“I love you,” he said. “Marry me. I want to take you as my mate. I want to love you forever. I want the ceremony I go through to commit to someone for the rest of my life to be with you and only you, always. Marry me, Natasha. Please say yes.”
“I—” she blinked at him, hesitating. Then she smiled. “Yes! Yes, of course. Ronan—I want nothing more than to be married to you.”
His heart swelled in his chest, and he crushed her to him, kissing her with all the passion he had within him. “I love you,” he whispered. “My mate.”
“Ronan, I’m still—”
“Shhh,” he said, cutting her off. “Don’t talk about him right now. We’ll figure that out. Just be mine. All mine.”
“I am,” she murmured. “I always will be.”
He held her close, reveling in the beauty of this moment of love and connection that was taking place amongst the absolute chaos caused by bitterness, greed, anger, and the hunger for power. There were only a few seconds to spare, but he wanted to spend them with her.
And as she held him, he felt that now-familiar lightness come over him. She was healing him with her mind-blowing power, and all of the pain, aches, and exhaustion were leaving his body. The bruises and scrapes from his altercation with Abigail began to heal, and his eye, which had remained fuzzy and blurry after the injury, suddenly cleared, the pain slipping away so gently that he hardly noticed it.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered in her ear, and when he stepped back to look into her eyes again, the love he felt for her shone out of his. He was strong again. She gave him strength in every way, both literally and metaphorically, and he was lucky enough to be the man who got to have her by his side for the rest of his life.
With his full strength back, he bent down and snapped the chains that bound her feet to the pole, then kissed her again, hard and brief.
“Stay out of the way,” he told her, backing up and getting ready to transition himself. “I don’t want you in the middle of this. This isn’t your fight.”
“Every fight you’re in is my fight,” Natasha replied. “I’m not leaving you.”
He didn’t argue with her, partially because there was no time, but mostly because he knew that he would never leave her if the roles were reversed.
Ronan blew her a kiss, then jumped into the air, transitioning mid-leap. His wings unfurled and his tail lashed out, and he lifted his head and roared out his vengeful spirit. Abigail had signed her own death warrant when she had taken Natasha from him, and learning that she had killed Michael, another dragon and her leader, only made Ronan more certain that Abigail had to be taken out.
The others, he would allow to live, and Kean, Eamon, Moira, and Siobhan had their orders to fight them to exhaustion—not to death.
Eamon, however, was preoccupied with Abigail, the two locked in a battle so intense that the bleachers they were beside were battered and broken from the force of their bodies slamming against them. Silver blood coated Eamon’s throat and underbelly, but he had gotten his own back against Abigail by sinking his teeth into her wing and tearing at the skin that webbed her ribs of her wings. The sound she was making was one of pain and fury mixed in perfect fusion, and her jaw was wide open, her teeth gleaming as she reared her head back and then sank her teeth into Eamon’s vulnerable throat.
Ronan swept in, gripping the base of Abigail’s wings with his talons and pulling her off Eamon, tumbling her backward so that he could throw her against the gymnasium wall. She had barely bounced off when he was on her again, pinning her to the ground, his teeth bared, his yellow eyes lit with fury, and his breath hot with fire. He might not have had the words, in his dragon form, to tell her just what he thought of her, but there was no doubt she knew.
And there was no doubt that she hated him just as much. What he couldn’t understand was—why. His position couldn’t have brought her the kind of power that she obviously craved. Why was she so furious about losing him that she was willing to go to these lengths?
Abigail jerked her head up at him, trying to sink her teeth into his throat, but he headbutted her, knocking her back against the ground, then raised one taloned leg to swipe it down her throat. But a cry of pain distracted him, and he turned to see Moira, covered in silver blood, a dark purple dragon on top of her, tearing her open.
He roared, leaping off Abigail and flying directly into the purple dragon, knocking him away from Moira and slamming his head into the basketball hoop pole again and again while the purple dragon’s wings flailed. At the side of his vision, he could see Moira transition back into her human form, naked, bloodied, and writhing in pain. His heart thudded as she screamed, clutching her gashed abdomen, and then Natasha was there, her hands pressing on Moira’s open wounds as she closed her eyes.
Ronan was forced to concentrate on his own opponent, as the purple dragon swiped at him, aiming for his eye again. There was a surge of pain, and then he felt a dragon land on his back. He knew, without having to look, that it was Abigail, and that he was now locked in battle with the two most vicious of their opponents. He reared back against Abigail, sending her flying, then grabbed the purple dragon’s leg with his teeth and twisted so hard that the leg broke in half, leaving the purple dragon roaring and withering with pain.
In that brief moment he had before either of his opponents came back at him, he turned, searching for Moira. She was lying on the ground, naked and breathing hard, but her abdomen was unmarred, and the green tint to her skin had gone. Natasha was beside her, whispering something, and then Moira was on her feet again, jumping up into the air and taking her fire-red dragon form once more.
She was back in the battle, and Ronan felt his love for Natasha grow that much more. He hadn’t even thought that possible, but as he locked eyes with her across the room, he knew that he would die a thousand deaths for that one woman standing there in front of him.
A hissing sound distracted him, and Ronan realized that Abigail had gotten back to her feet and had followed his gaze toward Natasha. Angry and desperate, Abigail turned away from fighting him and charged Natasha, knocking the woman Ronan loved to the floor and raising one taloned leg to swipe across her neck and end everything.
Ronan roared, launching himself toward her. He reached her at the same time as Siobhan, and they both tumbled Abigail to the side, Siobhan pinning the woman down and shaking her by the throat. Ronan didn’t go to help his friend, instead staring helplessly at the blood that was gurgling up from Natasha’s throat. Abigail had gotten her swipe in, and it would have been fatal to any person who wasn’t Natasha.
Even Natasha, with all of her healing abilities, looked as though she might take her last shuddering, painful breath at any moment, and Ronan didn’t hesitate as he transitioned back to his human form and crouched beside her, taking her hands in his.
“Natasha,” he whispered. “Baby, look at me. Focus on me. It’s just a cut, baby. You can heal a cut. Tell me you can heal it.”
She pressed his hand hard, but didn’t speak, her eyes locked on his in search of hope and comfort.
Ronan lifted her hand, pressing it to his lips and kissing her fingers over and over. “You’re okay,” he whispered, trying to reassure them both. “You’ve got this. Baby, you’re amazing. You can do this.”
The wound was healing, but slowly. She was losing so much blood, and her skin was so pale. He didn’t know everything about how her powers worked, but he could only imagine that having just healed Moira, she was tired and weaker than normal. She had done so much for everyone else over past twenty-four hours, and now she desperately needed to heal herself, and yet the wound was closing so slowly.
“You can do it,” Ronan whispered, kissing her palm. “You can do it. I’m here. Don’t leave me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Natasha
She was scared.
Each breath she took barely fueled her body, and she had never felt so weak in her life. The pain of the slice across her throat wasn’t the
problem. She didn’t feel it. But she did feel her body fading away in a way she never had before—except for that one last night with Matthew when he had taken her to the point of death and her body had only just been able to bring her back.
She was there again now. She had healed herself already today. She had healed Ronan. She had just healed Moira. Natasha had never known her healing power to have limits, but she had never taxed them the way that she had over the past few hours and now, as she lay there staring up at Ronan’s worried face, she wondered if she had enough power left for herself.
“You can do it,” he told her, and she felt his lips against her palm.
She wanted to believe him, and she kept staring at him, hoping that somehow his words would become reality. But she wasn’t feeling any change. She wasn’t getting any better. The blood that was flowing out of her didn’t slow and the wound lingered.
“I love you,” Ronan whispered, his perfect face hovering above her and his warm hand wrapped around her could fingers. “This is all going to be over, Natasha. So soon. It’ll be just you and me. Nothing will be able to touch us ever again.”
He was so beautiful. His eyes were deep pools of emotion, and his brows were so expressive. His full lips were the color of caramel, and they were always warm when they pressed against her skin. His strong jaw framed his gorgeous face, and his broad shoulders set the frame for his body.
He was naked now, sitting beside her, and even in her current condition, she couldn’t help but feel that same desire for him that she always had. His body was an endless source of new pleasures and his bulging muscles reminded her just how strong he was.
“Natasha,” he said, his voice thick with fear. “Honey, why isn’t it working? You’re not getting better.”
It wasn’t entirely true. She was getting better. If she hadn’t had her powers, she would have been dead almost immediately. But he was right—it wasn’t happening fast enough. And Siobhan would only be able to keep Abigail away from him for so long. There was no time.
“Take me out,” she managed to say. “Carry me out of the room to heal somewhere else, alone.” Her voice was warbly and only a whisper, her throat too damaged for her to speak any more strongly. “So you don’t sit here with me. Too dangerous.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he told her, even as he moved to pick her up. “I’ll stay with you. Hold onto me.”
She stared up at the ceiling, feeling hopeless, and then above her, Josiah Webb suddenly appeared. Natasha gripped Ronan’s shoulder. “Do you see him?”
Ronan looked up, following her gaze. “See who? What’s there?”
“He can’t see me,” Josiah said, shaking his head. “I’m only appearing to you. I’ve been watching you. I meant to use whatever I learned against you. To help Abigail. But all I’ve seen over the past twenty-four hours are all the reasons I was wrong to ever trust Abigail. You’re a good person, Natasha. And I’m sorry. I’m not going to let you join us up here.”
“Join you…?” Natasha said, her brow knitting. “What…?”
“Ronan!” A man who Natasha didn’t know was suddenly beside Ronan, his handsome, high-class face riddled with worry and downright fear. “I had a vision.”
“You’re not going to join us,” Josiah said, drawing her attention back from the man who had just arrived. “I’ll make sure of it. Your power does have limits. You can’t heal everyone and have enough left over for yourself. You need to remember that. But I’m not going to let you join us today. That’s my gift to you. My way of saying…I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand,” Natasha said, not knowing who to listen to first. Josiah was talking to her at the same time that Ronan and the new arrival were talking to each other. Amidst all of it, her body was growing somehow weaker instead of better and she didn’t understand why. There were bursts where she could feel her healing power at work, but they weren’t strong enough to knit together the gash at her throat.
“You have to get her to the hospital,” the new arrival was saying. “I had a vision of her dying in your arms while she waits to heal herself. Ronan—do something.”
“He doesn’t need to do anything,” Josiah said, from above her, where no one else could see. The battle between dragons raged behind him, but it was as though he, Natasha, Ronan, and the man with the visions were in their own world, cut off from the total chaos all around. “You would have died in his arms, but I’m giving you my spirit.”
Natasha struggled to speak. “What?”
“Shhh, baby,” Ronan whispered. “Don’t talk. I’m taking you to the hospital right now. I’m going to lift you up, okay?”
His voice sounded like it was on the verge of panic, but Natasha gripped his shoulder. “Wait. Wait.”
“There’s no time, Natasha. You’re not healing.”
“You’ll heal,” Josiah said. “See, I can remain active on this side. On the other side. Every spirit can, for as long as they like. But we can also choose to give our spirit to a human at death’s door, and then we disappear for good. Forever. But that human gets another chance at life. Do you understand?”
“Josiah…” Natasha whispered, unable to do anything more. There was so much she wanted to say. So much she didn’t understand. So much that she needed to think about. And yet, she was fading.
“You’re a good person,” Josiah said. “She’s not. I know that now. I chose the wrong side. I got caught in her web. I’m sorry.” He lifted his hand to her, then closed his eyes, and he was gone.
Ronan had Natasha in his arms, and he was already standing, ready to run her out of the room, into some waiting car, and get her to the hospital as fast as possible. But the moment that Josiah disappeared, a rush of life moved through Natasha and she gasped, clutching Ronan hard.
He looked down at her in surprise, his eyes immediately going to her neck. “Natasha? Oh my God.”
Lifting her hand, Natasha touched her throat and found that the gaping wound was closing—and was now closed, and she let out a sob of relief and gratitude and surprise. “It was Josiah. Ronan—it was Josiah.”
“What was Josiah?” he asked, clutching her to him and returning every kiss she pressed against his lips, so grateful that he could hardly speak.
“He came to me,” she tried to explain. “He said he was wrong. That he had been watching. That I was a good person and he had been wrong, and then he gave me his spirit. He disappeared from the other side, and here I am. He gave me another life. I was going to die.” Tears came to her eyes, unbidden. “I was going to die, and he gave me his spirit.”
“Oh my God.” Ronan set her on her feet because she was clearly and entirely well—and hugged her against his body. “Oh my God, Natasha.”
She sobbed against his shoulder out of relief and joy and sadness for Josiah who, in his last moments, had made her his most loyal supporter. “I’m okay,” she said, telling both Ronan and herself—and Josiah. “I’m okay. I’m all right.”
The man with the visions touched Ronan’s shoulder. “I’ll stay with her. Go. I can’t watch Siobhan keep fighting Abigail alone. Help her, Ronan, please. I’ll keep Natasha safe.”
Raising her head, Natasha drank in the sight of the battle around her. The golden dragon was Siobhan—she knew that much—and she was locked in battle with Abigail. A bloody, desperate battle that looked like neither would win.
“Go,” Natasha told Ronan, stepping back. “We’ll have time for me to explain everything. Go. Finish her.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ronan
Finishing Abigail was exactly what Ronan intended to do. He hated to leave Natasha behind, but looking at her face, he knew that she was well. She was radiant, in fact. Invigorated. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but the fact that she was alive when moments ago she had been dying in his arms and Julian had been urging him to get her to a hospital before he lost her completely and now she was perfect in every way, was all that he needed to understand.
He tu
rned around, facing the battle that still raged. The bleachers were destroyed; one of the basketball hoops was down; the walls were dented, scratched, and scorched from flames. Eamon, Moira, Siobhan, and Kean were all still fighting hard, but they were wounded and exhausted, and it was time for this to end.
Ronan looked toward the doorway and saw Isabelle standing there. He gave her a nod, and the witch nodded back. She had become excellent at her craft since Eamon had relied upon her to find Autumn, and Ronan knew he could trust her to do her part without hesitation. She held her palms up, channeling her power there in two glowing orbs. When the orbs rose and combined into one glowing ball held between her hands, Ronan transitioned one more time, taking on his dragon form just as Isabelle’s spell hit him, enlarging him to three times his normal size and strength.
Her spell was taxing on her, and therefore temporary. He had five minutes—maybe. And if he transitioned out of his dragon form, the effect would disappear. If she was harmed or interfered with in any way, it would disappear.
But Ronan didn’t intend to let any of those things happen. This was his final move, and he wasn’t wasting a single moment.
Every footstep shook the entire building as he approached Abigail, still locked in battle with Siobhan, and everyone stopped to stare at him, his gleaming black scales each the size of a car tire and his wings the full span of the gymnasium. His eyes were as tall as Abigail in her human form and his long tongue could now lash out and wrap a human up and pull him between his crushing jaw. If he had been fearsome before, he was terrifying now, and even Abigail stared at him from yellow eyes with abject horror.
She was strong and fast, but he now owned this room, and he didn’t even look at the dragon to his right as he flicked one wing and knocked him all the way across the room. He kept his eyes trained on Abigail, who couldn’t fly or flee from him because he was absolutely everywhere at once. And behind her, Siobhan, Kean, Eamon, and Moira formed a line of defense that she would never be able to get through.
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