Page 13

Cameron

Ronan’s massive body takes up every square inch of the couch. I mean, of course I knew he was big, but this is ridiculous. His head lies on the cushions, raven hair fanned into a messy crown, arms flung wide, and legs akimbo in a tangled mess. It creaked under his weight as he collapsed, and I’m not convinced the whole thing won’t just fall to pieces at any moment.

The blood on his face is thick and caked in places, while in others it’s still wet and shiny. It streaks his cheek from the shallow cut and smears his chin and lips from his busted nose, which is already swollen. Other random smudges paint across his forehead and mat in his hair.

A low whine escapes Boomerang as she watches with wide, anxious eyes. I shoo her away, relieved when she curls up in the corner, and I return my attention to Ronan.

The most severe bleeding is on his forearm, tacky as it dries on the leather. A metallic punch hits my nose as I pull off his glove, and I turn my head and retch when a pool of blood pours out onto the floor with a splatter. Acid is caustic in my throat as I throw my arm over my nose, trying to block the coppery scent.

Fucking hells, why is battle so gross?

After a few frustrating attempts to push up the sleeve of his armor, which is stubbornly stiff and resistant against his wounded arm, I realize I’m going to have to remove it. “Oh, come on,” I mutter as my gaze falls to the network of intricate ties and clasps that secure it to his torso.

The metal buckles clank as I release each fastening, until the two sides slide apart with a quiet creak. Mesmerized, I stare at the mauve expanse of skin before me, covered in bruises and scars that are a roadmap of past injuries. What sort of damage would leave these types of scars on a monster that heals so quickly? The thought makes my skin crawl, but is quickly forgotten as my gaze slides over his abdomen. Defined muscles bunch and bulge beneath, glistening with sweat.

And damn.

I mean… damn .

He looks as though he was carved straight from marble and impure thoughts.

It’s one thing to know he’s in shape, but seeing the hard, sculpted lines of his abs, the almost imperceptible ripple of muscle as he inhales, is breathtaking. His pecs swell, perfectly defined, with dusty purple nipples standing taut.

Ronan whimpers in his sleep, and I scold myself for getting distracted as I work his arm from the sleeve. The sticky blood has dried into a paste against his skin, so it takes a few attempts before it slides loose. His body is stupidly heavy as I lift the deadweight of his torso, but finally, I manage to get that side off. The other sleeve comes off easily, and I set the armor aside.

The glove covering his mark remains on his hand, and I decide to leave it alone. Revealing it feels invasive while he’s asleep.

Like the rest of this isn’t invasive? I think as I glance at his almost-naked body.

Armed with clean towels and a few bottles, I work on his arm. Water runs red the first time I pour it over the wound, and it takes several more attempts before I’m able to assess the extent of the injury.

I only gag a few times.

Bile churns in the back of my throat as I stare at the deep split of skin; red, bleeding muscle cut further than I’d hoped. It isn’t to the bone, but can’t be far. I heave again but force it down and get started.

Thankful that he’s not awake for the pain, I douse the cut with alcohol. Infection is the biggest concern, so it has to be done, but I shiver as I imagine the sting. My hands shake only slightly as I sterilize the sewing kit, and I take a steadying breath before pushing the needle through his skin.

Even unconscious, he whimpers as I pierce the skin, and I cringe as I work along the opening. “It’s not pretty,” I mutter, talking to him even though he can’t hear, “but it won’t be exposed. And hey, it matches all the others you have.” Once I weave the last stitch and tie it off, I douse the wound with alcohol again before I wrap it, careful not to get the bandage too tight.

More confident in my abilities from here, I clean his face and disinfect the cuts. The one on his cheek only needs to be cleaned, shallow enough that a bandage will be sufficient. A clumsy attempt at stitching it would cause more harm than good, and he doesn’t need to look like Frankenstein’s monster on my account.

My fingers trace the contours of his skin, inspecting the bruises on his ribs and biceps, but until he’s awake, I can’t determine if anything’s broken. Sweat beads on my skin when I’m done, and I remove his boots as I arrange him into a comfortable position, lifting his head and placing a balled-up blanket underneath it.

His hair sticks to his forehead and cheeks, and I rake it back, taking in his still, serene appearance. Asleep, he looks so innocent, nothing like the bloodthirsty warrior that fought to protect me earlier. Even with his injuries, his eyes and mouth are relaxed, lacking the tension of the scowl he normally wears.

Red remnants of the fight cover my clothes, both from Ronan and the officer I stabbed. He was the first man I’ve killed outright, the finality of his death hitting me as I step outside, but as I dig in my soul, I find no remorse for ending his life.

I’d do it a hundred times over to keep Ronan safe, although I’m not examining that too closely right now.

The sun hasn’t set, so I switch on my selective vision and pretend there aren’t two dead bodies decorating the lawn. Bypassing them, I head towards my laundry area. I step into the small creek to scrub the blood and dirt from my body, thankful for the warm evening as I dunk my hair under the water to wash it as well. My skin is damp and my hair dripping as I get dressed, and the clean clothes help to erase some of the day’s trauma.

Laundry flaps in the breeze, the calm scent of sunbaked cotton out of place with the chaotic day. I gather the clothes to carry them inside, barely able to hold my eyes open.

Exhausted, I drop onto the ground beside the couch where Ronan sleeps peacefully, his breathing steady. Picking up my book, I read a few pages before my eyes get heavy and my head droops. The last thing I hear is the smack of the paperback hitting the floor as my need for sleep overrules everything else.

Pitch black night surrounds me when I jerk awake with a gasp, pushing my glasses into place as a quiet groan rumbles from behind me. My hands spider around, searching for the lantern and matches until I feel them under my fingers. Light flares in the darkness, then the gentle glow of the flame shines bright enough for my eyes to adjust.

I climb to my knees and twist to look over Ronan’s frame, stretched out on the couch before me. Every contour of his body catches the light, and I leisurely scan his torso, my gaze lingering on his abs before drifting lower. It’s criminal how well his thighs fill the legs of his pants, and my breath snags at the noticeable swell between them.

“Like what you see, mo’sziv?” Ronan’s rough, gravelly voice breaks through the silence, and I jump, my guilty eyes snapping up to find him watching me. The corners of his mouth tug back, and I’m captivated by the lazy, relaxed way he grins at me.

It’s soft and honey-sweet, and makes my pulse race .

His spine arches in a stretch, and my traitorous eyes are dragged back to his stomach as his hips flex. They drop lower to the bulge pushing against his pants, and I bite my lip as I try to ignore the ache in my core.

Seeing him this way is dangerous.

He just woke up… it’s natural… means nothing. My brain misfires, and I force a swallow, dragging my eyes to his highly amused face, bottom lip caught between his teeth and his tiny fang shining in the light.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, disappointed when his expression tightens.

He groans as he twists and plants his bare feet on the ground, the effort of sitting visible in his strained posture. His hand scrubs over his face then suddenly pulls back, a pinch to his brows as he stares at the bandages covering his forearm. Curious eyes move from his arm to his naked torso, then finally to me.

“You took care of me.”

I shrug, cheeks heating from the scrutiny. “The fight left you barely conscious, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He glances away with a wince. “Oh, trust me, I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

“You lost a ton of blood and couldn’t walk straight. Someone had to take care of you.” I hand him a bottle of water, and his eyes flicker to mine briefly as he accepts it.

“You had every right to leave me. After what I did, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Really, I can’t help it as I roll my eyes. “Sure, because that’s how you thank the person who saved your life. Who needs a gift basket when you could just leave them to bleed to death to show your appreciation? ”

Irritated, he scoffs and crosses his arms, drawing my gaze to the dark, swollen bruise marring his biceps. “You wouldn’t have been in danger if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, my gods,” I groan, dragging the words out as his eyes snap up to mine. “Why didn’t anyone warn me you’re a giant drama queen?”

“I am… not .” He seems to have to think about it for a split second, hesitating in the middle of his argument.

“Uh, let’s just tick through a few pieces of information here… uh-uh .” I wag my finger at him, tutting when he tries to interrupt me. “Number one… it’s the fucking apocalypse and you’ve got that long ass silky hair. There’s no way you don’t spend too much time conditioning. Drama queen.”

His eyes widen, lips separating in indignation, but I keep going, raising a second finger. “Two… you snapped a man’s neck with your bare hands then wedged your blade so deep in another’s throat, I’m not sure we’ll be able to get it free. Shit might be stuck in there like King Arthur’s sword. Drama queen.”

He purses his lips as a muscle in his jaw ticks, and I can’t help it when my smile spreads. “And now you want to blame yourself for putting me—a man who has lived his entire life in the wilds—in danger. You guessed it…”

“You can stop,” he snaps.

I look him dead in the eye as I slowly raise a third finger. “Drama… queen.”

He glares at me, smacking my hand away from his face. “Are you finished yet?”

“I mean, I could keep going.”

Ronan sighs, staring off into the distance for a long second as though he’s reevaluating his life choices. He glances at me with a quick side-eye, deciding I’m done being a jackass… which, might I add, is a universally terrible assumption.

He stands, wearing only his pants and a single glove, and raises a brow as I climb to my feet. “If you wanted me to get naked, you only had to ask,” he says, and I pretend I don’t hear him as I step closer, trying to ignore how the proximity of all that bare skin affects me.

“I, um… I sewed you up, but it’s not pretty.” My fingers skim over the bandage as I make sure it isn’t bleeding through, and I glance up to find him staring at me with his head tilted, much like Boomerang does when she’s confused. “It’ll scar, but it was the best I could do.” He places his hand over mine, the touch gentle.

“It’s perfect,” he insists, and I avert my gaze from the intensity in his eyes, the memory of his kiss overwhelming. The taste of his lips and heat of his body… teeth scraping on my lip and growls climbing from his throat. I sneak another glance up at him, and he’s soft in the flickering light.

Dangerously so.

Our eyes stay locked for a moment before he snaps into action. “We have to go,” he announces, taking a step back from me so fast it gives me whiplash.

“Go?”

“They’ll notice Commander Bravis’s absence soon, and there’s a tracker on the car I drove here. In a few hours’ time, this place will be swarming with military.”

“Your armor is disgusting.” He glances at the blood-soaked, dirt-caked leather chest piece beside him, then at his equally filthy pants, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent. Nodding, he grabs a bag of supplies .

Was it really just earlier today he showed up with those? Hell, it couldn’t have been more than five or six hours ago, and there’s been enough excitement to last several weeks.

Stunned, I watch as he pulls out a few items of clothing that are far too large for me, sliding a short-sleeved cotton shirt over his head. It’s casual in a way that’s foreign on him, a stark contrast to the armor he’s always wearing. As he sits to pull on his socks and boots, my brain catches up and the impact of this realization hits me hard.

“You…” An irritated scoff leaves me as Ronan freezes halfway through tying his boots, glancing up at me in question. “Are you serious right now?”

Brows drawn, he glances at the laces in his hands, then back at me. “What—”

“You brought clothes . Clothes for yourself and not just for me.” My voice is completely flat, devoid of any emotion as his confusion deepens.

“Yes?”

Lip pinched between my teeth, my arms cross as my foot taps a slow cadence on the floor. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeats, brows drawing further until they almost touch.

“Yes, why? If you came here to send me on my way, why did you bother packing things for yourself? Why are there shirts and pants and fucking… fucking underwear in there that are obviously yours when you weren’t planning on leaving with me?”

“When did I ever say I wasn’t leaving with you?”

“When you refused to answer me, Ronan! When I sat on that counter and asked you point-blank if you were coming with me, and you couldn’t say yes.” Heat prickles behind my eyes as I stare into his brown ones. “ Why couldn’t you just…” I force myself to stop, swallowing past the emotions. “Never mind.”

“No.” He grabs my wrist, forcing me closer. “Not never mind. Finish your thoughts, Cameron.”

“Why? So you can stare at me in silence again? Gods, I just keep making a fool of myself when it comes to you, don’t I? I must be a glutton for punishment, because I can’t seem to stop .” A bitter laugh forces its way from my lips. “Even now, I can’t fucking stop, because I’m sitting here, waiting for you to come up with an excuse. So, go ahead—spit it out. Why couldn’t you just say yes ?”

“Of course I was going to say yes,” he argues, “but you didn’t give me a chance.”

“You’ve had plenty of chances, and you haven’t taken a single one.”

Needing a moment to collect myself, I turn to walk away, but he growls and tugs my arm, forcing me to drop very ungracefully onto the couch cushions. He sits beside me as he lifts his lip, flashing the edges of his fangs. “Infuriating human! Nothing you do makes any sense! You stab a man through the heart to save me, then you kiss me and bandage my wounds instead of leaving, and now? Now you’re shutting me out.”

“Of course I’m shutting you out!” I bellow, trying to rip my arm away and only causing his skin to burn against mine as it twists, leaving me even more furious. “What else do you want me to do when you’re acting like you don’t want me?!” Raw emotion cracks my voice, the words causing a stalemate as I whip my head away. Humiliated, I stare into the oppressive darkness .

Ronan hesitates, his grip loosening on my arm. His tone is infinitely gentler as he says, “If I let you go, are you going to run away?”

“No,” I mumble, not meeting his eyes.

“Will you attack me?” The image makes me scoff, as if I could do anything to hurt this tank of a man.

“No, Ronan, I’m not going to attack you.”

He releases my wrist and kneels on the floor beside me, so I’m staring at his stupid broad chest. “You believe I do not want you?”

My eyes flick to his before dodging away again. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d brought clothes?”

In my peripheral vision, he shakes his head, confused. “What is this fixation on my clothes?”

“Because!” I say in exasperation. “It means you considered leaving with me… that at least part of you wants to stay. But instead of telling me that, you acted like you brought a bunch of shit to send me off on my own… like you were tossing me out so you could get on with your life without me in it.”

His eyes are growing wider as I take a deep breath, heat rising in my cheeks. A potent mix of anger and embarrassment burns on my skin, but I can’t seem to stop the onslaught of words rushing from my mouth. “And it should be fine , Ronan! It should be fine, because I’ve been alone for so long. For-fucking-ever! But then you came along, and I let myself think about not being alone anymore. I wouldn’t be alone because I’d be with you, and I realized that maybe I’m tired of being alone. And even though you’re infuriating and irritating , and sometimes a giant idiot— ”

“Is there a point to this, or are you just wanting to insult me more?” His tone is sharp, but his eyes are soft, paradoxical as always.

My glare is angry before a sigh escapes, deflating me, and I bury my face in my hands as I try to hide from my own confession. “No one’s ever stuck around, Ronan. Not since my home was ripped away from me, and I let myself believe that this might be… that we might be different.” My hands drop onto my lap as I stare at the flickering light of the lantern reflecting off the walls. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? In order for us to be different, we have to be something first.”

“We are something,” he insists, sliding his hand over mine. Instinctively, I flip mine so our palms meet, lacing our fingers together, but I still can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “How could we feel like this and not be?”

“I’m not good at talking to people, and most don’t bother trying to get past my prickly exterior. And it hurts .” My breath catches as my eyes burn. “It’s fucking brutal, knowing that it’s my fault… that it’s me that drives them away. Everyone leaves… everyone, but I don’t know how to change. I don’t know how to be better. Most days, I wish I didn’t have to be me anymore.”

“Who would you be if not… Cameron?” His voice is as gentle as it is curious, and the sincerity makes my vision blur with tears.

“Someone who’s easy to be around… who doesn’t chase others away. Someone who doesn’t end up alone.”

“You aren’t alone,” he whispers, squeezing my hand. “You aren’t going to be alone. I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, swallowing past the giant lump in my throat. “You’re here. You’re here, and you brought clothes… which means at least part of you thinks I’m worth the risk. But I don’t know how big that part is, Ronan, because you won’t tell me.”

He’s quiet as he absorbs my words. “By not telling you I’d packed them, you thought I’d changed my mind and was going to leave you?”

“Something like that,” I mutter.

Ronan’s hands are gentle this time as he pulls on mine, forcing us face to face. Begrudgingly, I meet his eyes and take in the tender thoughtfulness on his face. “You are a stupid human,” he says, so gently that the words don’t immediately register.

They click in my brain, and I jerk back, ready to fight, but he holds my arms steady. “I don’t want you to be easy, Cameron. Fight me, scream at me… you’ve got all that fire inside you. Don’t extinguish that for anyone.” Tears push their way to the surface, and I glance up at the ceiling to compose myself. “Do you think I went to all that trouble, risking everything to get you out of that prison, only to abandon you? Did you really believe I could ever let you walk away from me? Cameron, you’ve been stuck with me since the minute I first saw you.”

My chest aches , but I cover it by narrowing my eyes, trying not to focus on the way my insides have turned to mush. “You said I could walk away, and you’d respect my decision.”

He shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face. “I never promised I wouldn’t follow to make sure you were safe.” As his grip loosens on my wrists, his smile melts, replaced by quiet curiosity. “You are okay with this? It is… what you want? ”

“I want you to want it, too. I won’t be your burden.” Emotion clogs my throat as I force a few swallows to work past it.

“You are many things, Cameron, but never a burden.”

“Then I’ll ask one last time. Are you coming with me?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, and the weight on my chest lifts by a notch. “Nothing would make me happier.” He leans closer, letting his eyes drag across my face. I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, but he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, then flips it and places a final one on the pulse of my wrist. “I know there’s a lot to process right now, but we need to get moving. If you can collect your supplies in the house, I’ll take care of things outside.” I nod as he stands, understanding that things means corpses.

“And Cameron?”

“Yeah?” I glance up to find him standing in front of me, staring down.

Another of those sweet smiles softens his face as he leans down and cups my cheek, holding my eyes in a way that’s incredibly intimate. “You were always worth it. I don’t know what it means to have a mate any more than you do. I don’t have any idea how to be a good one. But I want to try. Gods, I want to try, and I want to learn how to give you what you deserve.”

A quiet sob hiccups from my throat as he leans in and presses his lips to the very corner of my mouth. “Your worthiness was never a question. This? Us? This is our inevitability, but you are also my choice . I choose this… ch oose you. Would choose you a thousand times over. I am sorry if I ever made it seem otherwise.”

More tears well as I nod, and his head tilts again as he notices the sheen. He says nothing, just drags his thumb over my cheek and presses a kiss to my temple before he turns and walks out into the night.