Chapter 4
OATHFIRE
RONAN
Iwalked through Evernight Forest at dusk because sitting in my apartment was driving me insane. My wolf needed to move before it started clawing its way out, and the four walls were closing in too tight to think.
The trees pressed close on either side, old-growth timber that had been here longer than the pack, longer than memory.
Their roots were thick enough to trip over if I wasn't paying attention, and their branches filtered the dying light into a green haze that made everything look like it belonged to another century.
My wolf remembered more than I did. That was the problem.
It kept pulling me toward places I should know, kept recognizing scents I couldn't name, kept trying to tell me things my human brain refused to hold.
Like there was knowledge buried so deep I couldn't reach it, but my wolf could.
Like my body knew things my mind had forgotten.
I wasn't aiming for the Moon Clearing specifically. Just following the territory markers, checking the borders, doing the basic patrol work that kept pack lands secure. But the path curved that direction and I didn't fight it. No reason to. Just another part of the forest.
Except when I reached the treeline and stopped, I realized it wasn't empty.
Someone was already there.
Gideon stood near the far edge with his back to me, head bowed, hands moving through patterns I couldn't track from this distance.
I should've turned around. Should've left him alone, dealt with whatever patrol work I was supposed to be doing instead of standing here watching someone work magic I didn't understand.
But I didn't move.
Because there was a pull. Every time I saw him at the garage, every time he crossed my path in town, every time I caught his scent on the wind—cedar and motor oil and old magic—my wolf went quiet in ways that felt both right and wrong.
Like recognition without memory. Like my body knew something my brain was still trying to figure out.
I watched him work instead. Gave myself a minute to figure out what the hell I was doing before I made this weird.
The fading light caught in his dark hair.
His shoulders were tense, muscles tight under his shirt in ways that told me he'd been at this for a while.
His hands moved with careful deliberation, fingers tracing lines through the air that left faint shimmers behind them.
Spiderwebs made of light that hung in the air for half a second before fading.
Ward work, probably. Making sure whatever protections this place had were still holding.
He was beautiful.
Fuck.
I didn't want to think that. Didn't want to notice the way he moved or the concentration on his face or the fact that watching him made the constant noise in my head go quiet for half a second.
But here we were. Standing in a clearing I shouldn't have come to, watching a man I couldn't stop thinking about, trying to figure out why my wolf went still every time he was near.
The leaves crunched under my boots. Loud in the stillness. Gideon's head snapped up fast, his hands freezing mid-pattern, his whole body shifting into alert so quickly I almost stepped back on instinct.
Then he saw it was me and the tension eased. Not all of it. Just enough to suggest I wasn't an immediate threat.
“Ronan,” he said. His voice was carefully controlled. Measured. Like he was deciding whether to be annoyed or relieved. “Didn't hear you coming.”
“Sorry.” I moved closer, slow and steady, because standing at the treeline felt worse than whatever awkwardness was about to happen. “Didn't mean to interrupt.”
“You're not.” He lowered his hands, and whatever shimmer he'd been weaving faded into nothing. Leaving just twilight and trees and the two of us standing in a clearing that felt older than both our bloodlines combined. “Was wrapping up anyway.”
I stopped about ten feet away. Close enough to talk without shouting, far enough that it didn't feel like I was crowding him. Close enough to smell cedar and earth underneath the magic saturating the air.
“Ward maintenance?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, like he was brushing off residue I couldn't see. “Checking for corruption. Making sure nothing's trying to creep back in.”
“After Rafe.”
His eyes tracked to mine, surprise flickering across his face. “You know about Rafe?”
“Bits.” I shrugged. “Daniel mentioned him. Said he corrupted pack magic, nearly destroyed everything. Didn't give me details, but I got the impression it was bad.”
“It was.” Gideon's jaw tightened. “Dark magic leaves stains. I'm making sure they're not spreading.”
I looked around the clearing, trying to see what he saw. All I got was trees and grass and fading light. No shimmer. No stains. Just normal forest doing normal forest things.
“Looks clean to me,” I said.
“That's 'cause you're not looking with magic.” His mouth quirked slightly. Almost a smile. “Which is probably good. Trust me, you don't wanna see what dark magic does to a place. It's not pretty.”
“I've seen plenty of not pretty.”
“Different kind of not pretty.” He tilted his head, studying me in ways that made me suddenly aware of how close we were standing. “Pack violence is direct. Clean, in its own way. This is rot. Decay that spreads if you don't burn it out at the root.”
“Sounds like a shit job.”
“It is.” But there was warmth in his voice now. The careful walls coming down slightly. “But someone's gotta do it, and I'm the only one stubborn enough to keep checking even when everyone else thinks it's handled.”
“Stubborn's good.” I found myself moving closer without deciding to.
Three steps. Close enough now that I could see the dirt on his hands, the tired lines around his eyes, the way his hair was falling across his forehead like he'd been running his fingers through it.
“Means things actually get fixed instead of just patched over.”
“You sound like you've got experience with that.”
“Construction work'll teach you real fast which contractors actually fix problems and which ones just make them someone else's problem down the line.” I kicked at a root, suddenly restless under his gaze.
“Most of 'em just want the job done so they can move on.
Don't care if it's gonna fall apart in six months.”
Gideon's expression shifted. Something lighter breaking through the careful control. “Let me guess. You're the one who actually fixes things.”
“When they let me.” I shrugged. “Most crews just want bodies to swing hammers. Don't care if you know what you're doing as long as the work gets done fast.”
“That's gotta be frustrating.”
“Yeah, well.” The words came out more bitter than I meant them to. “Comes with the territory when you can't exactly explain where you learned half the shit you know.”
“For what it's worth,” he said quietly, “Evan says you're good at what you do. Says you've got instincts that can't be taught.”
“Evan said that?”
“Yeah. Last week, when you helped him with that transmission rebuild. Said you handed him tools before he asked for 'em. Said it was like working with someone who'd been doing it forever.”
“Muscle memory, probably,” I said. “I must've spent time in garages before. Even if I can't remember it.”
“Maybe.” Gideon was still watching me with that direct attention that made me suddenly aware of every breath I was taking. “Or maybe you're just good at reading people. Knowing what they need before they ask.”
“Is that a witch thing or just an observation?”
“Observation.” His mouth curved.
“Old habits.” I said.
“Survival habits.” His voice was careful. Not pitying. Just factual. “Whatever you survived, it taught you to always be ready.”
“Yeah, well.” I ran my hand through my hair, suddenly too aware of his eyes on me. “Can't seem to shake it even when I'm standing in a clearing with someone who's clearly not a threat.”
“Who says I'm not a threat?”
“You're definitely a threat,” I said. “Just not the kind I know how to guard against.”
Gideon's eyes widened slightly. “What's that supposed to mean?”
The smart thing would've been to deflect. Make a joke. Step back and let the moment pass without making it mean something it probably shouldn't.
But I was tired of being smart.
“Means you make the noise in my head stop,” I said. The words came out rougher than I meant them to. More honest. “And I don't know what to do with that.”
“I don't know what to do with it either,” he admitted quietly.
The clearing had gone still around us. Even the wind had stopped moving through the trees. Like the forest was listening.
“You grew up here, right?” I asked. “In Hollow Pines?”
Gideon blinked at the shift. “Yeah. Born and raised. Why?”
“Just trying to figure out how we never crossed paths before.” I shifted my weight, suddenly restless under his gaze. “Small town. Seems like we should've run into each other at some point.”
“Different circles, probably.” His expression shifted slightly. Something careful creeping in. “Pack keeps to itself. Witch families do too. And my father wasn't exactly the socializing type.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” The words came out before I could stop them. “Daniel told me. About Silas.”
Gideon went very still. The careful mask he'd been wearing cracked slightly, and I saw something raw underneath. “What'd he tell you?”
“Enough.” I held his gaze. Didn't look away. “That he was dangerous. That he hurt people. That you're not him.”
“Daniel said that last part?”
“Evan did.” I shrugged. “But Daniel didn't argue with it, so I'm guessing he agrees.”
Gideon let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite relief. Something in between. “I wasn't sure if you knew. If anyone had told you.”
“They told me.” I took a step closer. Not crowding him. Just closing the distance slightly. “And for what it's worth, I don't give a shit who your father was. Wouldn't be fair if I did.”
“Why's that?”