Chapter 17 – Blood in the Dirt
Eli
They drag the man in just after noon.
Two enforcers have him by the arms, his boots carving deep grooves in the frozen earth.
His head jerks like a trapped animal’s, hair matted with sweat and blood.
The clearing stills as the pack forms a wide ring, the low chatter dying until all I hear is the wind cutting through the trees and the crackle of the bonfire.
I stand near the edge, arms aching from the logs I’ve been ordered to haul. But far too stubborn to stop.
All my life I’ve been told I’m nothing but a weak Omega, but I know that’s bullshit.
If they allowed me to train the way the other werewolves train, I’d be as strong as any of them.
Jace is a few steps away, expression unreadable, arms folded. Everyone else watches with a strange mix of anticipation and fear.
I keep my eyes on the man’s limp hands. His knuckles are split open, nails dirty. He fought like hell not to be brought here.
But when he speaks, his voice is saturated with panic.
“Alpha, please. I didn’t touch the ledger. I swear it wasn’t me-”
Ronan steps out of the shadows like he’s been there all along.
No jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Tattoos crawling like black fire over his forearms. His eyes catch the weak winter sun and glow molten.
I want to rip out the part of me that thinks he’s the most stunning sight I’ve ever laid eyes on.
The energy in the clearing shifts. No one breathes too loud. Even the wind seems to hold back.
“Did you actually think I wouldn’t find out?” Ronan’s voice carries, calm and terrifying. He doesn’t raise it. He doesn’t have to.
“That Mara wouldn’t pick up on the discrepancy immediately?”
The man stumbles, knees hitting frozen dirt. “I swear on my blood, Alpha, I didn’t take anything!”
“On your blood.”
Ronan crouches in front of him, like a hunter cornering wounded game. His tone softens to something wildly dangerous.
“You skimmed profits. You didn’t steal from me, you took what rightfully belongs to the entire pack.”
“I didn’t! Please, Alpha!”
“Lying.” Ronan says the word almost gently, but the entire pack flinches.
“Do you know what we do to liars here?”
The man looks around, desperate, eyes wide and wet. For a heartbeat they lock on mine.
A plea, or an accusation, I can’t tell. My throat tightens anyway.
Then Ronan moves.
There’s no warning. No ceremony. He grabs the man’s arm, twisting hard, a sharp motion that seems almost careless until the sound cracks through the air. Bone snapping like a branch underfoot.
The man screams, a raw animal sound that scrapes my spine. He crumples forward, clutching the ruined limb to his chest.
Blood stains the snow, red threading through white.
My stomach rolls. I look away, then back, unable to stop myself. My wolf whines deep inside, torn between fear and something darker. Respect? Awe? I don’t know and I hate that I even wonder.
Ronan stands slowly, towering over the man, his expression blank but his eyes burning.
“Exile him. If he steps back into my territory, tear his throat out.”
The two enforcers don’t hesitate. They grab the sobbing wolf under the arms and drag him toward the trees.
His cries fade as they vanish into the forest, leaving behind churned earth and blood streaks on the snow.
The circle stays silent. The smell of iron thickens the air. My hands are shaking around the logs, splinters digging into my palm, but I don’t feel it.
All I feel is the thudding of my heart and the way every wolf here keeps their head bowed.
Ronan showed no hesitation. No mercy. That’s what it takes to hold power like this. It’s horrifying. It’s… magnetic.
Ronan’s gaze sweeps the crowd, landing on each of them in turn. When it finds me, my breath catches and I can’t look away.
His eyes narrow, and something unreadable flashes there. A warning? Something sharper. My pulse spikes.
When the pack disperses, murmuring low, I turn quickly, eager to get away from the stink of blood and smoke.
My legs feel like they’re moving through mud. The path between the cabins blurs. I just need distance. I need air.
But before I can take more than a dozen steps, a hand closes around my arm, strong and sure, pulling me off the path and into the shadow of the nearest building.
My heart trips all over itself when my eyes meet Ronan’s.
His body heat rolls over me as he leans in, so close his breath brushes my ear. The scent of blood and smoke clings to him. His voice is quiet, like rough velvet. “See how loyalty is assured?”
I can’t speak. The words stick in my throat.
He lets the silence stretch until my pulse pounds loud enough to drown out thought. Then, slowly, he releases my arm, fingers grazing my skin in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Remember that,” he murmurs.
And then he steps back, eyes molten, gaze raking over me like a claim before he turns and walks away.
I stand frozen, breath ragged, the image of that broken arm still vivid in my mind.