull jokes.”
I winced at the jab, knowing the words hit when Ford’s face fell.
“You’re right,” he admitted, fingers snuffing out whatever still burned the edges of his hair.
I slid between them, gripping for Callum’s face, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “Callum,” I whispered.
They glowed, fire caught in a swirl of affliction. I tried not to crumble at the ache my heart felt when he refused to meet them, turning away instead.
I dropped his face, letting him go.
He wasn’t ready, and I couldn’t force him.
Swallowing the hurt, I turned to Ford, who stood with a rare crease of worry strapped across his brow. The only one left remaining by our side.
Somehow, Ronan and Nezra had managed to sneak away from the awkward tension unnoticed, both finding their focus pulled to where Killian and the dragon siblings huddled in a hushed chat.
“It’s okay,” I told Ford. “We need your humor. Just try to pick your moments.”
He mirrored the nod I gave him, stiffly lifting his chin. “Seriously, though. All that blood. It’s not yours, is it?”
“It’s from the Eldritch. Nasty sons of bitches, those things.” A shiver ran over my skin, though, not necessarily a chilling one.
His mouth yanked into a smirk. “And you managed to spare the prince? Fates, V. What an accomplishment.”
Elva crossed the camp then, coming straight for me with no pause, no question—just warmth as she buried herself against me. Like the blood didn’t matter. Like I didn’t scare her. Like I never could.
The flare in Callum’s eyes had finally dimmed, a steady exhale brushing past his lips. My attention was pulled behind him, where Wells slipped from a tent, dragging a sleeve across the red path spilling from his nostrils.
Shame twisted in my chest, knotting together.
Then his eyes snapped to mine, scarlet rimmed and glassy. He turned, too quickly, rushing away, pocketing something small and empty.
I knew in that moment that it wasn’t just me unraveling.