Ronan

Chapter Forty

Nothing grated on his nerves like being taken away from his woman.

She was safe. He knew that for a fact. Only he could break the barrier spell keeping threats out of their home in Proelii. But that did nothing to ease his endless worries for her. His woman was nearing the nine-month line. She could be having their kids any day now.

He'd smite anyone down who dared to take him from her.

His warlocks had contacted him just before he'd felt the disturbance in Triumph himself. A large disturbance at that.

This had to be Nadine.

Ronan was going to wring her neck and crush her bones.

He'd grind her into nothing and leave her for the worms. For the maggots and rats to feed on.

It was what the bitch deserved, really. As he stared at another failed endeavour, thanks to her, he swore she'd rue the day she messed with him. She did it as if this were a game. As if this was something she found amusing. As if she took joy in fucking things up for him.

He stared across the barren field of slaughtered corpses, spitting feathers.

She'd shown no remorse. No care. No consideration.

The centaurs had been his latest allies. A brand of unfounded evil. They were battle hungry and rearing to see the blood of the allies.

Now, a faction of them had been laid to waste on his front fucking yard.

Ronan didn't claim to be a saint. Lord, he was far from it. But he'd always shown mercy to her. He'd gone easy on her. He'd been merciful, even as her every little decision grated on his nerves and battered at his spirit.

He wondered if he should've listened to Rosa that day. He'd held himself back from killing Nadine—not because he couldn't do it. The opposite, actually. Every time his woman startled from sleep crying about a pain in her back was another tally on Nadine's list of indiscretions. Every time Rosa fretted over the threat to her babies was another day he'd force Nadine to suffer through.

He had enemies. Endless enemies. But the allies would never stoop so low as to harm their children. My bitch of a sister would.

No one would hurt his family. No one would even think of it without facing the consequences.

Had she killed his new prospects to mock him? To tease him? To bury herself beneath his skin and chew at his flesh like some rabid, feral dog?

Knowing Nadine, all of those things would be true.

She'd always been this way. Careless, frivolous and obsessed with tearing him down. She fancied herself a mastermind in this coming war. A war she had no part in. A war she'd never been a part of. The war to end all wars.

"Update?" He demanded, his voice cold and hard even as a mystical projection. He caught the tang of blood on his tongue. The metal hit his nose. Disgusting.

"They're all dead," A faithful warlock soldier informed him, following extensive checks on all those who'd laid here dying, delivered to Triumph by the bitch. "Every single one of them."

It was a strange sight to behold, really. Half of the limbs scattered through blood and dirt were humanoid whilst the other half of mangled limbs were horse-like. No matter. The entire army had been torn to the ground, man and mule alike.

"Did you get anything from them?" Ronan asked, never looking away from the carnage. He searched the masses for any movement. For the slightest twitch of a dying limb.