“Ronan, get your shirt on and let’s go.” Her voice elevated with each word, the pitch tightening. His nostrils flared as a wave of bitter citrus hit him, Naya’s lovely scent soured by the spike in her emotions. “I can’t find my dagger. I must have dropped it in the sand before I passed out last night. If I don’t find it—”
“Naya, calm down.” If she didn’t slow her breathing, she was going to hyperventilate. “What are you looking for?”
“My dagger.” She headed for the double doors without looking back. The sound of her racing heartbeat echoed in Ronan’s ears. “It’s been a tribal asset for millennia. It’s a sacred weapon. If I lost it and Paul finds out he’s going to kill me.”
Any male who sought to do her harm would meet a bloody end before he could even try. He reached behind a stack of crates and retrieved the weapon. It unnerved him, felt wrong in his hand. It contained magic that he didn’t understand, but he’d kept it safe for her. “Here. It’s not lost. Try to calm down.”
She let out a sigh of relief as she turned back. “Thank you.” Her voice shook with the words, further igniting Ronan’s ire. “I was a mess last night. I’m a mess right now. My head isn’t straight and I need to get it together.”
Ronan scowled. Was she trying to make excuses for what had almost happened between them? That she hadn’t been in her right fucking mind? Anger welled hot and thick in his throat as he pushed himself to stand. She was his mate. His soul belonged to her. Whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. And Ronan was sick and fucking tired of being treated like a mistake.
Naya tucked the dagger into the sheath at the small of her back and headed back through the maze of crates to the double doors. She peeked outside and turned. “The sun’s below the horizon. Will you be okay outside?”
He didn’t want or need her concern. “Let’s get out of here. Wouldn’t want you getting caught doing something—or someone—you’re not supposed to.”
It was petty. And childish. Ronan hadn’t been a child for a gods-damned long time, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t come to this tiny, secretive town to find a mate. He’d wasted precious time trying to win the affection of a female who didn’t want him. So she’d tethered him. So what? His priorities had been out of whack for too long. It was time to find Chelle and get his ass back to Los Angeles.
A stab of pain shot through his chest. “Kiss my ass, Ronan!”
Through their tether, Naya’s hurt sliced through muscle, eviscerated bone, and settled like ice over his soul. She jumped down from the container without a thought to her own safety and Ronan swore under his breath as he rushed after her. It was at least a twenty-foot drop to the ground, gods damn it. Did she not give a shit about herself?
He caught sight of her just in time to see her hit the pier below as she let her body fall into a graceful roll. She regained her footing and took off at a sprint without even a glance back. Twilight was quickly giving way to night, and who the hell knew how many more of those creatures were hiding in the shadows waiting to tear her to pieces?
“Naya!”
Her step didn’t even falter. She leapt from the pier onto the sand with a feline grace that entranced him.
“Damn it, Naya, stop!”
Ronan took off after her, careful to keep his speed to an inconspicuous pace. What he wanted to do was overtake her, tackle her to the sand, and kiss her until she quit being so damned stubborn and acknowledged that there was something between them. The female tied him into gods-damned knots. Up was down and left was right when she was near. She flipped him on his axis and Ronan couldn’t even trust his own feelings, wanting to be as far from her as possible one moment and needing her like he needed blood in the next.
Fifty yards ahead, she darted between the pilings of another pier. If she thought to lose him in the shadows, she had another think coming. The predator in Ronan rose to the surface, the thrill of chasing his prey spurring him forward. Seconds later, he ducked under the pilings and, with the cover of full dark, was no longer concerned with keeping a low profile or a level head. He darted between the pilings, Naya’s scent fresh in his nostrils. Her blood called to him; her soul reached out through time and space, connecting them. She could try to hide, but he would find her. He would always find her.
Any reasonable thoughts were banished from his mind by the instinct to hunt. To capture. To take what belonged to him. An unseen force knocked Ronan’s feet out from under him and he slammed to the tide-hardened sand with a grunt as the breath was knocked from his chest.