Chapter 6 - Ronan
I told myself I was bringing her down to the training ground to make a point.
Let her see what I’ve built, our strength.
Show her that the wards aren’t the only thing keeping her here.
The sooner she realizes that I control this pack and everyone in it entirely, the sooner she may settle.
And when she settles, she’ll give in to what I can tell she wants.
My wolf isn’t stupid; she may not have the same wolf bond, but he can feel his mate’s attraction.
He’s fucking thriving on it and demanding I take action.
But I’m a more patient man…at least, that’s what I tell myself.
But the other reason is that my wolf increasingly doesn’t like to let her out of his sight, and considering he’s riding me so hard about the situation, I decided it was better to give a little rather than fight him all day.
I almost changed my mind about it all. I sat with it in the early hours after leaving her cabin and told myself it would be better to leave her to stew for a couple of days.
Instead, I sent a guard for her this morning, which tells me everything I need to know about how smart I’ve been about all this lately.
And who’s really in charge, the man or the wolf?
I had the guard put her on the bench at the edge of the training area, where she can see everything, and now I’ll do my best to stop thinking about her, because it’s time to work.
“Pairs,” I call out. “Same as yesterday. And if I see anyone holding back, you’ll answer to me.”
They pair off fast, and I watch as Cole runs the line to the far end, barking corrections.
I watch as they fall into line and then walk down myself.
These recruits are young and untested, a mix of locals from the settlement and new arrivals—all of them still think that training is something to survive and get through, not something that saves lives.
The only way to teach them the distinction is to show them.
I pick Royce first. He’s big, quick, young, and cocky. The kind of young wolf who has probably never lost a fight because everyone he’s come up against has been smaller and untrained. He grins when I wave him in, like it’s an honor to be chosen.
It really isn’t.
I let him come at me, let him think he’s fast, and then I take his legs out from under him and put him flat on his back in the mud hard enough it winds him.
He’s up again within seconds, snarling, and I let him land one on me.
It’s good to let them get one in, keeps them motivated—but I quickly catch his arm, twist it to the edge of breaking, and drop him a second time.
No grandstanding, no mercy. I’m training them to fight the way they’ll have to on the island, which is to say, fighting to end things.
“You dropped your shoulder,” I tell him, hauling him up by his arm. “That’s how I got you. Against another pack, that would cost you your throat. Out here, it just pisses me off. Again.”
He goes again, and I drop him even faster this time.
I’m not gentle about it; I never promised any of them gentleness, because the day I start going gentle on them will be the day I start burying them.
The whole field has slowed to watch, and I let them, because they should see it.
I know my pack respects me, loves me even.
But they also know as well as I do that love doesn’t keep a pack alive.
These are people who have already seen the worst, and they know that fear is the best motivator.
Not fear of me, but fear of losing. I make sure they don’t lose.
I’m hard and mean about it, and I send Royce off the field bleeding and humbled, and I know that all the other betas suddenly feel a lot more focused.
Every drill I run, every recruit I train, I do it with the island in mind.
I know that coastline better than my brothers do by now.
I’ve walked it on a dozen dark nights. I know all the coves, hidden docks, and accessible beaches.
I know which of the three packs fields the best fighters and which has the most vulnerabilities.
I know the geography and the people. When I’m putting these wolves through hell like this, it’s the beaches I’m seeing, the ones I mean to land on.
It’s ugly work, but then, I’m good at ugly work.
I walk and watch as they fall into line.
I fix a grip here, put a wolf on his back there, and watch as not one of them holds back.
They knew I meant it. This is the part outsiders might not understand about this pack.
They might watch me drop Royce and think it’s cruelty, but they don’t understand that these wolves came to me because another pack already discarded them and that I’m the alpha who refuses to let them die.
I’m the one who rebuilds them. But I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt.
During a water break, I spot one of Cara’s pups running across the field and realize it’s her youngest, Katie.
She’s about seven, and not afraid of anything, even me.
Maybe especially me. She runs up to me and tugs on my sleeve to tell me, very seriously, that Royce is bleeding and someone should do something about it.
I crouch down and tell her, just as seriously, that Royce is only bleeding because he dropped his shoulder, and she must never drop her shoulder.
She grins and nods as she shoots back off to Royce, no doubt to explain what he did wrong, which, honestly, will only humble him even more coming from Katie.
The morning wears on, and I reset the pairs, going again and again.
I don’t notice it straight away, but as I observe the recruits, as they begin to come together faster than I would have ever expected, I begin to feel the change in the air.
I watch as one pair who’ve been struggling all week fall into sync with each other, one ducking before the other swings, instinct taking over.
One steps as the other turns, and it almost seems to spread out across the field, pair by pair, the whole line tightening into something that resembles real progress.
Fast progress.
It’s beautiful to watch, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end because young recruits rarely act like this.
I should know. I’ve trained enough. It takes years of forged bonds to build this kind of instinct between fighters, and even then, it rarely holds across an entire group like this.
An army that can fight like this against even highly trained packs would be a force to be reckoned with.
My wolf surges, and I spin around, searching for her even though I know she’ll still be on the bench because my guard wouldn’t let her move.
The realization that hits me is almost painful in its intensity.
This is bond magic. I’ve read about it, chased the stories for years, but only half believed it could be true. This is just the effect of her being near, the steadying effect the bonds have on shifters, my fighters. This is why alphas went to war over bond witches.
I turn and see that she’s almost dropped the book she was reading, one hand pressed to her chest, and she looks horrified.
She didn’t mean to do it; that much is obvious.
Her magic reached out on its own toward the shifters who needed it, and it steadied them.
Fortified them. And now she’s appalled because her own power has just betrayed her to the enemy, proving my point in ways I really didn’t expect today.
She catches me watching and opens her book again, glaring at me, daring me to say something.
I don’t. I just wave and watch as she forces her eyes to the pages of the book because she can’t bear to look at me, knowing I was right. This works, and that’s without the full effect.
I should feel triumphant. Smug even, knowing that she’s going to be helping me even before she gives in. But for some reason, watching her flinch at what her own magic did makes me feel oddly dissatisfied.
I’m saved from overthinking it by someone shouting as one of the younger recruits, Finn, goes down.
He came to us six months ago after his parents smuggled him out.
They had to turn their back on him, but at least they didn’t let him die—his pack was using weaker wolves for training practice, often killing them in the process.
He’s been making progress, and he’s actually a decent fighter when his head’s right.
Something’s not right at the moment. Maybe it was the noise, the overwhelm from the bond magic, a fist coming at him too fast. Whatever it was, he’s dropped, and I can see he’s right back there, in his old pack, white in the face and gasping like he’s drowning.
The whole field stops, and my betas hover, feeling useless. Most of them have been through similar shit themselves and seem equally frozen. So am I. I don’t know what to do. I know how to make a wolf harder, more successful, but not always how to comfort one.
She does, though.
She’s off the bench and running with my guard trailing after her before anyone else can react.
There’s no obvious magic this time; she just drops onto the ground beside him and starts talking, low and soothing.
I watch as she breathes with him, showing him the rhythm of the steady beats until he begins to match it.
She doesn’t touch him until he reaches for her, and then she lets him grip her arm as a drowning man reaches for something solid.
And she just sits there until the worst passes.
It takes a while, and she doesn’t rush him or turn it into a performance.
A couple of the recruits drift closer to check on him, and she glances up, saying something that makes them laugh.
One reaches for Finn’s hand and hauls him up as he laughs, too.
Suddenly, the field starts to move again, and the noise returns, and everyone just seems glad Finn is back up rather than questioning why he was down in the first place. Exactly what he needs.
I don’t move. I just watch, and I tell myself it’s because the field will take its cue from me, and they need me to be calm. But that’s not why.
I just don’t know what to say.
When Finn can breathe again, she walks him off the field herself, over to where Royce is still bleeding by the bleachers.
I can hear her talking to him the whole way, making him laugh, distracting him.
The guard runs over and tells me that she insists on taking them both to the clinic.
I nod, and can’t help the warmth that settles as I watch her helping my recruits as the others return to sparring.
It’s like her magic has settled over the entire field, and she’s barely even aware of her effect.
I find her there an hour later because my wolf insists we check that she hasn’t taken the opportunity to run. That’s what I would have done.
She’s there when I walk in, dressing one of Royce’s wounds in the little side room off the entrance with Dax talking to him about not squaring up in fights he can’t win.
She and Dax start arguing over which is the best way to set Royce’s shoulder while his wolf heals it; Dax’s healer ways, or the methods her coven apparently used.
Neither notices I’m there until Emma comes through with some supplies for another patient and catches me watching.
She laughs in a way I don’t appreciate, but says nothing.
Instead, she points to the cot in the corner where Finn is asleep as if to tell me not to cause a scene and wake him up. As if I would.
Suddenly, Dax tells Selene something, probably one of his outrageous stories, and points to the scar on his hand.
She laughs, really laughs, with her head tipped back and nothing held back.
Emma instantly shushes them, but it’s too late.
I’ve heard what Selene’s true joy sounds like, and I realize I want more of it.
I’ve heard her laugh before, but it’s controlled, doled out dryly between barbs; rationed. Here, she’s giving it away for free.
I watch as she so easily and naturally interacts with and cares for my wolves. The ones no one else wanted, the ones I created this pack for, and she’s doing it without even being asked. For the people who are technically keeping her prisoner.
I stand in the doorway longer than I should and find that I can’t take my eyes off her. I don’t entirely understand the strange feeling in my chest, but my wolf does, and I tell him to stop it. I don’t want to hear it. Acknowledging that feeling would be far too dangerous, and I need it to stop.
She looks up and catches me staring. For a second, we both freeze, but she’s not glaring, for once.
She simply lifts one eyebrow at me as if daring me to say something, and then goes back to talking to Royce, laughing with Dax, and thoroughly ignoring me.
I have a feeling that whatever point I thought I was proving by bringing her down today has failed miserably.
“You’re staring,” Ryder says, appearing behind me. I didn’t even hear him approach, which tells me just how distracted she’s making me.
“I’m just making sure she doesn’t try to escape,” I reply dryly.
“She looks too busy to run,” Ryder says.
“People run when you least expect it,” I tell him, and it’s true; I know she’s constantly looking for exits. I’d do the same in her place.
Ryder is quiet for a moment, watching me watch her. “I saw what happened at the training ground today,” he says, “The bond magic. Imagine what she could do if she actually wanted to.”
“She’ll never want to do it,” I tell him, my voice flat. “But that’s okay, I don’t need her to want it. Well, she just needs to want it just enough to be willing.”
“Ronan,” he says my name the way he always does when he’s about to say something I won’t like. “You can’t take your eyes off her. Don’t be someone you’re not.”
I turn and look my brother dead in the eye so he knows exactly how this is going to be—how I am going to make this be.
“She’s just a tool I haven’t been able to use yet, but I’ve seen how good it could be,” I tell him, my voice dropping low, darker.
“So yes, I watch her, because she’s valuable.
But that’s not a feeling; that’s just common sense.
She’s going to bond with me, I’ll take what I need, and then I’ll take the island.
I won’t lose any sleep over how she feels about it because I didn’t build all this to go soft over a witch.
Don’t mistake me for a man who would go soft for anyone. ”
It’s ugly, and I don’t care; it’s meant to be. It’s the kind of statement that ends a conversation. I watch as Ryder studies me for a moment, the way he often does. He obviously sees something and decides not to push it.
“If you say so,” he says quietly and walks away.
I tell myself I won, but it never matters. Ryder has a way of making me feel like shit. I shake it off, though; I always do.