But Killian had spoken of the Viper, of what had been done to her…
And it changed everything.
Plans. Priorities. Perspective. The axis of his fury.
Perhaps Killian’s name would still meet its end one day. For now, Ronan bit back the memory of what that family had cost him. He’d let those little Faelings believe he stood beside them for noble reasons. For now, he’d wear every skin of any ally.
Killian had seen it, the way Ronan’s gaze locked on the sword, drinking in its pulse. Yet he never reached for it. Never claimed it.
You’ll have it when she’s free,Killian had told him.
But Ronan had already known before Killian had even said it, already decided. He could have crushed the Angel for the audacity, for daring to bargain with what was his by blood and right.
Yet, for reasons he refused to name, he didn’t.
He let Killian keep his heirloom. Because the truth was simpler than all the rest: The only thing that had mattered was getting her back.
Winter had finally settled in Csolenia, the chill gnawing straight though fabric and flesh.
Ronan stood shoulder to shoulder with Elysian, both cloaked in the Roux Forest’s shadows as dawn peeked just above the tree line. Light split over the valley, coaxing silhouettes to drift over its curves as they waited.
“Movement ahead.” Elysian drank in the air. “It’s them.”
Steel hissed as Ronan drew his dagger. “Be ready,” he said. “We make contact, then we sift. Does he carry it?”
Elysian’s eyes widened, pupils blown wide with recognition. “Yes.”
A smile broke on Ronan’s mouth, fingers flexing, already feeling it in his palm. His weapon’s soul was calling to him, singing from across the valley as three figures crested the ridge.
That wasn’t right.
Callum stumbled first, knees buckling before Nezra caught him, dragging his weight across her shoulders with a grunt of effort. Behind them, Killian sprinted alone, but not empty-handed. He bore another body, slung limp over his shoulder.
The Viper.Verena.
Ronan didn’t let his pulse falter. Even when Killian reached the base of the hill, Ronan only raised a hand, stilling him with a gesture. “Where is the other guard?”Duke.
Killian’s stride hitched, eyes darting back. “We ran into trouble. He stayed, told us to go without him if he didn’t make it in time.”
Elysian barred Killian’s path with one arm as he angled toward the tree line.
“My heirloom,Lord Ramsay.” The name dragged through Ronan’s teeth. “I’ve kept my end. Now, my patience is spent.”
Glare clashing against Ronan’s, Killian’s lip curled in disfavor. But slowly, reluctantly, he eased Verena from his shoulder, setting her down with a care that almost seemed reverent.
Her body lay still, hair falling like a curtain, matted and tangled, veiling her face, while the rest of her was soaked through in blood and grime.
Without breath, Ronan’s stare devoured every detail, searching for proof of life. Her chest did not rise. Her fingers did not twitch. Even the ink of the Viper’s mark lay hidden beneath filth, as though it had been erased.
He didn’t regard Killian’s hand extending the sword. Didn’t notice when he lowered it again. Ronan’s eyes were fixed only on her.
He wanted to reach for her, brush the hair tangled across her lashes, wipe the dried blood from her lips.
“She’s alive,” Killian said at last, shielding her from him. “I had to destroy the nix binding her. It was stronger than I anticipated.” he exhaled, jaw tight. “She passed out from the pain. I’m keeping her mind asleep.”
“Why?”
Still nothing. No flutter of lashes. No rise of breath. But if he listened deep, he caught the faint beat of her heart, fragile as a drum in the distance.
