The contact was nothing, less than nothing, and still, my pulse jumped at the warm presence of being acknowledged.
I hated it.
The moment stretched just long enough for me to register the betrayal of my own body. Then I snarled and lunged. Steel flashed as I drove forward with everything—elbow, knee, blade—aiming for throat, ribs, anything that would force him to react.
He didn’t retreat. He barely moved.
One finger lifted, that was all.
The air warped as pressure slammed into my chest, halting my momentum mid-strike. My boots skidded uselessly over slick ground, hitting an invisible wall. My dagger screamed as it dragged against something unseen.
Ronan tilted his head, studying me. “That’s better.”
I twisted, snarling, trying to break free. The pressure adjusted instantly, anticipating, then correcting. Every move I made met resistance before I finished it.
I slashed again, forcing the blade through this time, angling for his shoulder.
The smoke responded.
It snapped tight around my wrist, guiding, redirecting the strike a hair’s breadth off course. The blade bit air instead of flesh.
I swore and went low, sweeping for his legs.
Ronan sighed.
The ground dropped out from under me. Not literally, he didn’t shatter the realm or throw me back. He shifted his weight and the pressuretilted, sending me stumbling past him instead.
I caught myself at the last second, spun, and came up swinging.
He was already there.
His hand hovered near my throat, the smoke coiled between us, a living boundary.
“You’re angry,” he sneered. “That makes sense.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped.
His mouth curved. “No.”
I screamed and surged again, rage cracking something open in my chest. Power answered, and for half a breath Ialmostbroke through his hold.
His brows lifted. Interest, this time. Then—
A sharp whistle cut through the trees.
My body froze, my breath hitching as instinct overrode fury.
Ronan felt it.
He moved, the pressure vanishing and becoming a force. He stepped into my space, one smooth motion, using my own stalled momentum. Smoke hardened, just enough tobesomething solid, and the ground rushed up to meet me.
I hit hard.
Air punched from my lungs as I rolled, trying to recover, but the smoke was back, staring me down, waiting to replace the breath from my throat.
“You’re dangerous, too,” he whispered. “But you’re not in control.”
I bared my teeth.
