Page 89 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

He needed to fight fire with Fire.

He was only going to be able to pull off a stunt like this once, so he had to make it count. Ronan dropped deep into the heart of his power, drawing as much of the Mother’s gift into him as he could without risking a loss of control—or worse, a depletion of his reservoir. His well ran deep, but it wasn’t bottomless. A full drain would render him unconscious, likely for days. He wasn’t Helena, with the ability to draw on the magic within others to replenish himself. He needed to ration his gift carefully, especially in a situation where weakness equated death.

That said, he also knew when a gamble wasn’t only advantageous but necessary.

This was such a time.

He continued to pull the Fire into him until it felt like he could see the neon glow of the flames flickering beneath his skin. When he was near vibrating from the effort of trying to keep hold of all that unchanneled power, he released it in a powerful arc, throwing his arm out like he was flinging a boomerang, and then he kept spinning, the molten flame pouring out from the palm of his hand in one continuous stream until he completed his circle.

The magical flames did nothing to the fake mages, though their agonized cries sounded authentic enough. Ronan ignored them all, along with the bloodthirsty screams of the crowd. They were here for a show, and he was certainly giving them one.

He raked his gaze around the circle of potential enemies, landing on the man frantically batting at his arms and legs with a ravaged shriek. The smell of char and burning flesh hit his nose, and Ronan knew he’d located his intended target.

He didn’t hesitate. Fire still laced his veins, and he threw it outward, turning Cedric into a pillar of living flame. The magic-powered fire burned so hot, so fast that the mage was consumed in seconds. Knowing Shadow was still out there, along with thousands of innocent people, Ronan drew on what was left of his magic, this time focusing on the Air branch. He grabbed hold of all the oxygen, starving the flames so they couldn’t spread. With the fire extinguished and the mage’s illusions gone, all that remained in the wake of the firestorm was a Cedric-shaped statue made entirely of ash.

Needing to do something with the air he stole, Ronan channeled it through his body, letting it pour out of his mouth in one powerful stream aimed straight at Cedric’s remains. He didn’t let up until the mage was nothing more than a flurry of ashes drifting away on the breeze.

Rid now of the borrowed air and his opponent, not to mention nearly all his magic, Ronan took a few shuddering breaths and turned to face the stage housing Erebos’s throne.

What he expected to find was the High Lord’s furious gaze trained on him. What he found instead was Shadow, every inch of her exposed skin freckled with blood.

Pride at her win was quickly replaced by grim acceptance.

The reckoning was finally at hand. And this time, there was no escaping the truth.

One of them had to die.

CHAPTER27

SHADOW

Fate wasn’t something she’d ever put much stock in, but if it was real, if there was some goddess watching over them all, spinning her threads and plotting their destinies, she was a cruel, sadistic bitch with one hell of a mean streak.

Shadow had only just caught the tail end of Ronan’s battle with Cedric—if you could even call it that. From what she’d seen, it had been more of a one-sided slaughter. One second the mage was there; the next, he vanished. Reduced to nothing but soot and dust as he rejoined the heavens above.

Even she could admit the display was intimidating.

And yet, there was no way out of what had already been set in motion. Fated or not, she made the decisions that landed her here. Now she had to see them through. No matter how much she wanted to run in the opposite direction.

Ronan held her gaze, sweat dampening his dirt-streaked brow. He held nothing back as his eyes locked with hers. Not the slight tremor in his hands, the harsh rise and fall of his chest, or the cascade of emotions rolling through him. He let her see every one, telegraphing them in his icy-blue irises: panic, regret, anticipation, lust—for violence or her or both—and hope. It was the last that kept her rooted to the ground.

“What are you waiting for? Kill ‘im,” a woman in the crowd shrieked. Several other voices took up the call and shouted variations of the same.

“Well, kitten. Looks like we’ve reached the end of the road.”

“It was always leading us here.”

“True. There’s a beauty in inevitability. A freedom that comes when you give in to fate.”

Shadow quirked a brow, surprised to hear him pull the word almost directly from her thoughts, even if his opinion was the complete opposite of hers.

Ronan took a step forward, and her breath hitched, her entire body coming alive in response to his proximity. If she dared look down, she was willing to bet the little hairs on her arms would be on end, all straining to reach the man who’d drawn her to him with his magnetic presence since that very first day.

“Promise me something?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Shadow licked her lips and jerked her head in a nod.

“Don’t go easy on me.”

---