Chapter 17 - Selene
I wake up in Ronan’s bed, his arms wrapped around me, and barely any memory of getting here.
The last thing I remember was him taking me again downstairs before I fell asleep in his arms on the couch; he must have carried me to his room at some point, careful enough not to wake me, probably reinjuring himself in the process.
Not that he was concerned about protecting his injuries last night, of course.
It’s early, and gray light pours through the big window, the one that looks straight out down to the docks.
He’s still asleep, which surprises me because he’s always so alert, and it takes a minute to get used to as I just watch him sleep.
When he’s awake, there’s always something hard in his face, a constant calculation running behind his eyes.
Asleep, he just looks young, but tired. Like a man who hasn’t rested properly in years.
I should move. I should get up, put some space between us, and give myself time to think.
Instead, I stay where I am and let myself look at him, because I’ve never been allowed to, not like this, not without him looking straight back and seeing right through me or sparring with me.
His arm is a warm and heavy weight across my waist, and there’s a bruise that’s already fading along his jaw.
The bandage I dressed last night has come loose, but his shifter healing means the bite mark has long since healed, leaving only angry red marks now.
Even asleep, he fills the whole bed. I press my face against his chest and breathe him in before I can stop myself.
I’m sore in places that remind me exactly what we did, and I can’t even pretend to be sorry about it.
I wanted him last night. If I’m honest, I’ve wanted him again ever since the first time.
And somewhere along the way, the wanting turned into something far more dangerous; it began to feel almost like a need. In the end, I couldn’t help myself.
I let myself lean into him for one more minute, my body enjoying his warmth, his weight, and the slow thud of his heart under my ear.
Then I notice something else, and it takes my breath away.
I realize he feels different; his body thrums with power.
It always does in a way because his alpha wolf is so strong, but this is different; it’s a magic that almost feels familiar.
I feel the pit in my stomach as I realize I didn’t hold back last night.
He took me so completely and willingly, and I had absolutely no thought of the consequences.
And now he has the bond magic. I wonder if he even knows yet.
The coven never taught me exactly how it works; I’m not sure they even knew since the lore was so tightly locked down, and I was the only bond witch they knew about in the area.
Or maybe they did know but thought it was safer to keep me in the dark.
But I do know that a bond witch gives her magic when she’s willing, when she means it, when there’s no resistance between her and the alpha.
And last night, I gave him everything. I can’t even pretend it was an accident.
I lie very still and try to breathe through the panic crawling up my throat. I don’t want him to feel it, and I know how sensitive his senses are. He has it now. I’ve gifted him the very thing he wanted to start this war properly.
Maybe that’s what he intended last night, and I’m just an idiot for giving in.
The way he came back here, letting me see him injured and softer; perhaps he knew which buttons to press to make me come apart.
I may spar with him, but I know he’s clever, all strategy and patience.
Did I just walk straight into his trap? The one I promised to avoid?
Was I really that foolish to think he felt the same?
I turn my head and look at his sleeping face, and I don’t want to believe it. A man doesn’t fake the way he held me last night. He can’t fake the surprise in his own voice when he said home, even though he thought I didn’t pick up on it.
But I’ve spent my whole life knowing I would be wanted for what I can do instead of who I am.
The coven taught me that before they taught me anything else.
Don’t trust the ones who need your magic.
They’ll say all the right things, right up until they have it, and then the result will be pure destruction.
I ease out from under his arm an inch at a time, my heart going too fast.
He stirs before I make it off the mattress, his hand finding my hip and tugging me back gently but firmly without even opening his eyes, and I wonder how long he’s been awake.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he mumbles into the pillow.
“Nowhere.” The lie comes out steadier than I expected. “Just awake.”
“Mmm.” He drags me in against his chest and presses his mouth to the back of my neck, and I hate how much my body wants to melt right back into him. “Stay a while.”
For one stupid second, I almost do. I lie in his heat and the weight of his arm, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and everything in me wants to stay exactly here and pretend the rest of it doesn’t exist.
Then his phone goes off on the nightstand.
He reads it, and I feel the shift in him before he even sits up. The softness drains out of his body, and his arm lets go of me. By the time he’s up and reaching for his clothes, the man from last night is gone, and the one who wants to wage a war has taken his place.
“What’s happened?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.
“Tristen moved boats into the north channel overnight.” He pulls on his shirt, proving the residual wounds are an inconvenience and nothing more. “Cole wants to talk at the docks.”
“Ronan.” I sit up, holding the sheet against me. “You got injured last night. You should rest.”
“Wolves heal.” He says it flatly, already halfway to the door, then stops and turns back. And for just a second, I see the man from last night looking back at me. “Last night,” he says, rough. “I’m not sorry about it, and I want it again.”
“I’m not sorry about what we did.” It’s the truest and most dangerous thing I’ve said to him. I don’t add that I am sorry about the bond magic, because I’m hoping by some miracle that I might be wrong and he doesn’t have it. I’m certainly not going to mention it.
Something eases in his face. Then it’s gone, and so is he, and a minute later I hear the front door, and I listen to him leave, sitting there terrified that I just gave him the strength to escalate this fight beyond anything that can be contained.
I head to my own room, the bed untouched, and pull the tablet out from under the pillow. As soon as the screen lights up, I see a new message waiting. It’s from my coven email address, but I already know it’s from Emily.
Selene,
I’ve told Ava and Serena everything. No one wants the war, but the men are dug in. We’ve all had bad experiences, but it pales in comparison to what Ralph did to those men.
We can’t promise anything, especially after last night.
Tristen came home injured, and they’ve all been locked in a council meeting since before dawn.
They want to hit back twice as hard, but we’re working on them, making them see sense.
They need to hear more about who he really is, not the rogue they want him to be, and his brother.
That’s the only thing that’s moving them at all.
Be careful,
E
I read it twice, and something in my chest eases, just a little.
Maybe this can work—maybe too slowly, but if the alphas on the island don’t want a war, I know there’s a way to get through to Ronan.
But if they retaliate, then he won’t hold back.
The only way to stop this is to end it before it really starts.
I write back, laying out every bit of information about Ronan that I think may sway his half-brothers into seeing him differently.
That he protects his pack, that he took all the wounds last night so that his men wouldn’t have to, that his isn’t the crazed rogue they’re picturing.
He’s a man who grew up fighting for everything he has and doesn’t know how to stop.
I send it before I can talk myself out of it, and then sit on the edge of the bed I didn’t sleep in as it hits me all at once.
Every word I wrote about Ronan was true, and when I really look at it, I know I’m falling for him.
And it isn’t the magic, or the coercion, or some grand plan that I’ve walked right into.
I just like him, despite it all. It crept up on me, over all the nights, the conversations, even the sparring, and now it’s just the truth.
I’m falling for a man who is about to start a war. I watched it happening this morning, escalating before my eyes, as the man who had been in my arms only moments before hardened. He’s going to bleed himself dry over this and take everyone down with him. People he genuinely cares about.
I get up and walk into the kitchen, which is exactly as we left it—the pushed-back chairs, the half-used medical kit discarded on the island, and blankets thrown off the couch.
I stand there and look at the scene, my face suddenly hot, and the physical need I feel when I think of him begins to pull at me again.
I can’t stay in this cabin surrounded by all this, so I tidy the worst away, dress quickly, and knock on the window to wave to Tom, letting him know I’m heading out.
He looks up from his regular spot on the porch where he’s been reading his book, and I do my best to paint a neutral expression on my face as I head out, careful not to let him see the cabin still in disarray behind me.
I tell him we’re going to the bakery, and his whole face lights up so much I can’t help but laugh, confirming this is exactly what I need. I need people to talk to me, or even at me, and just let the noise drown out my own thoughts for a while.