Page 26 of Ronan

Knees tucking into my chest, I curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible, squeezing my eyes closed to hide from the fear churning in my gut.He didn’t leave, I promise myself, but the words sound forced as I hug my legs tighter.He’ll be back. I curl into the darkest corner, where I should be hidden even to someone walking past that might peek into the windows.

Minutes tick by like a time bomb, and the reality of my situation sinks in as the sun dips lower in the sky. What if Ronan doesn’t return? My lack of knowledge about the compound would make it nearly impossible to sneak out, even with the cover of darkness. And what if something happens to him? He’s only in this mess because of me, and—

The hatch flies open, and a ball of fluff collides with my body. “Boomerang!” I gasp, tears flooding my eyes as I push my face into her fur.

“Are you incapable of following simple instructions? Be quiet!” Ronan seethes, and his eyes are onyx daggers as I meet them. His gaze darts to the tear tracking my cheek and his expression softens as he swipes the traitorous droplet away. “You can’t let them hear you, mo’sziv,” he whispers, infinitely gentler.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and his thumb brushes over my damp cheek once more before he closes the hatch and climbs into the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life under my body as he cranks the key, gravel crunching beneath the tires. “Fuck, what about August?” I ask, and he lets out a warning growl from the front.

“There is no more time to waste, Cameron. Elas is doing what he can to find your friend. Nowhushbefore I come back there and tape your mouth shut.”

A retort dances on the tip of my tongue, but I decide it’s best to listen and curl into Boomerang. She silently licks my face, slobbering up the lenses of my glasses, but I’m too happy that she’s with me to care. Brakes squeak as Ronan slows to a stop, and I force myself to become shock still.

“Where are you headed, officer?” an unfamiliar voice asks, and my pulse speeds up once again, thudding behind my ribs.

“Escaped prisoners, if you haven’t fucking caught on to the alarms,” Ronan snarks, accusation thick in his tone. “Someone has to chase the rebel scum that you let get past the walls.”

“No one got past the walls!” the guard insists, and I can hear the smirk on Ronan’s mouth.

“Sure about that? Confident enough to turn me away and put both our heads on the line?”

There’s a stretched moment of silence before the guard says, “We need to search the vehicle before you leave. It’s protocol.”

“Damn it!” Ronan smashes his fist on something, and I have to bite back my surprise. “Do you want to be the one reporting to Commander Bravis that these assholes got away because you’re worried someone left a bag of grain in the van?”

“Fuck, don’t make me regret this,” the guard says with a sigh. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” There’s a loud whir of machinery as Ronan snickers darkly, and we start moving again. We drive for what seems like forever, me hidden in the trunk with my face buried in my dog.

Chapter 9

Cameron

“Stay here and do not make a sound.” The van shudders to a stop, keys jingling in the ignition. Before I can argue, he’s gone, leaving me in the heavy quiet. Faint illumination from the moon offers the only light, and with my other senses kicking into overdrive, even my own slow breaths are an unwelcome intrusion to the silence.

After what feels like forever, but is probably only five minutes, the hatch lifts. Moonlight silhouettes Ronan’s frame, glowing around his flowing hair and the broad expanse of his body. My legs tingle as I sit, letting the blood return to my toes as they dangle off the edge, and I stretch my arms above my head, arching my stiff spine. Boomerang leaps to the grass and wanders, sniffing the ground.

“Where are we?” My voice, even hushed, feels like an explosion out here in the peace of the wastelands, and I glance around in the darkness. A pale strip of orange floats on the horizon, the last signs of the sun long set.

Ronan takes my hand and helps me stand, and like every time he touches me, the mark on my arm flares to lifewith a happy buzz. “An abandoned house I found on patrol years ago. I’ve never seen anyone within miles of this place.”

Vines climb the sides of the small, ramshackle structure, making it almost invisible inside the thicket of trees. When these lands were covered in forest and plants, it might’ve been someone’s hunting cabin, tucked away from society. Organically camouflaged by nature, I imagine it’s just as well-hidden during the day.

“Come,” Ronan says, tugging my hand and leading me towards the house. A sudden rush of gratitude washes over me as the adrenaline fades, and my fingers weave with his. He stumbles, his eyes dropping to our hands before sweeping up to my face, and his shoulders are stiff as he stares straight ahead and marches forward.

His awkwardness is endearing as hell, and I bite back a grin. “Have you never held hands before?” I tease, and he huffs an annoyed grumble.

“Of course I have,” he mutters, and I’m delighted at the way he jerks his head to look away from me.

“It’s understandable if you haven’t.” I give him a squeeze and swing our hands between us as he scowls. “You are pretty grumpy.” He doesn’t answer me aside from a long exhale, leading me through the door. Inside, inches-thick layers of dust cover most of the surfaces, with a single set of footprints tracking the dirty ground from Ronan’s boots. The old furniture is falling apart, but it’s dry and hidden.

“Sit.” Nodding towards a wooden chair, he releases me to shut the door and slides a leather sack off his shoulder with a thud. The strike of a match sounds before a tiny flame appears, and he lights an oil lantern that illuminates the room. “We can’t burn this for long, but I need to cleanyour wounds,” he says, removing more supplies from the bag.

“I can do it,” I argue, but he turns those fierce eyes on me, and I clamp my mouth shut. Surprisingly gentle hands wash the reopened gash on my forehead, a damp cloth swiping over the fresh cuts on my throat and chin. When he asks me to open my mouth, I bite back the snarky retort that dances on the tip of my tongue, although I do give him an exaggeratedAhhh.

It satisfies my sassy little heart, if just a little.

“Your lip is split, and there’s a nasty bite on your tongue, but I can’t do anything about them.”

“I’ll be alright,” I say, but he shakes his head, unconvinced as he glances down my torso.

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