Page 18 of Homesick, Lovesick
"Something up?"Match asked.
"Huh?Nah, was just poking around the area, making certain we wouldn't have further surprises tonight.No sign of trolls anywhere."
Ronan bit back a scathing reply about obviously, because they'd killed the only one that would be in this area, unless they magically just happened to be close to the border of two territories, and the second troll decided to act as weirdly as the first one.He didn't have room to talk, not after sleeping instead of doing his one job.
By the time dinner was done and the dishes attended, he was exhausted but not as wiped as he'd been the previous day.He could have fallen over from the relief that last night had clearly been some weird one-off.
"So what do we do about the tent problem?"Lynwood asked sourly.
"The tent is plenty big enough for three," Ronan replied."I'll sleep out here by the fire.It's the least I can do after failing so miserably last night."
Match scowled."No way, I'll sleep—"
"You need to be safe and get plenty of rest, because tomorrow is going to kick your ass, we both know it.As much as I vastly prefer when you're in my arms, I'd rather you be safe.We can cuddle when we get back to base."
Huffing, Match said, "Fine, but this sucks, for the record.I don't like leaving you out here all alone."
"I'll be okay."Ronan kissed him briefly, savoring the warmth and softness, the familiarity, therightness.Match would never walk away from him, from this, right?He could hold a candle to everything the others were offering, couldn't he?
Match gave him one last kiss, then yawned his way into the tent.Soon enough, Ronan was all alone.The fire crackled, bright and cheerful, and the sky was star-strewn and beautiful.But the ground would never be terribly comfortable, no matter how nice the padding or fancy the sleeping bag.
He moved around restlessly until he found a position that was mostly comfortable, then tried to settle in to sleep, though now he wasn't so exhausted he was falling over, everything was too loud and too quiet all at once.He missed the familiar sounds of home—the traffic, the night owls out doing their thing, the barflies laughing on their way home.
Despite the wrongness of the sounds, Ronan eventually started to drift off—only to be jerked awake by a sharp, stinging sensation on his arm.Yanking it free of the sleeping bag, mind filled with images of lurking black widows and brown recluses, he stared at his arm in the firelight.
His scar from the sparring match, that was the source of the stinging, throbbing sensation.What the fuck?Match had healed it so well the scar was barely even there, why was it hurting?
The pain spiked to the point he actually cried out, but was immediately drowned out by an ominous roar.
The hell?That sounded like a golem, but finding a golem on the surface was like finding a polar bear on a tropical beach.
Ronan surged to his feet as the golem burst through the trees, clearly bound right for him—which was also weird.Golems were cave creatures.They didn't have shit for vision, hunted entirely by sound and smell.When dragged to the surface, they became immediately overwhelmed bytoo muchand mostly just panicked and flailed about blindly until they could find cool, quiet dark again.If they voluntarily came to the surface, it was only in the dead of winter when everything was darker, quieter, and colder.
The others came bursting out of the tent right as Ronan summoned his sword and armor, because without the armor, this was going to fucking hurt.Well, it was still going to hurt, but he was a thousand times less likely to die.
"You're awake?"Marvin asked, clearly dumbfounded.
"Get fucked," Ronan snarled.
Match's face turned into a thundercloud, but the golem roared and all attention was diverted back to it.
His scar flared with sharp, hot pain again in the beat before the golem swung at him.Ronan lifted his broadsword to block the worst of the attack, but still was knocked back, stumbling over the fire, feet smashing and scattering the burning wood.
"I'll get that," Match said, stripping off his clothes to reveal his tattoos.
Much as Ronan loved to watch him work, he was busy.The scar was distractingly painful, but he ignored it as much as possible and braced for the next attack.Times like this he wished guns were of any use at all, but with golems especially they were useless.Because funnily enough, it was really hard to penetrate the hide of something that was meant to withstand rockslides and long falls.
Only faerie steel could reliably contend with every threatening paranormal known, minus the likes of demons and such, which waswayabove his pay grade.
The golem knocked into him again, sending Ronan slamming into a tree.He barely managed to roll away when it came at him again, then lunged forward to slice at the back of its knee before tumbling forward to get out of the way as it turned in a wide swing—and faltered when it put full weight on its wounded leg.
Panting, Ronan went in for another strike, getting the ankle of the other leg.
The stench of golem blood filled the clearing, sharp and pungent, like some sort of concentrated, industrial cleanser.
With its movements successfully slowed, taking it down became significantly easier and mostly just made him feel bad because the poor thing had probably just wanted to go home.But he had no idea where home was, or how to get it there, and in the meantime, it would be a danger to everything in the forest as it gradually starved to death.
It was stupid and shitty.By the time he landed the killing blow, Ronan didn't know if he wanted to cry or scream or go commit more violence.Banishing his sword and armor, wiping sweat and blood from his face with his fleece before stripping it off and discarding it before the stench knocked him out, he rounded on Lynwood."Where the fuck were you!Why the absolute fuck weren't you helping me?I know you don't like me, but that's no excuse to abandon me in a dangerous fight!"He surged forward, determine to break Lynwood's fucking nose—
