Dead By Dusk by E.C. Hill

Author:E.C. Hill [Hill, E.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2025-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

17

What Remains Hidden: Ronan

Ibarely have enough time to dodge the blade as it flies through the air, directly toward the space where my heart beats frantically beneath my skin. Just barely, but enough, and it ends up catching the area of my arm that had already been torn through the other day. My eyes are wide as they take in her shocked features before her eyes darken with fury.

Her eyebrows furrow and her cheeks redden before she stomps towards me and begins slapping my arms and pushing my chest while spewing incoherent profanities at me.

“You stupid fucking—How could you even, why the hell—and you’d think, but obviously you didn’t—and what the—” I feel the cold surface of the wall against my back, still wet from the storm we got caught in. The chill that runs through the length of my spine borders on painful as I try to hide any sort of noticeable physical reaction.

I see the rage in her gaze as she continues her mission to bombard me with open and closed fists while keeping me pinned between her and the wall. But I lock on her eyes. Even through the rage, there’s something so ethereal about them. The violence in them. They’re almost like Venus fly traps, ready to draw in their prey with promised divinity before consuming it. The painful truth of loving her is a revelation: she would devour me in a suffocatingly slow death with no remorse as she feasts on the essence I so willingly give her. There’s something to say about the way I would willingly put myself through such pain over and over if it meant I could experience what it was to love and be loved by her again.

“Easy, Killer.” Her movements stop as she throws a glare my way, but I just rest my hands on her shoulders and slowly inch her body backwards. Beneath my palms, I feel her whole body tense when she realizes how close we are in proximity only separated by a towel.

“You scared me, you stupid idiot,” she says, aiming her gaze at the hardwood floor and tightening the towel around her body. She crosses her arms over her chest to hold the fabric in place, almost looking sheepish as she avoids my gaze. I don’t like how foreign it feels coming from her. Not once have I ever seen her like this—ashamed for defending herself—even if it was from me. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed sneaking up on me like that.”

“I could’ve. Thank God you’re a shit shot.” She whips her head back to me quicker than I can blink and that bashful look is quickly replaced with pure fire. Good. Shame is not a feature that was ever meant for her, and as long as I’m around, I’ll ensure it never will be.

“Anyone else would’ve been dead,” she states plainly as we hold each other’s stares.

“I’m not anyone else.”

Our standoff lasts far longer than it should as she scrutinizes me. A look that

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