Page 94 of Ronan

“Leave?” The tall one nudges the other. “He still thinks they’re leaving.”

“You know what we do to traitors and deserters around here, birdie?” I wait to respond, because honestly? I’m kind of curious about his idea of punishment and torture. Might be a learning experience for me.

Using his unnaturally long arm, he reaches into the cage, and even as I hurl myself against the opposite side, he fists my jacket and yanks me forward. I manage to throw my hands up in time to stop my face from taking the impact, but cry out as my forearm hits the iron with enough force to jar my bones. “No idea,” I grit out, “but I bet it’s fucking gross.”

His other hand reaches through and fists my hair as he releases a slimy chuckle, and next thing I know, my cheek is pressed against the bars. He shoves his nose against my skin and takes a deep inhale as I thrash, trying to pull away. “Your fear is delicious, human,” he purrs, and I snarl as his tongue unrolls from his mouth, sickeningly long. He drags it up my cheek as I fight harder in vain, his rancid breath hot on my face.

“Let go of me,” I growl, and he laughs, more disgusting heat puffing from his mouth.

“Why don’t you make me?” His fist tightens in my hair to the point I hear individual strands begin to rip from my scalp, and for the first time, true panic bleeds into my body.

The night is pierced by a whisper-thin, metallic slice, a sound so faint it’s nearly lost to the silence. Everything is motionless, a snapshot of this moment in time, until the dark-scaled monster's body crumbles, his head suspended in the air.

The monster holding on to me whines in submission and releases me, scrambling away as the scent of ammonia burns my nostrils. “Dear gods,” he whimpers. “We have been forsaken.”

Ronan emerges from the shadows, death personified. Fingers woven through the decapitated monster’s hair, he holds the head aloft while his bleeding sword drips onto the dirt below. An awareness, ancient and instinctual, shoots through my veins as our eyes lock. My hair prickles and stands on end, every nerve ending screaming as I drink in the harsh angles of his face and the unnerving depth in his stare.

“Ro?” I breathe, my gaze flicking between the huge, glistening fangs protruding from his mouth and the vicious claws on his fingers, each stained a deep, dark red. His body is larger,twisted, and inky veins streak his flesh, a cursed lightning under his skin. Barbed tails, razor-sharp and corded, fan behind him, waving back and forth in a motion that feels like a taunt. Black as a bottomless pool, his eyes are unblinking as he stares at me, checking if I’m hurt as the head thuds to the ground, forgotten.

He’s more monstrous than I’ve ever seen him.

Terrifying and breathtaking, wicked and beautiful.

Mine.

For a moment that stretches into an eternal second, his eyes search mine. They dig through the clouds in my mind, searching for the answer to the silent question he’s asking.

Am I too much?

“You’re perfect,” I whisper, and the slow-motion world that surrounds us speeds to reality in a dizzying blur.

Ronan roars with a sound that’s pure animal, swinging his sword at the thin monster as he attempts to flee. The rocky soil kicks up a small cloud of dust as his head rolls against the cage, eyes unseeing as his useless body collapses behind him.

Frantic shouts erupt from the camp as three more rush over, and Ronan moves like he’s weightless, limbs twirling in a macabre dance. He shoves his sword straight through the heart of the first, the sole of his boot kicking the monster’s chest as he yanks his weapon free and turns to the next, a stocky monster with a sickly green skin. Metal clashes as swords meet, Ronan’s face coated in blood as a smile full of deadly promises stretches across his lips.

Moonlight gleams off Ronan’s fangs as he feigns left, darting in the other direction before he slices his blade along the side of the monster’s neck. With a gurgling shriek that tears through the air, the green monster slams his palm against the wound. Blood spurts between his fingers, hot and dark, and far too much for him to contain.

Wide, pleading eyes meet mine, and a silent cry for help echoes in their depths. I smile, just as monstrous as my mate, leaning closer to the cage bars so he can hear my voice. “You deserve this.” The final spark of hope fades when he realizes no one is coming for him.

There are no saviors here.

My eyes find Ronan, locked in a swordfight with two monsters, as movement beyond him catches my attention. Bruk’s footsteps shake the earth as he storms over, and I recall Ronan’s words about his ferocity.

“Ro, behind you!” I shout, and he glances over his shoulder before thrusting his sword through the stomach of the monster in front of him. Teeth bared, he twists thehilt and yanks it out, swinging in a heavy arc that makes quick work of the other’s neck. It all happens in the space of a single blink.

He was toying with them, I realize.

Bruk releases a bellow full of rage and lashes out with his sword, and Ronan barely dodges in time before another swing threatens him. The leather of his armor peels back as the blade clips his shoulder, blood spilling from the tear. Ronan snarls, moving with that weightless confidence as he dances around Bruk. Every swing brings a whoosh of air as he ducks, and I realize he’s trying to wear him down.

Bruk realizes this at the same time I do, because he changes tactic and lunges, slamming his weight into Ronan’s chest. They ram into my cage with such force it skids back a few inches, knocking me on my ass.

At the sound of my pained grunt, Ronan turns to look at me, taking his focus from his opponent. My eyes widen as Bruk raises his sword, the steel gleaming in the dim light, and Ronan twists at the last second, dodging the downward swing that sends a spray of dirt flying as it pierces the earth.

Off-kilter and out of balance, Bruk is knocked from his feet as Ronan slams into him, and they both crash into a pile of thrashing limbs. “Was all this worth the life of a human?” Bruk growls, reaching for Ronan, but he’s not fast enough.

Ronan’s tail stabs through Bruk’s palm, pinning it to the ground. Bruk roars and tries to buck him off, but his shout turns pained as another tail pins his second hand. The third tail wraps around his ankles, binding his feet before that barb stabs straight through bone, the final nail.

Palms bleeding, blood coating his teeth, Bruk makes a crucifix, the ground beneath him his cross.

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