EliThe first time Hazel looks at Jace today, it could be accidental. The second time is suspicious. By the third, it’s clearly a habit she can’t shake.Jace is in his usual uniform. Navy button-up shirt, jeans, knives strapped to his hips, quiet exasperation carved into his face like a threat. He corrects Sorrel’s guard with two fingers and the elegance of a guillotine. Hazel’s gaze, traitor that it is, lingers half a heartbeat too long on the way his shoulder rolls under fabric.“Well then,” I murmur, grinning like a cat who got into an entire vat of cream. “If you stare any harder, Hazel, you’ll bore a hole right through him. Might save the other packs some money on arrowheads.”She doesn’t startle. Hazel doesn’t do prey reactions. She just cuts me a look sharp enough to shave with. “Shut up.”“I’ve hit a nerve,” I say, delighted. Hazel’s ears go rosy. I follow the line of her eyes back to Jace, who is, outrageously, continuing to just be Jace.I know he must have heard us. Thee m
EliI sprawl in the chair next to Ronan’s like a cat basking in the sun. Legs draped over one arm, my scarf slouched rakishly around my throat, the cut of the bandage hidden but implied, his mug of tea in my hand like it’s always been mine. Ronan stands in the doorway for two heartbeats, assessing the room, then me, then the room again as if measuring how much blood it would take to refinish the floor. His jaw goes tight in that way I like, the tendon jumping. My private metronome.“Good morning,” I say, sweet as sugar, and take a sip of his tea. It’s strong and dark, with a hint of honey. Rude to my taste buds and therefore very him. Ronan circles behind me. One palm lands on the high back of the chair near my head, his fingers brushing the tips of my hair. To the room, he’s composed. To me, the bond hums with “sit up straight, menace,” and also “stay exactly as you are, it pleases me.” “Requisitions,” Mara says, crisp. “Wire, resin, arrowheads. And we’re still short on salt.”“We
EliLight sparring with Ronan lasts ten minutes before I refuse to continue. “You’d punch a toddler with more force!” Ronan glowers at me. “I wouldn’t punch a toddler at all.” We bicker for more than an hour before he growls that it may be for the best if I become Jace’s problem for a while.Refraining from telling him that’s exactly what I’ve been saying from the start is a strenuous exercise in willpower.Conversations stutter when I step through the gate with Ronan. Not the old kind of stutter, the kind that came with suspicion and gossip. This is awe, wary and shining. It makes my skin itch. Heads dip. Not to Ronan. To me. Two Deltas touch knuckles to brow and then to ground, that old instinct the council woke when Ronan’s voice rolled through them like thunder.I keep my chin up and my pace steady. You can drown in reverence as easily as in hate.Jace is already in the ring, barking corrections, throwing men twice his size with bored efficiency. He glances over and his eyes do
EliRonan is hovering again.I stretch out on our bed like a dying prince, sighing theatrically, one hand draped across my forehead. If I had a velvet robe and a goblet of wine, the image would be perfect. Instead, I’m shirtless and Ronan is glaring down at me like he’s about to summon the entire infirmary.“You’re still pale,” he says, voice low, gruff, the way he always sounds when he’s trying to hide worry behind authority.Pale is just my normal complexion, but I’m not about to tell him that. “Maybe it’s internal bleeding.”His jaw tightens. He sits on the edge of the mattress, palm sliding across my chest, pressing just hard enough that heat spreads beneath his hand. “Where?”“Everywhere.” I wince for effect, sucking in a sharp breath. His thumb freezes mid-stroke.The truth is, I’m fine. My throat doesn’t hurt at all anymore and I’ve been sneaking in stretches every morning. But Ronan’s version of nursing involves strong hands, growled commands, and the kind of attention I’ve b
EliIt’s been two days since someone tried to turn my throat into a dartboard.Two days since Ronan carried me home, bloody and wild-eyed, and has barely let me take a piss without standing in the doorway like he’s guarding a crown jewel.The wound itself is neatly bandaged and only tugs when I turn too fast. I feel fine. Strong, even. My overprotective mate’s constant presence is helping me heal much faster than I would otherwise.Ronan doesn’t need to know that.He’s making stew when I sigh. Loudly. The kind of sigh that implies I might never recover from the tragedy of existing upright.The response is instant. His head snaps around, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”I wince delicately and press two fingers to the bandage. “Just… a twinge.”The spoon clatters back into the pot. Three long strides and he’s at my side, palm to my jaw like he can hold me together with sheer will. “Show me.”“It’s nothing,” I say, innocent as a choirboy who killed a village.“Don’t lie to me.” That low r
RonanI call the council at dusk because I’m done letting rumor do the talking.Eli sits to my right, unhidden, unbowed. Jace stands behind us like a shadow that could choose violence at any moment. Mara leans against a pillar, arms folded, gaze appraising. Hazel perches near the door with her bow unstrung but within reach.I could have kept Eli home. I could have let them talk about him as if he were an abstraction. A “resource,” “opportunity,” “offer.” Or the word that still makes my jaw ache, “price.”I want them to look at him and then try to say those words.“Let’s be plain,” I say, voice even. “Silvercrest sent a courier with a bag of coin and a letter dressed up as diplomacy. I refused. There was nothing to discuss. He is my mate.”I angle my head toward Eli. He doesn’t look away from the room. Good. Let them feel witnessed.Elder Invar clears his throat, a careful sound. “No one is challenging the sanctity of a bond, Alpha. We are only… advising that such decisions be carried