Chapter 7- Blood and Oaths
1094 Words
Evelyn drifted in and out of consciousness, her body aching from the fight. The warmth surrounding her was unfamiliar—solid, strong. She realized she was being carried.
Ronan.
His scent, a mix of pine and something darker, filled her senses. She forced her heavy eyelids open and found herself looking up at his sharp, unreadable face. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed ahead as he carried her through the trees.
She stirred weakly. “I can walk.”
His grip didn’t loosen. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”
Evelyn hated that he was right, but she hated feeling weak even more.
“Put me down,” she muttered.
Ronan glanced at her but didn’t stop. “Stubborn.”
She tried to argue, but exhaustion dragged her back under before she could say another word.
Ronan’s Cabin
When Evelyn woke again, she was in Ronan’s cabin, lying on the same cot as before. Only this time, her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged.
She tested her limbs, wincing as pain radiated from her shoulder where Marcus had bitten her. The fight had taken its toll. But she was alive.
She turned her head and found Ronan sitting across the room, his back against the wall, arms crossed. He looked tired—but not injured.
His wolf had been deadly in the fight. Efficient. Controlled. Not like a rogue at all.
She licked her dry lips. “Did they follow us?”
Ronan shook his head. “Not yet. But they will.”
Evelyn exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright despite the pain. “They won’t stop, Ronan. Damien doesn’t send his men out for nothing. If Marcus came after me, it means he won’t stop until he drags me back.”
Ronan studied her. “Then why did you run?”
She met his gaze. “Because I’d rather die as a rogue than live as his discarded Luna.”
For a long moment, Ronan didn’t speak. His amber eyes flickered with something unreadable before he stood and walked to the small wooden table. Without a word, he poured water into a tin cup and handed it to her.
She hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing against his.
His skin was warm. Too warm.
She looked at him more closely, noticing for the first time the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing was slightly uneven.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
He didn’t react.
She narrowed her eyes. “You are.”
Ronan exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to decide whether or not to lie. Then, finally, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a deep claw wound running from his forearm to his elbow.
Evelyn’s stomach twisted. “You should have said something.”
“It’s fine.”
She glared at him. “That’s a deep wound, Ronan.”
He met her gaze. “You were bleeding out. I had priorities.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
Instead, she pushed herself up and moved to the edge of the bed. “Let me help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You can barely sit up.”
Evelyn ignored him. “Where do you keep your supplies?”
Ronan exhaled but didn’t argue. He motioned toward a small wooden chest near the fireplace. She forced herself to stand, gritting her teeth against the pain as she grabbed the supplies and returned to sit beside him.
The silence between them was heavy as she cleaned his wound. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, his muscles tense but still.
“You’re used to this,” Ronan said after a moment.
She nodded. “I used to help in the Silvercrest infirmary. Before…” She trailed off. Before Damien. Before the rejection.
Ronan didn’t press.
She wrapped the bandage around his arm, tying it tight. “There.”
He flexed his fingers slightly, testing the movement. “Thanks.”
Evelyn leaned back against the wall, exhaustion creeping in again.
But she couldn’t rest. Not yet.
“What happens now?” she asked quietly.
Ronan’s expression darkened. “Now, we prepare.”
A Dangerous Proposition
Evelyn barely had time to rest before Ronan led her outside.
The sun was beginning to set, casting the forest in deep shades of gold and amber. The air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of blood and battle.
She watched as Ronan moved to a wooden crate near the cabin, opening it to reveal an assortment of weapons—daggers, silver-tipped arrows, even a few blades that looked custom-made.
Her brows furrowed. “You’re armed like a warrior.”
Ronan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled out a dagger, testing its weight in his palm. “If they come back, we fight.”
Evelyn swallowed. “Marcus will bring more wolves. Maybe even Damien himself.”
Ronan met her gaze. “Then we don’t wait for them to find us.”
A cold chill ran down her spine. “You mean—”
“We go after them first.”
Evelyn’s stomach twisted. “That’s suicide.”
Ronan’s lips curled slightly. “Not if we’re smart.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Damien is—”
“I know exactly what he is,” Ronan interrupted, his voice quiet but sharp. “And I know what he’s capable of.”
Evelyn studied him.
For the first time, she realized just how much he knew. About Silvercrest. About her.
About Damien.
She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you, Ronan?”
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, finally, he spoke.
“I was once part of a pack. A long time ago.” His voice was controlled, but there was something dark beneath it.
Evelyn held her breath.
“What happened?” she asked.
Ronan’s gaze flickered to the horizon, his fingers tightening around the dagger.
“They betrayed me.”
Evelyn’s breath caught.
She didn’t push him for more. Not yet.
But something in his voice told her that whatever happened to him… it had been brutal.
She exhaled, running a hand through her silver hair. “So what’s the plan?”
Ronan turned to her. “We train. We get stronger.” He paused, then added, “And when the time is right, we hunt.”
A shiver ran through her.
For the first time since she had been rejected, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time.
Hope.
- Writer
