Northcrest (4 months ago)
The doors slammed open with a violent crack.
“Out of my way.” Ronan’s voice was low, but it rumbled like something about to break.
His boots struck the marble—each step louder than the last. A young guard jolted back, nearly tripping over his own feet.
“Alpha—”
“Speak and I’ll make you regret it.”
Silence swallowed the hallway. Every wolf stepped aside.
A beta dared a glance—just one.
“Don’t look at me like I’m stupid,” Ronan snapped, eyes flashing.
No one moved after that.
His energy rolled through the packhouse, thick and suffocating. One wolf fumbled a tray in the kitchen, metal clattered to the floor. No one picked it up.
“Where is she?” he snarled.
No one answered. The guards flanking the hall stood frozen, unsure if silence would earn them safety or violence. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. He turned slowly, his gaze burning through every warrior and servant within reach.
“You were supposed to watch her,” he hissed. “You were supposed to report if she so much as breathed wrong.” Still, no one spoke. A nervous shuffle echoed down the corridor, then stopped short. No one dared meet his eyes.
From the upper balcony, Lady Virella descended with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“She’ll come crawling back. Mark my words,” she said with a sneer. “You gave her everything. What else does a stray like that have?”
“She had nothing,” Ronan muttered. “And still she walked away.”
“You let her get under your skin,” Virella said. “She was soft. Weak. Forget her.”
Ronan didn’t reply. He just kept walking.
Down the corridor, in the Luna’s chamber, Seraphine waited on the edge of a velvet chaise. Her posture was perfect, her face painted, her lips curled in practiced grace. She smiled when he entered, like nothing was wrong.
“You’re late,” she said lightly, rising.
Ronan didn’t stop. “I wasn’t coming here for you.”
Her smile dropped. “I am your Luna.”
He turned, slowly. “You are a placeholder.”
The silence crackled. Her mouth opened, then shut. Her fingers curled into the silk of her dress.
“You think a crown means loyalty,” he said. “But I never gave you that.”
She stepped toward him. “You think she’ll forgive you?” Her voice sharpened. “She’s gone, Ronan. You married me.”
“I didn’t choose you. I chose politics,” he snapped. “Don’t mistake duty for affection.”
Seraphine flinched. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She stood still as Ronan turned and left the room, his cloak snapping behind him like a whip.
He returned to the war room, where his Beta and three scouts waited. The fire crackled low in the hearth. No one met his eyes.
“It’s been months,” he growled. “No word. No sign. Not a scent trail. She can’t have vanished.”
His Beta swallowed hard. “We sent the tracker. He followed the trail into rogue lands.”
“Then where is he?” Ronan asked. “He should have returned days ago.”
The Beta hesitated. “He was delayed. Injured.”
Ronan stepped forward, voice rising. “You think I care about delays? I want answers.”
As if summoned by wrath, the doors creaked open. A scout limped inside, one arm bloody and hanging. His clothes were torn. He smelled of ash and pain.
The room went still. Ronan strode forward, eyes dark. “Speak.”
The tracker collapsed to his knees, panting. Blood dripped onto the stone floor. Ronan crouched down, grabbing the front of his shirt.
“Where is she?” he hissed.
The scout struggled to breathe. His lips moved without sound.
Then, finally, he whispered: “She ran. And she took something with her… your kids.”
The words echoed. The fire popped. The room held its breath. Ronan staggered back a step, the breath knocked from him like a blow to the chest.
“My… what?” he said, voice cracking.