Ronan
They scatter when I dismiss them.
Jace lingers just long enough to meet my eyes, his stare a quiet question, before he too steps away.
The fire spits and pops in the quiet that follows. I stand at the head of the table, fingers tapping once on the scarred wood before I draw my knife free of its sheath.
The blade gleams orange in the light. I press it flat against my palm, feeling the bite of metal against calloused skin. Not enough to cut. Not yet.
He surprised me.
That soft-spined, pretty, omega exterior of his hides steel.
He stood in front of my council and didn't beg.
He came out with the truth when pressed. Raw and jagged, but hiding nothing.
The breeding pens. The punishments. I've seen them for myself. It's cruelty beyond even what I'm prepared to dish out.
And he not only survived them with his angelic face and tempting body. He quietly rebelled. Planned and executed his escape.
I close my eyes, let the memory of him fill my head.
The curve of his throat beneath my hand. The tremor of his pulse against my thumb. The defiance in his eyes.
He's marked now, mine, but still thinks he can slip my leash.
The thought makes something primal flare low in my gut. My wolf snarls approval.
He's fucking perfect.
The pack is a beast I carved out of blood and fire.
It runs like a syndicate because that's what keeps it alive. Fear, loyalty and iron control.
I broke my father's neck at this very table.
They needed to know exactly what I'd do to traitors. And they followed willingly. They still do.
Damon wants me to breed with his sister. Has her flashing her tits at me at every opportunity. Even he offered no real objection.
But they don't matter right now. Not like he does.
Eli's scent still lingers on my skin. Sharp, sweet, threaded with terror and something else. Something warm. Something that makes my cock swell just thinking about it.
Mine. The word echoes in my skull like a mantra.
I've never been possessive like this. Never felt this need to claim, to mark, to own so completely that there's nothing left of him that isn't shaped by my hands.
I should let him run. Let the bond drag him back bloody and crawling. But I don't want him ruined. Not yet.
I want him soft and sharp all at once. I want him to look at me with hate in his eyes and still open his thighs willingly when I press him down.
The thought makes my wolf surge, hot and restless.
My jaw tightens. I've been through ruts before.
I've always managed them alone, controlled, waiting out the storm with teeth grit. This one feels different. Rawer. Closer. I can already taste it in the back of my throat.
I push up from the table, pacing the length of the room.
Knives line the walls, trophies from kills I've long stopped counting. But none of them burn in my chest the way his name does.
Eli.
I see his face again. Dust streaked across those pale cheekbones, that vulnerable mouth parted in defiance, that fragile-looking body that fought me in the dirt like a creature with nothing to lose.
My hands curl into fists. My cock stirs hard behind my zipper.
Patience. Not yet.
When I take him, I want it to be when he's broken enough to know there's no running, when the bond's heat drives him to beg even as he curses my name.
I want him pliant and furious and trembling all at once.
But fuck, the waiting is killing me.
Every breath I take without his scent feels hollow. Every moment he's not within reach makes my skin crawl with need.
I've caught myself checking on him three times today. Standing outside his door, listening to his breathing, fighting the urge to kick it down and take what's mine.
The obsession is getting worse. I know it. I can feel it in the way my pulse spikes when I think about him, in the way my wolf prowls restlessly when he's not in sight.
I've started sleeping with his scent in my nostrils. The shirt he wore that first night, stained with sweat and fear and him. It's pathetic, but I can't stop myself.
I remember the way he trembled when I touched him. The little gasp he made when I pressed my thumb to his throat.
The way his body betrayed him, arching into my touch even as his mind screamed to run. He wants this as much as I do. He just won't admit it yet.
The door creaks. Jace pokes his head in, scent wary. His eyes flick to my hand still gripping the knife. "You sure you're not... pushing too hard?"
I give him a slow smile that makes him look away. "He's still alive, isn't he?"
Jace grunts but doesn't argue. He knows better. But I catch the concern in his scent, the way he hesitates before speaking again.
"Ronan... when's the last time you slept?"
I don't answer. Sleep means dreams, and dreams mean waking up hard and desperate, clawing at sheets that don't smell enough like him.
"I'm fine," I lie.
He doesn't believe me, but he nods anyway. "Just... try not to break him completely. We might need him functional."
I watch him leave, then turn back to the fire, running my tongue over my teeth.
The edge of rut hums in my blood, low and insistent. My wolf prowls under my skin, restless, eager.
Soon. Very soon.
And when that time comes, when the last of my control finally snaps, I'll show him exactly what it means to be mine.
Every breath, every heartbeat, every desperate moan will belong to me.
The thought makes me smile.
He has no idea what's coming.