Page 75 of Wine & Warlocks

Unable to bear looking at his betrayers, Ronan stared at the empty doorway and blinked. The sky outside was bright and bold with not one bleedin’ cloud in sight. He frowned, confused that the day should be so lovely when it was colorless and dark inside.

“Restore his Guardian abilities, Dethridge. Do it now. Let him save her himself,” Reggie demanded.

“No.”

“No?”Disbelief rocked his cousin, and Reggie shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ronan couldn’t either, and the finality in the single-syllable word punched him low in the gut.

“I didn’t stutter, Mr. White,” Damian bit out. “And I suggest you rethink the plan you’re concocting in that clever brain of yours. You’ll never get close enough to kill me and acquire my abilities.”

Color leeched from Reggie’s countenance, and he gulped.

“Theonlyreason I’m allowing you to live is because I sense your impulse to help Ronan.” Obsidian eyes flashed red as the air around them took on a distinctive chill. “Never again entertain the notion of ending my life. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. If you insist on remaining, do so outside the exit door.”

It spoke well of Reggie that he was reluctant to leave him, but Ronan didn’t want him fighting a battle he couldn’t win. “Look, and it’s all right for you to go, Reg. I’m not leaving her.”

“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t conjured the crossbow… It’s all my fault.”

The crushing guilt weighing on his cousin was too much for Ronan at the moment. “Aye. You’re a fool if you thought my da wouldn’t anticipate your reaction. But I’ll right your wrong like I always do.” He dropped his head as he listened to Reggie’s retreating footsteps.

“Ronan. Let me take you home, and we can discuss this at length.” Damian’s compassionate tone grated, and Ronan shied away from what he knew to be false to seek the truth.

Dubheasa. Eyes still open. Still lifeless. And she wasn’t waking up.

“Go away.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” his uncle declared. If he was inclined to believe it, Ronan could almost imagine he heard caring in Castor’s voice when he shouted, “Goddammit, Damian, this isn’t right!”

“It’s the way it has to be, Alex.”

“I know, but—”

“Go the fuck away already.” Sick and tired of the back and forth, Ronan pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

In a rush, Castor entered the cell and squatted next to him. “Ronan, son—”

Ronan struck.

His punch contained all the anguish and fury building inside him. A lifetime of hurt and abuse. Grief of a lost love. And that driving blow sent Castor into the cinder-block wall behind him. The sound of his head impacting the stone would’ve normally sickened Ronan, but not this time. One had to care, and he didn’t. Not anymore.

“Go!”he yelled, and in a burst of inspiration, he crawled over to tear the arrow from Patrick O’Malley’s chest and held it up. “And never come back, or I’ll carve your fucking heart out with this, yeah?”

“Leave us, Alex,” Damian ordered softly.

“I can’t—”

“Please, do as I say. And have someone see to your injuries. It sounded like you cracked your skull along with the bones of your nose.”

Pushing himself upright, Castor swayed on his feet. After stabilizing himself with a hand against the wall, he swiped his arm across his face and grimaced at the quantity of blood his shirt had soaked up.

Not breaking eye contact with Ronan, Damian turned his head to address Castor. “I’ll take care of this. Get yourself checked out by Draven.”

From his peripheral, Ronan saw the flash of light. “Now it’s your fecking turn to leave, ya bastard. I’ll clean up my own bleedin’ messes. I’ve been doing it my entire life.”

“I’d like to explain.”

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