Page 21 of Ronan

“Done,” I say, turning to face him.

“And we take August with us.”

White hot jealousy flares in my stomach as I take a step in his direction, fists clenching at my sides while the mark on my palm pulses. “Who is this August?”

Cameron’s eyes flicker down my frame and back up, a smug grin teasing his lips when he sees the snarl on mine. “Easy, big guy,” he whispers as he steps closer, placing a gentle hand on my forearm that ignites every nerve in my body. “He’s the medic in the rebel camp and was kind to me while I was there. Fed me, tried to get them to set mefree. He isn’t like the rest of them and doesn’t deserve to meet the same fate.”

The tug in my gut intensifies as I lean into his touch. It wants me to grab him and pull him closer, feel his skin against mine. “I won’t promise that,” I say, and he scowls at me as I hurry to finish. “The priority is getting you out of here, and if this August person puts that in jeopardy, I won’t risk it. You are my only concern, even if you hate me for it later.”

“That’s… oddly sweet,” he says with a conflicted smile. “Deal.”

Elas rises from his seat, giving me an apologetic grimace. “We’ve taken too much time, Ronan. He needs to go back to his cell.”

I consider what would happen if I just marched Cameron out of the prison and through the front gates, but I know such a reckless action would cost us both our lives. “I don’t like this.”

“Yeah, welcome to the club.” He gives a light squeeze to my arm before backing up a step. “At least I get fresh bread from all this drama.” His pointed look tells me he is holding me to that promise.

“You’ll get your bread, greedy human.” The teasing is unfamiliar, foreign on my tongue, but his answering half-smile only proves to me just how far I’ll go to see it again.

"Fancy seeing you here again,” Cameron says as we step into the interrogation room. He wears an artificially sunnysmile that feels more like a challenge than a greeting. “Where’s your friend?”

“Gathering our dinner.” He tilts his head, pursing his lips. “That was part of this deal, was it not?”

“Just didn’t expect you to follow through,” he challenges, crossing his arms.

“Mmm, don’t flatter yourself too much. My day hasn’t allowed time for a meal yet, so it’s not as generous as it sounds.” His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile, an amused gleam in his eyes as he fights it.

I gesture at the same seat where this all started yesterday. Since we left, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about the infuriating human, to the point that it’s interfering with my duties. If it weren’t for Elas coming to grab me from my barracks, I would’ve missed muster this afternoon, which is something I haven’t done since I was a young man. Instead of paying attention to the time, I was too busy daydreaming about his blue eyes like a teenager with a crush. That alone should have sirens blaring inside my brain.

Cameron drops into the chair, feet kicking underneath him. “Any news on Boomerang?”

“Not yet. I’ve checked with the kennels, but the only dogs there are the hounds that are used for searches and tracking.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his agitated feet moving faster. “You don’t think—”

“There’s no way to know what’s happened, not yet. Enough time has passed since the raid that all the reports should’ve been turned in by now, but whoever grabbed you might not have reported the dog. It’s not exactly standard practice.”

“Maybe you can figure out who captured me and check their reports?” he asks, and there’s so much desperation in his tone that I can’t find it in myself to crush his hopes and tell him I’ve already read every report.

Twice.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll go by the records office tomorrow during my down time,” I lie, and it tastes bitter on my tongue as I force my face to stay neutral.

What the fuck am I doing? Lying and withholding information? I’ve been brutally honest since the day I was born. Refusing to sugarcoat my words often got me in trouble as a child and young man, but I never bothered to change my behavior. I don’t lie, especially when it’s to spare others’ feelings.

Except his, apparently.

“Thank you,” he says, and his gratitude is so genuine it takes my breath away.

“You are… welcome.” Both of us look at the other awkwardly for a moment before he breaks our stare-off and drops his eyes to my uniform.

“What do the different patches mean?”

I glance down at my leathers, pointing at the one on my left pec with three vertical golden stripes. “This one shows my rank.”

“Is it a high rank or are you just a peon that likes to strut?”

An unexpected laugh slips free, and he grins as he glances up, seemingly pleased with himself for making me crack. “Lower-ranking soldiers advance with horizontal marks,” I explain, glancing back down at the patch and running my finger over the lines. “Once you accumulate five horizontal marks, or rows as we call them, you arepromoted to an officer. Officers are awarded vertical stripes, but they take much longer to earn.”

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