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Naia’s breath froze like arctic water in her lungs, and her mouth spread apart.
This painting was different from the one she’d seen on the brick wall of Madam Maeve’s Café or on the skin of the Blood Heretics. It was more… detailed. The woman’s diamond-shaped face, her silver strands, her closed eyes adorned with pale lashes—the details of her button features were immaculate and gripping.
She spun her head around to Ronin, her tongue feeling heavy. “What is this?”
“I first drew this picture when I was twelve.” Ronin stared down at his feet as he spoke. “The day after you saved me. I never wanted to forget your face.”
My face.
She blinked at it in disbelief. “You can draw?”
“Yeah.” He popped his knuckles with his thumb at his sides. “It’s a… secret hobby, I guess.”
She could see him, younger, sitting at a desk with coffee somewhere nearby, as Naia was convinced his addiction started at an early age. His paper and pencils and eraser shavings were strewn around him. He had intense concentration etched into his brow while sketching the outline of her face—down to every small eyelash.
When she’d thought she was nothing to everyone, she’d always been someone to him.
“You are everywhere in this city, Naia. Painted on its buildings, on my Blood Heretics, on me. The city is just as much yours as it is mine. I am yours.”
She faced him, and he stared at her, eyes brilliant and burning for her alone.
“You will always have a home here, in me, and I promise you, I will do everything in my power to not let them take anything else away from you. Happiness, freedom, whatever you want. I will make sure it is yours.”
A lump swelled in her throat as she intently stared at him. Passion she’d never known before welled up within her. Unafraid to truly look at him and reciprocate his adoration. Ronin was too good, and she couldn’t help that protective nature in her to deny such a wonderful dream right before her.
“I would love to make you my home,” she said. “But what if I am taken away from you?”
His hand settled on her cheek, swiping his thumb over her wobbling lips. “I will find you, no matter where you go.”
She relaxed into his palm, feeling more at home in his touch than she’d ever felt in the walls of her mother’s palace.
Ronin held up his other hand and offered her his pinky. He wore a ring with a scarlet gemstone in its center—identical to the one on her bracelet. The jewels both shined faintly, as if he was sealing his vow with a spell.
A small grin slipped across her mouth, recalling the last time they did this, and she curled her pinky around his. “Never let me go,” she murmured.
Ronin gently pulled her into him. “Never,” he swore with a kiss.
“Where are we?” she asked, her lips moving against his as she did so.
“Blood Heretics’ graveyard.” He kept his forehead fused to hers. “It’s where we lay those of us to rest who pass on. Because it’s on a ley line, it’s also where a lot of us come to train newbies or recharge when our magical reserve is low.”
The clearing of a throat off to the side of them startled Naia.
Ronin turned towards the woman with piercings on her lips glinting in the candlelight. “What’s up, Soph?”
The girl smiled in greeting, flicking her brunette braid over her shoulder. “We are roasting marshmallows, if you two want to join us?”
Ronin looked at Naia, eyebrows drawn up in inquisition.
She beamed. “I would love to try a marshmallow.”
Ronin smiled, as if he hadn’t expected anything less, and a gooey sensation spread through her chest like melted sap.
Together, they followed the woman down the pathway they’d come. Everyone they passed on their small journey gave another respectful bow.
Naia leaned over to whisper in Ronin’s ear, “Do they bow like this in your presence all the time?”
Laughter spewed from Ronin so suddenly it caused Naia to jolt and Soph to glance over her shoulder at him.
