CHAPTER 6_ I Won’t Be Your Prisoner[Part 2]
795 Words
It feels like the floor drops out from under me.
“And you?” I manage.
His jaw works. “Haven’t decided how much I like living.”
The rawness in his voice scares me more than anything else.
I swallow, force my thoughts into a straight line.
“So either you stand up there and tell them you don’t want me, or you stand up there and tell them I’m their Luna,” I say. “Those are your options.”
“Yes,” he says.
“And mine?”
“You stay alive either way,” he says. “That’s my only non‑negotiable.”
“That’s not an answer,” I say.
“It’s the only one I have,” he replies.
Rage and something like grief twist together in my chest.
I step forward until I’m close enough to see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the tension at the corners of his mouth.
“You dragged me into this,” I say, quiet and sharp. “You kissed me. You carried me away from my life. If you stand out there tonight and throw me to your wolves—literally or metaphorically—I won’t just hate you. I’ll find a way to walk away from you and your bond and every damn thing you think you own.”
His throat bobs as he swallows.
“Understood,” he says.
He offers his arm.
I glance at it. Then turn and walk past him, head high.
He lets his arm fall and follows.
The hallway is full of wolves.
They don’t bother pretending they aren’t listening as we pass. Some stare openly. Some look away quickly when Ronan’s gaze brushes them.
“Is that her?”
“Human.”
“Alpha’s Luna is a human.”
“Moon save us.”
“Humans die.”
Every whispered judgment scores lines into my skin.
I keep my face blank and my steps steady. They can have my fear. They don’t get my tears.
We emerge into the main hall.
It’s packed.
Wolves fill the space—standing, sitting, leaning on railings. Some look fully human. Others have golden eyes and feral tension in their shoulders.
The air is thick—smoke from the huge fireplace, damp earth tracked in on boots, the sharp metallic tang of too many predators in one room.
The noise dies as we appear at the top of the stairs.
Ronan steps closer, his shoulder brushing mine as we descend. The contact is light, but the bond flares at it.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs without moving his lips.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I mutter back.
We step out onto a wide stone terrace and then down into a clearing ringed with torches. The pack parts before us, forming a rough aisle to a low stone platform at the far side.
Elder Malric stands there with a cluster of elders, hands clasped behind his back, expression carved from stone.
Ronan’s fingers brush mine. I don’t take his hand at first. I don’t pull away either.
We climb the few steps onto the platform.
The weight of every stare in that clearing settles on my skin.
Ronan moves to the front edge, pulling me to stand at his side. He takes my hand in front of them all, fingers closing around mine in a grip that’s warm and unyielding.
The bond snaps like a live wire.
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
“She’s really—”
“Human.”
“He’s lost his mind.”
“Cursed.”
“Luna?”
Malric lifts his chin and raises one hand for silence.
“Crimson Hollow,” he calls, his voice carrying cleanly, “your Alpha stands before you with…news.”
A few harsh laughs. Some low growls.
He steps back, leaving Ronan in the center.
Ronan squeezes my hand once.
Then he looks out over his pack—his people, his problem, his power—and speaks.
“Tonight,” he says, voice deep and steady even as the bond shudders under my skin, “I stand before you with my fated mate…”
The word *fated* hangs heavy.
Gasps. Growls. Disbelief.
Fated. Human. Luna.
I feel it all like physical blows.
My fingers dig into his without meaning to. If he feels it, he doesn’t show it.
If he rejects me in front of them, I won’t just lose him.
I’ll lose the only shield I have in a pack that already wants me broken.
The bond throbs, hot and frantic, coiled tight, waiting to see which way he’s going to cut it.
Ronan draws his next breath.
And the world—and my life—hold theirs with him
- Writer
