Ronan didn’t move.
Not when the wind shifted. Not when the night dimmed further. Not even when the pack began to gather quietly behind us.
He stayed kneeling beside Garron, forehead pressed against the warrior’s cold chest, breath shaking like he was forcing his lungs to keep working.
His wolf form trembled.
Blood dripping. Bones still broken. Fur matted from the fight.
But none of that compared to the emptiness in his eyes.
I’d seen Ronan angry. I’d seen him determined. I’d seen him wounded.
But I had never seen him defeated.
Not like this.
Not as he whispered Garron’s name in a voice too soft to belong to an alpha.
I sat beside him without speaking.
The Heir lay beside me, pale and unconscious, breathing shallowly. The battle drained him more than he let on.
I brushed his hai
