Chapter 28 Blood on stone
Elara couldn’t look away from the blood.
It soaked into Ronan’s butter-colored cloak in a spreading stain, vivid and unmistakable. Too bright against the pale fabric. Too real.
Her breath left her lungs in a shallow exhale she didn’t remember taking.
Around them, the square had gone unnaturally still. Guards who moments ago had been barking orders now froze in place, shock cutting through their training.
“Your Majesty!”
“King Ronan!”
“You are injured?!”
The voices blurred together. Elara heard them as if from underwater.
Ronan turned to her first.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle jump beneath his skin.
She didn’t answer. Not because she was injured, but because her eyes were still fixed on the blood.
Red on cloth became red on leaves.
Red on stone.
Red on her hands.
Her stomach twisted violently.
Ronan misread her silence instantly. “Elara.” His voice dropped, sharpened. “Answer me.”
Something inside him snapped.
Fenrir surged forward.
The shift wasn’t physical, yet, but Elara felt it like a pressure wave. His eyes flared red-golden, feral light burning through them. A low growl vibrated in his chest as he pulled her against him with one arm, possessive and unyielding.
With the other, he reached back.
Gripped the dagger embedded in his shoulder.
And tore it out.
Ronan grunted as the blade came free, blood spilling fresh and hot down his arm. The scent hit Elara immediately.
Iron. Heat. Life.
Her vision dimmed at the edges.
Arwen rushed forward. “Ronan!” She caught his arm, eyes sharp with fear. “You're bleeding!”
Fenrir hissed, teeth flashing. “Why were you outside the palace walls?”
The question cracked like thunder.
Arwen stiffened. “We were...”
Before she could finish, movement erupted at the far end of the square.
The attackers were fleeing.
Liora saw it instantly.
“None of them escape,” she snarled, eyes flashing as she turned to Faye.
Faye nodded once in response as the command rippled through the guards.
They shifted.
Bones cracked. Flesh tore. Howls ripped through the air as Lycans abandoned human form mid-stride, massive wolves bursting forward in a blur of fur and muscle.
Elara flinched violently.
The sound slammed her straight back into the woods.
Branches snapping.
Growls in the dark.
The moment she realized she would either kill or die.
Her fingers curled hard into Ronan’s robe without her permission.
She hated that her body did it before her mind could object.
Lyra pressed close inside her head, not playful now. "Breathe," she urged. "You’re here. Not there."
Ronan felt the tremor run through Elara. His arm tightened around her instinctively, anchoring her against his chest as he turned his head and roared—
“Bring them to me. Alive.”
The command was absolute.
"Yes, your majesty."
The wolves surged after the fleeing figures, tearing down side streets, claws striking stone. Screams echoed briefly before being cut off.
Elara’s ears rang.
Slowly, carefully, she forced herself back into the present.
Her hands were shaking.
She lifted her gaze to Ronan’s face, really seeing him now. The tension in his jaw. The blood streaking his shoulder. The fury barely leashed behind his eyes.
“What… are you doing here?” she asked quietly. “How did you find me?”
Ronan blinked, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him.
He looked down at her, then bent without warning and scooped her into his arms.
Elara sucked in a sharp breath.
For a heartbeat, she considered pushing away but her limbs felt heavy and distant. Her body chose stillness over resistance.
Against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat. Strong. Fast.
Lyra, traitorously pleased, purred. "Well. That answers some questions."
Elara ignored her.
“Put me down,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “You’re hurt.”
Ronan huffed a short laugh. “If a scratch like this could pin me down, I wouldn’t be King.”
As if to prove it, the wound began to close.
Before her eyes, flesh knit itself together. Blood receded. Skin smoothed.
Elara stared, a weak, stunned sound leaving her throat before she could stop it.
Arwen exhaled slowly, watching the scene unfold with narrowed eyes.
"So that’s how it is." Or so she thought.
Ronan’s voice brushed her mind.
"Mother."
Arwen stiffened.
"Please explain why my mate was in the town square instead of resting in the palace."
Arwen pinched the bridge of her nose. "She wished to see the city. That is not the issue now, Ronan. The issue is that rogues breached our territory and somehow knew exactly where she would be."
Ronan’s grip tightened protectively around Elara.
Meanwhile, Elara’s thoughts spiraled in a different direction.
Lady Pandora. Going back to the palace would mean she would have to listen to the maids talk about her.
The name surfaced unbidden.
Lyra snorted. "You almost died and you’re getting jealous? Fascinating."
Elara scowled faintly.
Ronan noticed.
“…Did you just roll your eyes?”
Fear spiked sharp and sudden.
“I... no...” Elara froze, pulse skidding.
Ronan immediately softened. “I didn’t mean...” He exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t angry. Just… checking.”
Before the tension could deepen, a familiar voice rang out behind them.
“Your Majesty.”
Matthew approached at a brisk pace, his expression tight with urgency. Behind him stood a small entourage—guards from another pack, their scents unfamiliar.
Ronan turned sharply. “You shouldn’t have followed.”
Matthew grimaced. “You bolted out of a diplomatic meeting after nearly ripping a table apart. They already know.”
Arwen closed her eyes briefly.
“Know what?” Elara asked faintly.
No one answered her.
Ronan adjusted his hold on her and began walking toward the waiting carriage Matthew had brought.
“We’ll discuss this back at the palace,” Arwen said firmly, falling into step beside them.
As they passed the edge of the square, the distant howls of returning wolves echoed through the streets.
Elara flinched again, pressing closer to Ronan without realizing it.