Page 30 of Her Manticore Master

Something dark flickers across Ronan's features. "He shouldn't have spoken about you."

"Why? It's not like his assumptions were incorrect. We do share a cell."

"His assumptions about what happens in that cell were very incorrect."

The protective edge in his voice sends an unwanted thrill through me. When was the last time someone defended my honor, misguided as the gesture might be?

"How gallant. Defending the virtue of a harem girl."

"You're not just a harem girl."

The words catch me off guard. I look up from cleaning a cut on his knuckles to find him watching me with that unsettling intensity again.

"What else would I be?"

"Complicated."

Despite everything, I almost smile. "That's one word for it."

"You could have others. Sharp-tongued. Stubborn. Beautiful when you're furious."

The last comment makes me go very still. "Beautiful?"

"Like fire wrapped in silk. Especially when you glare at me like that."

I realize I am glaring—green eyes blazing with the kind of anger that's become my default response to any genuine emotion.

"I'm not beautiful. I'm convenient."

"For whom?"

"For Valdris. For you. For anyone who needs a pretty face to decorate their cage."

"I don't need decoration."

"No? Then what do you need?"

He's quiet for so long I’m beginning to think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"Someone who fights back."

The admission hangs between us, sharp and unavoidable. Because I do fight back, don't I? Not with fists or weapons,but with words and will and the stubborn refusal to be broken completely.

"Is that what this is?" I ask softly. "Fighting?"

"What else would you call it?"

Good question. Our interactions have evolved from pure hostility to something more complex. Still sharp, still dangerous, but edged with something that resembles respect.

"Survival."

"Same thing, sometimes."

He's right, though I'm reluctant to admit it. In our respective cages, fighting back is the only way to maintain any sense of self.

"You realize this changes nothing," I tell him, finishing with his wounds and settling back into my corner. "We're still prisoners. Still trapped."

"I know."