Page 83 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

No way they could ever have more than a stolen moment in the dark.

But hidden deep in her heart—the part of her that had come alive for no one but him—there was a wish she could never voice. A single hope-filled, and equally hopeless, word.

Forever.

She wanted it—fiercely. An entire lifetime to spend with each other unraveling the mystery of thesefeelingshe’d unleashed with one life-changing kiss. In so many ways, it felt like she’d woken from a dream. Like she’d been holding her breath under water and finally allowed herself to break through the surface and suck in the oxygen she so desperately needed.

Ronan made her feel alive in ways she hadn’t even begun to wrap her head around. And she wanted to knowwhy. What was this hold he had over her? How could he make her feel so much in so short a time? Was it only infatuation? Lust? Something more? And why was it a man she’d just met felt more familiar to her than one she’d known for years?

Why him?

Why now?

Why bring him barreling into her life only to rip him away days later?

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. The one thing she craved was the one thing she could never have: Time.

Time to figure this all out.

Time to explore these new feelings.

Just more time... with him.

Throat tight with unfamiliar emotion, Shadow glanced back at the other contestants only to come up short.

Loren was gone.

Ronan

It was worsethan he thought. That fucker Erebos hadn’t sent a lone assassin after them. He sent the whole damn fleet.

It was Nightshade all over again, but this time Ronan didn’t just have to keep his own arse alive; he was responsible for Bast as well. Having never seen the man in a fight, he couldn’t speak to his skill. But he didn’t hold out much hope the boulevardier from Colvers was a master swordsman. If the man’s reaction to a little blood spatter on a shirt was any indication, this wasnotgoing to end well.

Releasing a heavy breath, the Butcher pushed away everything that made him Ronan, welcoming instead the blessed numbness he’d need if he had any chance of seeing them both through unscathed—or as close to that state as he could get.

Drawing his weapon, the Butcher looked around at the dozen or so masked men surrounding them. “Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?”

Bast surprised him by picking up a forgotten fire poker and giving it a few test swings. “Perhaps they’re shy? Shall we show them how it’s done?”

Sharing a look filled with unspoken messages, none of which there was any time to decipher, they nodded and dove into battle as if they’d done it a thousand times before. In Ronan’s case, that was a fairly accurate assessment. But it was the ease with which Bast did the same that was so shocking.

With no time to focus on it, Ronan lost himself to the familiar dance of blade and blood. Step, swing, pivot, thrust. On and on it went, his Earth-infused shield protecting him from the worst of the blows. These men were good. But they lacked the proper motivation.

Theywere here because of an order.

Ronan was fighting to save lives. Not his, he was pretty indifferent to his own, but Sebastian’s and then, hopefully, Shadow’s.

Since their stolen moment, he’d stopped thinking of her as Reyna. The shattered look in her eyes when he’d whispered the name would haunt him for the rest of his days—or minutes, depending on how things went. Either way, he never wanted to be the cause of that kind of hurt again. He may never get Reyna back, and that was okay. His woman’s soul was the same. That was all that mattered.

It was impossible to keep track of how many men were left. The swarm felt never-ending, but they were falling fast, so the fight couldn’t have lasted very long. With victory in sight, Ronan faced off with one of the last men standing while Bast held his own with the other.

The man grinned, oddly cocky despite the fallen state of his comrades. “Erebos sends his regards.” He gave Ronan a two-fingered salute and took a step back as if to leave.

“Not so fast.” Ronan bared his teeth, the heat of his Fire pulsing through his veins. He’d already known that rat bastard had been behind this, but hearing the confirmation sent him boiling over. He roared, his Fire manifesting down the length of his blade as he swung, severing the man’s head from his body.

He spun, ready to help Bast dispatch the last of the rubbish, when he was brought up short.

“Move, and I gut him like a fish.”

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