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“He only grabbed my wrist.”
Ronan looked at the red marks Dylan’s fingers had left. He turned and struck him again.
Dylan had been pushing himself to his knees. The blow sent him back down, one hand landing flat on the stones to catch his weight. Blood dripped from his nose down his chin.
“Ronan.” Panic flooded me, and I yelled, “Stop.”
He stepped away from Dylan at once, though his hands were still clenched. The tension drained out of him when he turned to me, replaced with concern. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have gotten that close to you.”
“It’s all right.” My cheeks heated under his gaze. “Not your fault.”
“It was my fault. I should have gotten here sooner.”
If it were anyone else, that line would have sounded corny, but the way Ronan said it felt like it physically pained him that he hadn’t been here to stop it.
Two men wearing black half masks and silver raven pins reached us from opposite sides of the crowd. They must have been close by when Ronan threw the first punch.
“Get rid of him,” Ronan commanded, and they instantly snapped into motion.
“Come on,” one of them told Dylan, hauling him up by his arm.
Dylan tried to pull free. The second man took his other arm, and together, they steered him away.
“Get off of me,” Dylan said. Blood made his words thick. “Gwen, tell them to let me go.”
Ronan stepped in front of me, cutting off Dylan’s view. I couldn’t see his expression, but all the blood had drained from Dylan’s face.
I had never seen Dylan afraid before, not even that night. He stopped trying to fight the men and let them take him down the lantern-lit path until the crowd hid him from view.
The weight of prying gazes bore down on me, but with one glance from Ronan, everyone scattered.
“Gwen.” Ronan stood in front of me. He’d been furious seconds ago. Now his hands were open at his sides, and he kept enough distance that I could move past him if I wanted. “Can I see your wrist?”
“It’s fine.”
“Please.”
I held it out. His fingers closed gently around my hand, his rings cool against my pulse, and he turned it toward the light. There were four faint red marks where Dylan had gripped me.
“Does it hurt?” Ronan asked through gritted teeth.
“Not much.”
He released me immediately. His knuckles were red too. I kept looking at them, remembering how quickly Dylan had gone down.
“Fuck.” He dragged a hand through his messy dark brown hair. “No one will get close to you again.”
I believed him.
“He said something,” I told him, fighting to control my voice. “About another party.”
Ronan’s expression stayed steady. “Do you want to tell me?”
The offer caught me off guard. Dylan had wanted an audience for that story. Ronan was giving me a way out of it.
“No. Not tonight.”
“All right.”
