Chapter 265
Ronan's POV
The front door opening downstairs pulled me from my spiraling thoughts, the soft click of the latch followed by the creak of hinges that I'd been meaning to oil for weeks now, and my wolf Soren stirred lazily in my mind, his amusement bleeding through our connection with the smug satisfaction of someone who'd just won a bet I didn't know we'd made.
She's going for your truck, Soren said, his mental voice dripping with I-told-you-so energy that made me want to punch him except you can't really punch your own wolf without looking like you've completely lost your shit.
"She knows better than to touch my baby," I muttered, sitting up and running a hand through my hair, which was probably sticking up in seventeen different directions because Elowen had this thing about ruffling it when she walked past, said it made me look "less intimidating and more like a confused hedgehog," which was both insulting and weirdly endearing in a way that made my chest tight.
Does she though? Soren asked, and I could practically hear him grinning in that way wolves do when they're about to watch you make a fool of yourself. Because from where I'm sitting, she's pissed as hell, you just told her to turn off the light like she's some kind of servant, and she's got access to both your keys and a very pregnant, very hormonal need to do something reckless.
"She wouldn't—" I started, but even as I said it, I knew it was bullshit, knew that Elowen in her current state was absolutely capable of taking my truck for a joyride just to prove a point, and the point would probably involve keying "ASSHOLE" into the driver's side door or backing into a post or doing something equally catastrophic to my beautiful, pristine vehicle that I'd spent months restoring from a rusted-out piece of shit into something that actually ran.
She's going after him, Soren said, his tone shifting from amused to something darker, more concerned. After Casper. The one who broke her heart. The one who chose Sarah. And she's going to that bar, the one where drunk supernaturals go to forget their problems, where fights break out every other night, where someone who's visibly pregnant and clearly distressed is going to be a target for every asshole looking to cause trouble.
The image hit me like a freight train: Elowen walking into Moonrise Den alone, her belly just starting to show, her scent screaming vulnerability to every predator in the building, and Casper too drunk off his ass to protect her even if he wanted to, which he probably wouldn't because the man had spent the last six months systematically destroying himself with alcohol and self-pity and a complete refusal to deal with the consequences of his own goddamn choices.
I was moving before I fully registered the decision, my feet hitting the floor with enough force to make the bedframe creak, and I was halfway to the door when Soren's voice cut through my panic with the kind of observation that made me want to throttle him and thank him at the same time.
If she's not pregnant, I'd kick her ass for this, I thought viciously, because the mental image of Elowen taking my truck without permission, potentially scratching the paint job with gravel from the driveway, maybe even denting the bumper if she backed up too fast, was enough to make my blood boil in a way that had nothing to do with concern and everything to do with the fact that I loved that truck almost as much as I loved my own stubborn, infuriating, beautiful little sister.
But she was pregnant, carrying twins who were half Thornwood and probably going to be just as much trouble as their parents, and the thought of her getting hurt, of something happening to those babies because I was too busy being pissed about my truck to actually stop her, made me move faster, yanking on jeans and not bothering with a shirt because modesty was the least of my concerns when Elowen was about to do something spectacularly stupid in the name of saving someone who didn't deserve saving.
I reached the front door just in time to see her sliding into the driver's seat of my truck, her movements quick and determined, and the door slammed shut with enough force to make me wince, to make me imagine tiny chips of paint flaking off, gravel pinging against the pristine black finish I'd spent hours waxing to perfection.
"ELOWEN!" I shouted, bursting out onto the porch barefoot and shirtless, the cold night air hitting my skin like a slap, and she looked up at me through the windshield with an expression that was equal parts defiant and desperate, her hand already turning the key in the ignition.
If you weren't pregnant, I would absolutely kick your ass for this, I thought again, louder this time, letting the words echo through whatever connection we had as siblings, as pack, as people who'd somehow become family despite all the reasons we shouldn't be.
She met my eyes through the glass, and for a moment I thought she might actually stop, might actually listen to reason, but then her jaw set in that stubborn line I'd come to know too well, and the engine roared to life with a sound that was both beautiful and terrifying because it meant she was really doing this, really going after Casper despite everything he'd done, despite the fact that he'd chosen Sarah and left her to pick up the pieces alone.
"Get out of my truck!" I yelled, moving toward the driver's side door even though I knew it was already too late, knew that once Elowen made up her mind about something there was no changing it, no amount of logic or threats or begging that would make her back down.
She rolled down the window just enough to look at me, her amber eyes bright with unshed tears and a determination that made my chest ache, and when she spoke her voice was steady despite the emotion I could see churning beneath the surface.
"He needs help, Ronan. I'm going."
"Casper needs his ass kicked, not your help," I shot back, gripping the door handle but not pulling it open yet because some part of me knew that forcing her out would only make things worse, would only drive a wedge between us that might never fully heal. "He made his choice. He chose Sarah. He doesn't get to call you for help when he's too drunk to stand."
"He's not my mate," Elowen said, and the way she said it—like she was trying to convince herself as much as me—made something in my chest twist painfully. "He's... he's the father of my children. He's pack. I can't just leave him there."
"He's not your mate," I repeated, tasting the bitterness of those words, knowing they were technically true but feeling the lie underneath them, the way her voice caught on the word "mate" like it still hurt to say it, like some part of her still believed that Casper and Cassian belonged to her even though they'd made it abundantly clear they'd chosen someone else. "He's a burden. A drunk. A man who threw away the best thing that ever happened to him because he was too much of a coward to fight for you."
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and I could see her fighting back tears, fighting back the urge to either punch me or break down completely, and when she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Either you come with me to protect us, or you let me go alone. But I'm not staying here while he's in trouble."