Chapter 12 - Ronan
I’m up and out of the cabin at first light, because I can’t just lie there a minute longer surrounded by her scent but unable to touch her.
That’s the problem I knew I was creating when I brought her under my roof, and now it’s compounded because I know how amazing she feels to touch and taste.
I can’t get the sound of her coming apart with my cock inside her out of my head.
I built this place with my own two hands, and now I can barely stand to be in it. Unless I’m with her.
That tells me everything I don’t want to hear, and last night only made things worse.
I cooked for her. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to.
My mother’s stew, the one she made as a treat when there was enough meat, the one Ryder makes all the time, but I don’t because it makes me feel things I’d rather not.
Like the old cold cabin we grew up in, with the wind blowing straight through the gaps, and there never quite being enough in the pot even on the good days.
But I also remember our mother singing to us and laughing while she cooked, and I stood there making it with her ghost at my shoulder as I tried to bury the reason I wanted to share this particular meal with Selene.
It’s just food. That’s what I tell myself, and it’s not like I know how to make many recipes.
But I didn’t think of the bond once. Not while I was cooking, not while she was sitting across from me, accusing me of plotting and delivering her line with her usual quick, dry wit that makes me laugh—really laugh.
For a moment, we were just two people sharing dinner, and I wasn’t thinking about the bond magic, whether it worked, or how I could use her.
And that’s why I’m so pissed off. At myself…the situation.
I heard her heart rate kick in, and I watched the exact moment she heard it, too, and her walls went up.
I guess she remembered who I am, who she is, and what all this is about.
She pushed her chair back and put a whole lot of distance between us.
I think I could have pushed it, crowded her, kissed her; I think she would have melted in my arms again.
I could scent her body’s betrayal, and I know she wanted me.
But I let her go. I gave her the space and the choice. And then I proceeded to pace outside her door half the night with my wolf almost breaking through.
I tell myself I just need longer for the magic to take, and everything else—getting her into my bed, getting her to want it—was just a strategy. And hell, if I happen to enjoy it and have the best sex of my life with a tight virgin witch, then that’s just a bonus.
It’s a good lie, and one I’d tell anyone if they asked, and I’d make it stick.
The truth is far messier. When I was inside her, I wasn’t thinking about the bond, my half-brothers, the war I want to wage, the island, or the thirty years of being an unwanted son. I was thinking about her. Only her. And how she was the most precious thing I’ve ever held in my arms.
That is some fucked up shit.
My wolf doesn’t even bother with the complexities of the lie.
He just wants her, full stop. He wants me to go straight to her room and take her in all the ways I need to so she’s marked and bred.
He wants her so wrapped in his scent that the entire settlement knows she’s my mate. He thinks it’s simple.
I shove him back down. This isn’t simple at all, and it’s the last thing I need.
A quick fuck was supposed to make this better, easier, but instead, it’s made things even harder.
The settlement is slowly coming to life as I round the bend, finishing my morning run with a trip to the docks because I always stop by to receive the boats that come in overnight.
I never get tired of the view, the docks working hard, the bakery already alive with the early shift, wolves sleeping in safe houses—a growing town full of people no one else wanted, all working together to create something great. Proving everyone wrong.
I feel good this morning despite how pissed off I am at myself.
Steady and strong. Stronger than I have any right to be, running on no sleep, and my wolf riding close to the surface.
Yet he’s calmer than he’s been in years.
I think about the bond magic and wonder if it has taken, perhaps without the fanfare I was expecting. Then all this would be worth it.
But I’m not sure, because I don’t know if it’s just her or the residual bond magic I witnessed harmonizing the pack.
And if it’s only her, then I’m in more trouble than I originally thought, because I don’t need her to make my wolf steady and happy…
I need her to make him more powerful. Powerful enough to destroy my three half-brothers.
Cole finds me just as I’m coming out of the warehouse, helping some of the crew bring in the crates. I notice straight away he’s got his phone in his hand, and he looks grimmer than usual at this time of the morning.
“You need to see this,” he says. “Came in overnight. To the broker account.”
The broker account is the one we use for selling the things we can’t use ourselves—mainly fences, a handful of people who move goods we take from the island and don’t ask questions.
Occasionally, they sell things back to the island, which amuses me to no end.
Not many people have that email, but my interest is piqued because one of the young recruits we lost on a raid a couple of weeks ago handled the admin, and I’d all but given up on hearing anything about him when he didn’t return.
Everyone knows the risks we take on those raids, but I’ve only lost a handful of men in all this time, and I hate it every time.
“Is it Davey?” I ask, taking the phone.
“Not exactly. Read it, you’ll get it.”
I read it. I’ve been expecting something like this for a while, and yet it still feels like a surprise when it lands:
We know who you are now. We took one of your rogues on your last raid, and he’s told us enough—we know you and your brother are Ralph’s sons, born on the mainland. We’re sorry for any hardship you have endured.
However, Ralph was cruel to all of us. So we understand more than you may realize.
We don’t want a war, and we’re willing to talk.
Your rogue will be released, unharmed, as a sign of goodwill.
But understand this: We’ve all suffered enough because of Ralph, and we will not raise our hand against our own half-brothers first, but we will not hesitate to defend our island and packs if you keep coming for our people.
We will defend what is ours, and we will not lose.
Callum, Tristen, and Aiden
I read it twice, and then I hand the phone back to Cole before I’m tempted to throw it into the sea.
At least Davey is safe. Stupid, reckless, and far too talkative, but at least he’s alive.
I tell Cole to contact his mother immediately, because I’ve been updating her daily with hope fading; this is good news.
But if I try to talk about it, I won’t be able to contain my simmering rage after reading the email, and I don’t want her to see it.
Davey talked, and I should probably be angrier about that, but then, my goal has never been a secret here, and I knew I’d only maintain the element of surprise for so long once we started picking up the raids.
I take a breath, forcing my rage down and crystallizing it into something more solid and useful for a minute. Cole walks back over after hanging up with Davey’s mother, the smile he’d put on for the call fading as he turns to face me.
“Stupid pup,” he mutters. “He was always a livewire, bound to get himself in trouble. Glad he’s getting the chance to grow up and do better, though.”
Cole knows more about second chances than most, and I nod in agreement before running a hand over my face in an attempt to clear my head. “Yeah, I’ll kick his ass when he gets back,” I grimace, before adding, “once I let his mom give him a hug.”
Cole chuckles before growing serious again. “You wanna talk about that?” he says, indicating his phone. “They want peace. Half the folk here might think you should take it. The raids have served us well, but we have a whole network now that doesn’t involve the island.”
I look at him and hold his gaze. I guess he sees exactly what I want him to, because he trails off.
“And the other half?” I ask dryly.
Cole shifts his weight from foot to foot before answering. “Look, they get it. They all do. And you’ve given them so much, they’ll look to you for the answer and trust you either way.”
“They always do,” I say, weighing my options. “Say nothing about the email yet. Davey coming back safe is enough for now. I’ll decide what the rest means. Nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned.”
He nods and walks away, and I know he won’t run his mouth. I watch him go while I sit with the lie that nothing has changed.
The brothers all signed it and had the audacity to claim they knew about Ralph’s cruelty.
Thirty-two years. I’ve spent thirty years being the bastard, the rogue, one of the sons their father threw away with the tide.
And now that I’ve finally maneuvered into a position of power, they’re sending me emails about how we’ve all suffered, apparently.
They’re the ones who grew up on the island with a roof over their heads, packs, a name, a mother, and a place to belong. We had a mother who died far too young, a brother who was lost, and an impoverished stretch of coastline.
They don’t get to be sorry about Ralph. They don’t get to own his cruelty. Suffering is ours, and it was earned honestly; they don’t get to claim it just to stave off an attack.
I find Ryder on his porch nursing a coffee with his laptop open and a stack of books, which indicates he’s deep in research mode on something. He takes one look at my face as I approach and sets his coffee down.
“Something’s happened?” he says, and it’s barely a question, because he can read me better than anyone.
I’d already forwarded the email to my personal account, so I bring it up and hand it to Ryder. He reads it slower than I did; that’s how he does things, methodically. When he’s done, he hands it back and leans into his chair.
“I’m glad Davey’s okay,” he says quietly. “His mother’s been a wreck not knowing.”
“You know what they’re doing, right?” I say, finally able to let some of my anger and frustration leak out because it’s Ryder.
“Ronan,” he says carefully. “They’ve had the boy for two weeks. They could have sent him back dead to send a message or make a point. They want peace; they obviously don’t like Ralph, either. This isn’t nothing.”
“It’s just a strategy,” I say. “They’re buying time. You really think three alphas are that soft? They know who’s bleeding them now, and they’re either running scared or looking for an angle.”
“Or,” Ryder says, “they mean every word.”
“They don’t,” I snap.
“You don’t know that,” Ryder says, his voice rising in a rare display of frustration.
“I know exactly what this means,” I say, and it comes out harder than I intended. “We have given everything to this, and they have given nothing. All they have done is live an easy life; they don’t get to negotiate anything.”
Ryder watches me carefully for a moment before replying. “You used to say you just wanted a safe home,” he says. “Somewhere warm, food to eat, a community. We have all that and more now. We built it out of nothing. When did that stop being enough?”
“It was never enough; it was always the beginning,” I reply coldly. “Ever since Mom told us the truth. You may not want to embrace your alpha wolf, Ryder, but if you did, you might get your head out of your books and theories, and feel more like fighting for what we deserve.”
I let the silence fall, and I feel like a jerk.
I am a jerk. I see him flinch, and I don’t even feel sorry.
Ryder’s wolf is an alpha, and I know why he doesn’t embrace it.
All we ever had was each other, and he doesn’t want to fight; he wants one vision, and he’s able to find it in himself to let me lead, knowing damn well I couldn’t if the roles were reversed.
Our childhood left scars on him, and that’s what those half-brothers on the island don’t get—we’re still living with Ralph’s cruelty.
So I let the silence stand, because while I know I’m being a dick, I mean every single word. He’s quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s about to come out swinging or blank me the way he does when I piss him off—I’d rather he landed a punch than retreat more.
“Get a coffee if you want, or get off my porch, Ronan,” he says, giving me a look I’ve seen more times than I can count over the years before picking his coffee back up and returning to his laptop.
I have two choices: stay here with his judgment and a simmering argument brewing between us, or go home and get on with my work in the office cloaked in Selene’s scent.
Given my current level of frustration and the way my wolf feels liable to crack open at any point, I trudge inside and pour myself coffee before returning to the porch where we sit in silence, and I glare out at the island.
I think about her. The bond. The magic. I think about how I need it now and how I’m going to take it.