I tried to leave before dawn.
The fortress was quiet in the hour before sunrise, when even predators rested and the world held its breath. Pale gray light crept through narrow slits in the stone walls as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, teeth clenched against the sharp protest of my healing body.
Ronan had said I could leave once I was healed.
He hadn't said how healed.
I wrapped the borrowed cloak tighter around myself and stood slowly, pausing until the dizziness passed. My side still burned where the rogues' claws had torn into me, but the pain was dull now, manageable. If I waited any longer, I knew I would lose my nerve.
Staying here was dangerous.
Not because Ronan had threatened me—he hadn't—but because every moment near him made the air feel heavier, my thoughts slower, my wolf restless in a way that frightened me. Whatever pull existed between us, I refused to name it.
I refused to feel it.
The corridor outside my room was empty. Stone floors were cool beneath my bare feet as I moved carefully, following memory and instinct rather than sight. I had studied the layout over the past few days, memorizing turns, listening to distant footsteps, waiting for an opening.
This was it.
I reached a narrow stairwell and descended, heart pounding louder with every step. The scent of the forest drifted faintly through a crack in the wall below—freedom.
I reached the final door and pressed my palm against the cold iron handle.
"Stop."
The word didn't echo.
It didn't need to.
I froze.
Ronan's presence hit me like a physical force, slamming into my back and rooting me in place. Slowly, I turned.
He stood at the far end of the corridor, dressed in dark leather, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the half-light. He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't moved quickly.
He hadn't needed to.
"I told you," he said calmly, "you are not healed."
"I didn't ask for your permission," I replied, lifting my chin.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
"No," he agreed. "You didn't."
He took one step forward.
The air shifted.
Every instinct in my body screamed danger. My wolf pressed against my skin, torn between fear and a pull she didn't understand.
"You're trespassing," I said, my voice tight. "You've helped me enough."
He stopped a few paces away. "You crossed into my territory bleeding and broken. You became my responsibility."
"I didn't ask—"
"Enough."
The word cracked like thunder.
I flinched despite myself.
Ronan's gaze burned into me. "You think running will save you. It won't. Not from your wounds. Not from what hunts you."
"I'm not being hunted."
He laughed softly, humorless. "Every wolf who breaks a bond is hunted. By packs. By rogues. By fate."
My breath hitched.
"You don't know anything about me," I snapped.
His eyes darkened. "I know you rejected a mate. I know the bond was wrong. I know your wolf is fractured, not dead."
Each word struck with brutal precision.
"How?" I whispered.
He stepped closer again, slowly, deliberately, until he was standing directly in front of me. Heat radiated from him, his presence overwhelming.
"Because," he said quietly, "I can feel it."
The pull surged violently between us.
My knees weakened.
I grabbed the wall for support, anger flaring through the fear. "This doesn't mean anything."
"It means everything," he replied.
"No," I said fiercely. "I won't survive another bond. I won't be claimed, broken, or replaced again."
Something cold flashed through his eyes.
"Claimed," he repeated. "You think that's what this is?"
He leaned down slightly, forcing me to meet his gaze. "If I were claiming you, Aria, you would not be standing."
My heart pounded painfully.
He straightened. "Go back to bed."
"I won't."
Silence stretched between us.
Then the ground shook.
A deep horn echoed through the fortress, low and urgent. Ronan's head snapped toward the sound, his body instantly alert.
"Intruders," he said.
Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him, his grip firm but not painful.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
"I don't need—"
"You do."
The doors at the end of the corridor burst open, and chaos flooded in. Shadows moved fast, armed and snarling.
Rogues.
The same scent as before—rotting, blood-soaked, hungry.
Ronan shifted in a blur of motion, bones cracking, power erupting. Where he stood now was not a man but a Lycan—towering, monstrous, golden eyes blazing with lethal intent.
The rogues didn't hesitate.
They attacked.
Ronan met them head-on.
I watched in frozen horror as he tore through them with terrifying efficiency, claws ripping, jaws snapping. Blood sprayed across the stone floor as bodies fell.
One rogue slipped past him.
Straight toward me.
I screamed as it lunged—
And power exploded from my chest.
Silver light burst outward, slamming into the rogue and throwing it against the wall with bone-crushing force. The impact cracked stone.
Silence fell.
Ronan turned slowly, his gaze locking onto me.
Shock crossed his face.
"You shouldn't be able to do that," he said quietly.
I stared at my trembling hands, silver light fading from my palms.
"I didn't know I could."
Something ancient stirred in his eyes.
"You're not just a wolf," he said.
Fear wrapped around my heart.
"What am I?"
Ronan stepped toward me, blood dripping from his claws, his voice low and certain.
"Mine."