The moment the door slammed behind Raven, silence fell heavy over the room.
Ronan stood frozen, fists clenched so tightly the veins in his forearms bulged, his breath uneven. His wolf clawed at the inside of his chest, demanding he follow, demanding he drag her back and remind her exactly who she belonged to.
Mine.
The word reverberated through him, primal and raw.
But Raven's words echoed just as loud.
Stay away from me.
Ronan closed his eyes, dragging in a sharp breath, trying to cage the storm raging inside. Every part of him screamed to ignore her protests, to chase her down and crush the space she kept trying to build between them. Yet he was Alpha, and Alphas could not afford to be reckless—not with rogues closing in on their borders, not with his pack depending on him.
He paced his quarters like a caged beast, running a hand through his dark hair. Elara's intrusion replayed in his mind, the venom in her voice cutting sharper than he wanted to admit.
She'll ruin you, Ronan. Just like she ruins everything.
His jaw tightened, muscles flexing as he shook the thought away. Elara didn't understand. She never could. Raven wasn't destruction—she was temptation, chaos, and salvation tangled together, and no matter how much she tried to push him away, he knew the bond between them was unbreakable.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. "Alpha," a voice called—Darius, his Beta.
"Enter," Ronan barked.
Darius stepped inside, bowing his head briefly. His expression was grim. "Scouts returned from the eastern ridge. Rogues have regrouped. It looks like they're testing our defenses, pushing closer every night."
Ronan's entire posture shifted, the Alpha in him taking over even as the wolf still seethed beneath the surface. "How many?"
"Twenty at least, maybe more," Darius replied. "They're moving in packs now, coordinated."
A low growl rumbled from Ronan's chest. That wasn't random rogue behavior—it was strategy. Someone was driving them.
"Double the patrols on the eastern ridge," Ronan ordered. "Send word to the hunters. I want traps laid before nightfall."
"Yes, Alpha." Darius hesitated before speaking again. "And… Raven?"
Ronan's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "What about her?"
Darius cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Ronan's glare. "Some of the pack are… uneasy. They know she arrived just before the rogues did. Whispers are spreading that her presence is tied to the attacks."
The growl that ripped from Ronan's throat was feral. "Anyone who dares question her safety answers to me."
Darius dipped his head immediately. "Of course. I just thought you should know."
When his Beta left, Ronan pressed his palms to the edge of his desk, his muscles taut. It infuriated him that even his own pack questioned Raven. Couldn't they see what he saw? Couldn't they feel what he felt—that she was bound to him in a way no one could sever?
His wolf snarled again, restless, urging him to abandon all pretense of control and hunt her down. To claim her. To mark her so no one—Elara, the pack, the rogues—could ever touch her again.
Ronan closed his eyes, wrestling with himself. The line between Alpha and man blurred dangerously.
He remembered the look in her eyes just before she fled—fear, yes, but not of him. It was fear of herself, of what burned between them. She wanted him. She just didn't trust herself to admit it.
That was what made her dangerous. Not to him, but to herself.
The night stretched on with reports and orders, but his thoughts never strayed far from Raven. Every strategy meeting, every patrol update, every sharpened blade reminded him that while he fought rogues outside the walls, a different kind of battle raged within them—between the woman he was sworn to protect and the fire that threatened to consume them both.
By the time the room fell quiet again, the moon was high, silver light spilling across the floor. Ronan stood at the window, staring into the dark forest beyond.
His wolf stirred, whispering the truth he could no longer deny.
He would protect his pack. He would lead them through this storm. But Raven—Raven was his.
No matter how many times she pushed him away.
No matter how far she tried to run.
He would not lose her.
Not to fear. Not to fate. Not to anyone.
A vow burned through him, sharper than steel, heavier than blood.
If the rogues didn't break first, Raven's walls would.
And when they did, nothing would stop him from claiming what was his.