Page 3 of Ronan

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up, placating. “That’s what has you wound up? A phony prophet’s epic tale that your fated mate—yourhumanfated mate—is out there wandering the world, just waiting for you to find them?”

Another scoff escapes as I flex my hands, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of leather from the motion. “When you say it like that, it sounds…”

“Fantastical?”

Begrudgingly, I nod. “Yeah, fantastical, sure… but is that really what you believe? That the prophecy is nothing more than a fairy tale written by some bored seer… and why? They were tired of meditating? Wanted to see how they could mix things up on Earth?” More than seeing it, I feel his brows rise in a silent challenge, and it makes my temper flare hot. “Damn it, Elas, quit being a dick for two seconds and humor me.”

“First of all, Ronan,” he says, his voice still carrying an air of condescension, “if we’re going to have this discussion, stop sugarcoating it. Describing it as a prophecy plays right into their agenda and turns it flowery and… and beautiful. Something we shouldstrivefor. Call it what it really is.”

“Which is?”

“A curse.”

“Alright then, a curse,” I concede, waving my hands through the darkness. His heightened senses track their movement, just like mine feel his attention on me, prickling in awareness of being watched. Predators, both of us. “What do you know about it?”

Elas puts his hands behind his head and leans back, reclining against the battered brick. “The same cautionary tale that we’ve all been told. The Fates were so angered when we crossed the veil and attacked that they condemned us and destroyed the bridge. Our world was eradicated as punishment for our violence, and now, here we are. Stranded. Forced to make this place our home.”

Lost in memories, he becomes quiet, and I do nothing to break the silence until he clears his throat and continues. “Then, in their fucked-up version of a fairy tale, they cursed us, only they didn’t have the decency to call it that. I mean, come on… a human mate for everyone from our side? Paired with some dramatic claim that it’s necessary to fix this broken world?”

“You seem skeptical,” I tease, a slight smile tugging at my lips.

Elas laughs, a booming sound that shakes his massive chest as he throws back his head, flinging his braids over his shoulders. “Their story might hold weight if a single pair of fated mates had ever been found. But they haven’t, Ronan, because it’s bullshit. A fantasy to make us docile. They want to lull us into complacency with this impossible idyllic future that will never happen.”

I glance at him in question when he pauses, but he’s staring out into the sky. “Religion remade—a tool of oppression meant to maintain their control. A promise of something bigger that can never be delivered.”

“What about the mark?” For a minute I think he hasn’t heard me, but he finally heaves a tired sigh.

“If I get smited by holy lightning, I’m blaming you. Your bad influence is turning me into a blasphemous man.” I grin to myself, hiding it behind my hand. “Why would the Fates do such a thing? Give us a mate, but no way to find them? Drop us onto this plane—”

“Don’t do that,” I interrupt with a scoff. “We came willingly. Don’t twist the story to make it sound as though we were forced here by Fate’s hand. Our armies were driven through those passageways by our greed, and nothing more. None of us are innocent.”

His mouth pulls into a tight frown as he thunks his head against the brick a few times. “Yeah, I know. The Mate’s Mark…” he says, a scornful laugh pushing past his lips. “If it’s true, it’s bullshit. There’s a fated partner for everyone, but we don’t recognize them until we touch them?”

“Well, why not?” I counter, enjoying his huff of frustration. “It’s not like the Fates would make this easy on us. Gods know they’ve never shown any interest in making our lives simpler.”

“Yes, but consider the sheer numbers. Millions of humans and our kind inhabit this planet, spread thousands of miles apart over different continents. Divided by fucking oceans. The odds of actually encountering your mate are astronomically low, a needle in a cosmic haystack, but realistically? It’s impossible. It’s a lie, Ronan... all of it.”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he snaps, sitting forward and snarling at me with a rare show of irritation. “This foolishness from others is one thing, but I never expected this from you. Why are you so stuck on something that’s never going to happen?”

“Never going to happen? You’re positive, then? Absolutely sure? The great, almighty Elas has spoken, so let’s bow to your infinite wisdom?”

“What the hell, Ronan? Fuck you and that smart mouth. You asked a question, and I answered, but you’re just seeking validation. If all you want is to hear yourself speak, go yell into the valley and listen to the echoes.”

He stands, muscles tense and eyes furious, intending to charge past me to the stairwell, but I jump up and block his way. Elas belongs to the Nu’vak race, which means he’s also a natural born warrior. He’s bigger and bulkier than me, but despite his size and battle prowess, he’s always had a gentle nature. Predictably, he stops instead of ramming into me as another snarl tears across his face. “If you want to sit up here on rooftops, believing in fairy tales and magical endings, do it, but I’m leaving.”

“Fairy tales?” My voice is whisper-quiet and chest-deep, with an edge that puts his defenses on high alert as he freezes. “If this is some sort of twisted fantasy to make us compliant, then explainthisto me!” Furious, I rip off my glove and shove my hand in his face.

The color of moonlight, somewhere between white and yellow, pulses in a soft glow from my palm. It swirls under my skin like a small galaxy, shining bright enough to illuminate the surprise on Elas’s face. His giant hand closes around my wrist and pulls me closer, fascinated, as the markwrithes beneath his inspection. A tiny, living thing, twisting and turning.

Wanting.

Searching.

“When did this happen?” he asks, those onyx eyes landing on mine in the darkness.

“Three days ago.”

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