A man tells you you're his soulmate and somehow the first thing you say is "put some pants on."
It came out before I'd fully processed what he'd said, some old, practical, deeply unromantic part of my brain apparently deciding that a naked man kneeling in gravel was the more pressing crisis of the two, easier by far to address than the enormity of what he'd just told me. My whole body was still humming with adrenaline from the chase, from the wolf, from every impossible thing that had happened in the past hour, and somehow it was the sight of him kneeling there, bare and vulnerable in the cold, that finally cracked something loose in me.
Ronan blinked at me, and for one absurd second the wrecked, raw intensity of the moment cracked wide open into something almost funny.
"That's—" he sta
