A voice broke through, shouting urgently, “Verena, my shield—”
A new panic settled in as he seized his nearest weapons, smoke leaking fast as he tore open the tent flap. Rain peppered his face, grounding him in cold reality.
“Hey, man.” Ford waved causally. “Good nap?”
Ronan’s eyes found her immediately. Not the creature of his dream. Not the Viper’s dark strain. But Verena laughing.
Even as it faded, he knew he would chase that sound again. Knew it could likely destroy him.
A strip of fabric wrapped her chest, leather hugging her hips, loose, wet curls wild as she sparred. Her finger lifted in Killian’s direction as he drank in the rainwater, half dressed and shining with sweat and rain.
She turned to face Ronan, a smile on her face as she moved in his direction.
Just training. There was no danger. Yet his pulse refused to slow.
The moisture on her body glinted at the hollow of her waist as she approached. Her tattoo rolling over her shoulder, dipping low beneath her collarbone, tail disappearing beneath cloth where he had no right to follow.
Every image overlapped with the dream—her lips on his throat, her voice promising death...
“Are you okay?” Her head tilted, hair clinging to her cheeks. “You look,” her finger shot up toward his head, “disheveled.”
He reached up, touching the knotted mess of hair. His jaw tightened just as Ford snorted. And then Verena’s eyes flicked lower, and froze, scarlet blooming across her cheeks as she jerked them away.
Ford’s stare followed. “Oh,” he said, tongue flicking against his teeth, teasing. “So,definitelya good nap, then?” He bit down a laugh, hand covering his mouth as his eyes darted between them.
Ronan said nothing. Couldn’t. Because the taste of her name was still raw in his throat, choked with sounds she could never know.
Killian strolled up, crudely flexing before laying his hands on Verena’s shoulders. His fingers kneaded lightly, pressing into her sore muscles.
Ronan’s arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowing on the sight of those hands. How they were too firm, too familiar, sinking into her skin as she closed her eyes, letting her head lull to the side.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
Killian halted, the massage cut short. Verena swayed, nearly losing her balance when his support vanished. “Hey—” She glared at Ronan. “My muscles are sore.”
Ronan’s head shook once, “No,” he said, chin lifting past them, toward Elva and Elysian a few paces away. “That.”
Elva’s sword trembled in her grip, her stance awkward as Elysian corrected her posture.
Verena peeked over her shoulder, then looked back to Ronan, chuckling, “Oh.That.” Her hands slid to her hips, stretching her back. Ronan caught the curve of her waist, the flex of her movement. “Elysian insisted we at least teach Elva how toholda sword. It’s going...” She tipped her head to the side, lips frowning. “Well, depends on how generous you’re feeling.”
His arms stayed crossed, eyes still on her. “Generosity has never been my strength.”
Her brows arched. “No, really? I never would have guessed.”
Elva’s body swayed, arms straining as she tried to heft the sword overhead.
Verena cringed, shielding her eyes but making sure to peek through her fingers, just as Elva lost control of its weight.
The blade fell,fast.
Elva shrieked, eyes squeezing shut, stumbling back as if the blade already struck him. Elysian caught it by the steel, fingers closing with ease, smirking. He tossed it upward, the weapon spinning once, twice, before his hand closed around its hilt.
He leveled the blade at Elva’s face, flat side forward, close enough that she jarred. Then with a flick of the wrist, he tilted the edge beneath her chin, guiding it higher.
It was not harsh or unkind, but coaxing as he said, almost adoringly, “Eyes on me, princess.” He lowered himself to her height, her palm shaking when he opened it for her, resting the sword back within her grasp. “Again.”
Verena glanced back then, just once, her eyes skimming over Ronan, feeling the tension rolling from his frame.
