Page 77 of Luna's Forgotten Vow

I smile. Point. "It never does satisfy you, does it? Remake your home into mine. Mimic my mannerisms. Fuck my women. Steal my title and lands. Kill me and wear my very skin. But you will still never be me. Always nearly as good as Winter. Always a shadow. Always the man who has to steal someone else's life to feel like something."

He is out of his seat, anger making his muscles tremble. Tova rushes over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it. He's goading you?—"

Ronan pushes her aside so hard, her side slams into the wall. She cries out, curling into a ball, and my blood rushes, the killing rage settling over me like a blanket.

"She's bleeding," Seraphina screams, hurtling over, even with the gun aimed for her head, and I know what I need to do to protect them.

"What's wrong, Ronan?" I give the final push. "Afraid you'll lose again, even with the unlevel playing field? Afraid to face me like the Alpha you pretend to be?"

He studies me, gaze flickering with that same madness I've always seen buried in him. "I'll make you watch me ruin her," he promises.

I smirk. "You're going to try."

And like the fool he is, he falls for it, snarling at his men. "Do not interfere!"

I barely register the blur of his body before his fist cracks across my jaw, splitting skin and sending a spray of blood from my mouth. My vision rocks, and I barely bring up my arm to dodge another blow when his claws jut out, glinting like obsidian as he slashes again, this time across my ribs. Blood sprays.

The wolfsbane still thick in my veins dulls everything except the pain. It flares hot, dragging a ragged snarl from my chest.

I pivot, barely missing a blow that would've punctured something important, and ram my elbow into his ribs with a crunch. He grunts, staggers for a moment, but he recovers fast, claws going for my throat.

I duck, coming up under him, and sink my fist into his stomach so hard I feel something give. Bone or organ, I don't care. He chokes on his breath, wheezing, and spits blood.

My hands are in perfect reach for her damned black heart, but the wolfsbane hits, doubling my vision and I miss, hitting air.

Claws rake down my back and fire tears through my spine, forcing me on one knee.

Ronan laughs, low and hoarse. "Tired already?"

I rise, lips curled back over my canines. "You hit like a drunk pup."

His snarl rips through the air.

We clash in a blur of fists, claws and blood. Every hit from him feels like fire in my veins, the poison slowing the healing and dulling my instincts. Still, my body moves in a dance I've grown used to over the years, and I trust it instead, abandoning my confused senses. I drive my knee into his thigh, catching his wrist before he can gut me. I twist, snapping his bone.

He screams.

His elbow turns next in an awkward bend and he hisses in frustration, snapping his head against my nose. Pain ripples, but I catalogue it, refusing to let it distract me. I have him. I will break every bone in his body for touching Seraphina and Tova.

I punch him for as many times as I have imagined killing him. I punch him until his teeth fall out. Until my knuckles burst and his blood splatters on my face. Until he wheezes, head lolling weakly.

My hand wraps around his throat, slamming him into a stone pillar, cracking it behind his spine. Another and the pillar breaks, dust and rubble staining the air. He coughs, clawing at my arms, his boots scraping for purchase as I squeeze.

I try to find a single part of me that doesn't want to kill him, a part that remembers a different time when I gave a fuck about him. And I fail.

I feel the quickening pulse in his neck, the outline of every strong bone. It will be a quick death, better than he deserves.

He seems to gain clarity for a second and his hand rises to slash at the scar on my eye. Again. I flinch—a godsdamned trauma response. My grip falters, just enough for him to throw me off.

I hit the ground hard, iron on my tongue. My body screams at me to stay down, but I ignore it, pushing myself up, shaking, bleeding.

We stare each other off. I may bleed but Ronan has it worse. Blood pours from him in rivulets. His breathing is ragged. One arm hangs uselessly. His face is covered in his blood. His brown eyes glint with hate.

And understanding.

Different approaches, same results. He's never been the better fighter. There is no situation where he'll win if he fights against me fair and square.

He smiles sadistically. And that's when he turns to look at Seraphina, who for all the world looks at me like I am something spectacular. Precious. Lovable. Wanted. Needed. And there is so much love and pride in them, it guts me.

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