Chapter 47 · The Exile Mark

He grabbed my waist and hauled me through the gap between two guards.

His palm spread across my ribs. His chest hit my back. Hot breath scraped my ear.

"You still smell like blood," Ronan muttered.

"And you still smell like a man who thinks he owns every room he walks into."

His grip tightened. "I don't own this one."

"You own the gates. The council owns your title. They can take both."

"Not if I give the title away first."

Before I could turn and demand what the hell that meant, Sorn's voice cut across the chamber.

"Strip him of command. Activate the second mark."

The sigils beneath Ronan's boots flared.

Black light crawled up his legs, burning through the seams of his coat.

I caught his sleeve. "Ronan. Don't move."

His eyes dropped to my hand.

"You worried about me?"

"I'm worried about the gate. Don't make this about your ego."

His mouth pulled tight. "Everything becomes about my ego when you look at me like that."

"Keep talking and I'll give you a reason to worry."

The mark climbed over his hips, his ribs, his chest. His muscles locked beneath my fingers.

He didn't make a sound.