Page 14 of Ronan

The insinuation in his words takes a moment to register, and when it does, I push him again. “Fuck you.”

“Aww, don’t be offended, Ronan. Rejection is hard, buddy, but I appreciate the offer to take you for a ride.” My growl is annoyed as his grin turns manic. “You do have a nice ass,” he adds, and I’m fuming as I grab his arm and turn him.

“Idiot,” I mutter, and he chuckles as we walk towards the holding area, but as we get closer, his levity vanishes.

“There were hundreds of rebels in this camp, and we need an excuse to see their skin. When you were loading them into the cells, I’m assuming you were touching above the belt?”

Indignation flares in my eyes, scrunching my face as I turn to stare at him. “Above the… ofcourseI was touching above the belt! Did you think I was leading the men around by their dicks? Dragging the women by the ankles? Or just gripping everyone by their ass cheeks as I locked them away?”

He hums an amused sound as he struggles not to smile. “Would make things more exciting around here.”

My lips tighten, and a breath of pure frustration escapes as he continues to chuckle. “Arms and shoulders, maybe the occasional neck or back, if they were difficult.”

“And were any from this crew being difficult?”

“More than a few,” I admit.

Elas glances at my glove-covered hand. “Is the mark giving you any guidance?”

My eyes close as I concentrate on the swirling magic beneath the skin of my palm. That insistent tug in my gut, the one that feels like a string leading me along, pulls me towards the prisoners. Beyond that is fuzzy and indistinct. “Just that we’re headed in the right direction.”

Two lower-ranking guards stand watch at the entrance of the holding cells as we approach. They snap to attention when they spot us, their backs going rigid and their nerves obvious.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Elas drawls.

“Officers,” the smaller of the two says with a respectful nod.

“Is anyone working inside with the rebels? We have some…” He trails off, rubbing his chin as his grin twists to a dangerous smirk. “…interrogatingwe need to do, and require privacy.”

“No, sir. They were served their nightly meal an hour ago and the cleaning crew has already been through for the night. No one will interrupt your interrogation.”

“Fantastic.” Elas holds his hand over the electronic locks, waiting for the approving beep before he reaches for the handle.

“Do you need any help?” The guard’s eyes are wide with excitement, and I barely contain my growl. These are the types that feed off the military’s power, always searchingfor a chance to abuse their position. My hands bunch at my sides as I force my face to stay neutral.

Elas, on the other hand, is relaxed, seamlessly mollifying the starry-eyed guard that’s trying to get his hands dirty with some casual torture. He chuckles, easy-going and completely absent of stress, as he claps a heavy palm on the guard’s shoulder. “We’ve got it handled this time, boys. Appreciate the enthusiasm, though.” Then he shoots them a godsdamned finger-gun, and both guards look like they might either faint or jizz their pants on the spot.

The door swings open and the two of us disappear into the building, the dim lighting making my vision flash solid green until it adjusts to the darkness. Sunlight struggles to penetrate the scarce, tiny windows, leaving the space relying on the weak, flickering overhead lightbulbs.

The first cell holds roughly forty humans, barely more than wild animals in a cage as they sneer and snarl at us. One by one, I scan their faces and come up empty. My irritation amplifies, searching for any hint of connection where there is none.

“This is a weapon and contraband check,” Elas announces, his no-nonsense voice a stark contrast to his usual jovial demeanor, and all their eyes shift to him. “Lift your shirts and spin in a circle.”

“Want to come in here and make me?” A burly man near the back of the room snarls, and a smile stretches over my face to rival Elas’s. His ability to match his personality to the situation is unparalleled—it’s a performance, whereas my deranged delight is genuine. After what they’ve done, it would give me immense joy to punish these murderers.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, human,” I say, voice clipped, and the man glares at me with a defiant chin jutted forward. My smile stretches to show my fangs, and fear makes him shrink as his shoulders droop. The first sign of a fight, and he concedes with a step backward, swallowing as his eyes drop to the floor.

Coward.

“I don’t have the patience to ask a second time,” Elas drawls, sounding bored, but the hint of a threat is enough. Men and women alike lift their shirts and spin, but nothing stands out. There’s no inexplicable draw to any of them or tugging at my core.

No marks or glowing, just skin.

Elas glances at me and I give a subtle shake of my head. “Thank you for your cooperation.” Sarcasm drips from his tone, and I bite back my smile as he fans out his hands, giving an exaggerated, mocking bow.

Four more times, we repeat this process with no results, each one chipping away at my patience until, finally, we reach the last cell in the hallway. Elas opens his mouth, but I nudge him in the side.

“Wait,” I mutter, the tingling in my hand intensifying into a warm buzz that vibrates beneath my skin. Fear and hatred war on the faces inside—some scowl, while others flinch as my gaze sweeps over them. Three times, I scan the crowd, confused when the pull in my gut gets stronger.

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