Chapter 31
ELARA’S POV
The chilly morning breeze nipped at my face, carrying the rich aroma of pine and soil. I stood on the training field, Ronan’s solid frame behind me, his hands resting lightly on my hips, his chest warm against my back as he steadied my grip.
Focus should’ve been my priority, but with him this close, it was nearly impossible.
“Alright, Elara,” his deep voice hummed near my ear, sending a shiver through me despite the task. “Feel its weight. Pull back slowly…” His fingers gently corrected my hold on the bowstring, guiding it back as he directed, “Aim for the center.”
I took a deep breath, my muscles tensing, shoulders aching as I drew the string further. The bow felt far heavier than it had looked when Ronan demonstrated earlier.
My brow creased in focus, my tongue slipping slightly between my lips. I let the arrow fly, watching as it wobbled through the air, veering sharply left before burying itself in the dirt, far from the target.
“Miss!” the guard by the bullseye shouted.
“Ugh!” I let out a frustrated groan.
A low chuckle came from behind me—Ronan. “Not funny!” I huffed, stomping my foot.
“It’s a little funny, sunshine,” he laughed, his arms tightening around me, his chin settling on my shoulder. “You’re trying too hard. Just relax.”
I exhaled sharply, my breath shaky. Grabbing another arrow, I focused on loosening my grip, taking another steadying breath. I pulled the string back, feeling the tension coil, then released.
The arrow sailed, straighter this time, but still drifted off course. “MIS—”
“CAN YOU BE QUIET?” I snapped at the guard, who flinched and bowed quickly. My irritation flared, a warm flush crawling up my neck.
“Want to try again?” Ronan asked.
“Again?!” I scoffed, letting out an exasperated huff. I dropped the bow and arrow, the weapon clanging against the damp grass. Spinning around, I planted my hands on my hips and glared up at him.
“This is impossible!” I grumbled. “Ridiculously hard!”
He smirked, his tone teasing. “It’s not that hard,”
he said. “You just haven’t figured it out yet.”
I crossed my arms. “Oh, really?”
With a dramatic sigh, he bent down, retrieving the bow and plucking an arrow from the table. He took his stance, shoulders broadening, muscles flexing. He drew the string back, his arm steady, his focus unshakable. He aimed and released. The arrow zipped through the air in a clean arc.
Thwack! It struck the bullseye dead center.
“Perfect shot, Sire!” the guard called, waving a red flag.
“Show-off,” I muttered, turning my head away.
He laughed triumphantly. “Feeling envious?”
“Nope,” I shot back, though my childish tone betrayed me. His skill made my clumsy attempts feel like a personal insult.
“Sure,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully—a gesture that, despite my annoyance, always made my cheeks warm. “If you were nailing it, would you call it boring?”
A small grin tugged at my lips. He had a point. “Fine, no,” I admitted softly.
“Women,” he teased with an exaggerated hiss. He tossed the bow aside like it was nothing, then, before I could react, pulled me close. His strong arms wrapped around my waist, pressing me against him. My breath caught, my frustration melting into a rush of excitement.
Our eyes met, and his lips brushed mine—soft at first, a gentle touch. Then, like a spark igniting, the kiss deepened, fierce and hungry, brimming with passion that left me dizzy. The thrill of being out here, in the open, with guards and servants likely watching—maybe a dozen pairs of eyes—only heightened the moment. Was I crazy for enjoying this? Normally, I’d be mortified. His fingers wove into my hair, pulling me closer, the kiss intensifying.
A soft moan slipped from me, and I didn’t want it to end—ever. His taste, his scent, overwhelmed my senses.
A cough interrupted us. Ronan groaned as he pulled back, and we both turned to see his beta, Theorn, standing a few feet away, his face bright red with embarrassment.
“What?” Ronan barked, his tone sharp with irritation. I couldn’t help but giggle at his annoyance. His expression softened for a moment at my laugh, though his scowl lingered.
“The trial, Sire,” Theorn muttered, looking anywhere but at us, clearly wishing he were elsewhere.
Ronan stepped back, the warmth of his touch fading. His demeanor shifted instantly—the playful lover replaced by the commanding Alpha. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and his relaxed posture gave way to squared shoulders and an aura of cold, dominant power.
He turned to me, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. Then, without another word, he strode off, Theorn trailing behind.
The field felt vast and hollow without him. A quiet sigh escaped me, a familiar ache settling in my chest. It always hit like this when he left for pack duties—a subtle reminder of his power and the demands on his time.
“Maybe I’ll just head back,” I murmured to myself. I grabbed my scarf from the table, wrapping it around my neck. “Clara!” I called, scanning the field for her, but she was nowhere in sight.
Probably gone already. With a sigh, I started toward the palace. As I reached the hallway, I collided with Marceline.
Oh, moon goddess, not now.