Chapter 91 Do it
The roar of the waterfall was a wall of sound, isolating them in a world of spray and silver light. Elara stood frozen in her wolf form, her paws digging into the moss as she stared at the man before her. Ronan was no longer the composed King who sat on a throne of shadows. He was raw, his skin glistening with the lunar-charged water that clung to the dark, corded muscles of his thighs and the sharp, dangerous lines of his abdomen.
Her heart didn't just beat; it thrashed against her ribs. She tried to look away, to find a patch of grass or a butterfly to fixate on, but her gaze kept snapping back to the broad expanse of his chest. The sight of him made a high-pitched, involuntary whine catch in her throat.
“Oh, look at him,” Lyra purred in the back of her mind, her mental voice dripping with amusement. “Our King is magnificent, isn’t he? Why are you trembling, Elara? You’ve wanted to see what was under those royal robes for weeks.”
“No, I haven't!” Elara snapped internally and forced their gaze away, though she couldn't hide the heat radiating through her fur.
Lyra forced Elara’s gaze back to Ronan, who caught the movement and let out a low, melodic chuckle. He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing the damp strands back from his forehead.
He began to walk toward her, his feet silent as he moved through the shallow water.
“You shouldn't be shy, Elara,” he said, his voice echoing with a velvety richness.
Elara managed to find her voice, though it sounded breathless. “I’m not shy. I’m just wondering if it wasn’t a crime to see the nakedness of the Lycan King. I really don’t want my head hanging on a stake by dawn.”
Ronan laughed again. The sound was bright, causing the neon butterflies around them to flutter as if they were sharing in the joke. He reached the bank and reached out, cupping Lyra’s large wolf head with both hands. He leaned down, resting his forehead against her fur.
“You are my mate,” he whispered. “There is no law in this realm or any other that would put your head on a stake for looking at what belongs to you.”
Elara’s voice rang in his head, hesitant and soft. “Even if I betrayed you one day?”
Ronan’s smile didn't falter. He closed his eyes, leaning into her. “If you betrayed me, Elara, then it must have been my fault. I must have failed you in a way that left you no other choice.”
Elara mentally face-palmed at the sheer devotion in his tone. In her mind, Lyra snickered. “This man is absolutely finished, Elara. He’s gone for us.”
Ronan’s fingers began to move through her fur, deliberately tracing the glowing red streaks that marked her vampire bloodline. Elara felt a shiver race down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The intimacy of the touch was overwhelming.
“I have something to ask you,” Elara said, her thoughts reaching out to him.
“Anything,” he replied.
“Why don’t you want to mark me?”
The question hit the air like a physical weight. Ronan’s smile vanished, replaced by a deep, troubled frown. Inside her head, Lyra let out a sharp scold. “Elara! You can’t just ask it like that! You sound like a desperate wolf in heat.”
“Maybe I am desperate,” Elara snapped back, “but I am definitely not in heat! I just need to know.”
"Yeah, right," Lyra gave a skeptical, mental huff that echoed in Elara’s skull. "Tell that to your racing heart. You’re practically vibrating."
Ronan let go of her furry face and took a slow step back, his expression unreadable under the silver glow of the waterfall. He didn't seem bothered by his lack of clothing; he carried his nakedness like another layer of armor.
"Shift, Elara."
He took another step backward, giving her the physical space she would need for the transformation.
Panic flared in her chest, sharp and hot. Instinctively, Elara lowered her massive wolf head, her tail tucking slightly between her legs. "I shouldn't have asked. I’m sorry. I... I can't."
"Do not get me wrong," Ronan said. His voice was firm, carrying that kingly weight, yet it remained tender. "I am asking you to shift because I want you to listen to what I have to say while looking me in the eye. I don't want you hiding behind Lyra."
Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn't want to shift. Not here. Not in front of him. Back in Northwood, the abuse had left marks that no magic could truly erase, and she felt small and broken under the perfection of his gaze.
But as she lowered her head further, trying to disappear into the moss, her silver wolf-eyes landed directly on the space Ronan had just vacated. Because he was standing so close, and because she was looking down to avoid his face, she ended up with a direct, unobstructed view of exactly what was hanging between his legs.
Her golden-silver eyes widened.
A choked sound escaped her snout. The heat that flooded her body was so intense it felt like she was standing inside a furnace. Her ears flattened against her skull, and she looked away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, staring intently at a nearby rock as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Oh, Goddess,” Elara internally screamed, her mental voice an octave higher than usual. “He’s... he’s really... everything is just... there.”
Lyra let out a loud, cackling mental laugh, absolutely delighted by Elara’s trauma. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? Literally.”
“Shut up! Shut up right now!” Elara’s internal monologue was a chaotic mess of embarrassment.
Ronan noticed the sudden, violent twitch of her head and the way her fur was practically standing on end. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he stayed silent, letting her process the view.
Lyra, feeling Elara’s sheer desperate need to hide, began to retreat. Her tail brushed against a Nyxora flower as she stepped back, the plant blooming instantly into a vibrant, neon violet at the contact, as if mocking Elara’s flushed state.
"Elara," Ronan prompted softly, his voice vibrating with a hint of suppressed amusement. "The rock isn't going to talk back to you."
She squeezed her eyes shut, took one last shuddering breath of the mist-heavy air, and let the heat of the Aether take her. “You don't have to see me shift,” Elara whispered.
Ronan raised a dark brow. “Why?”
“My scars,” she stuttered, her mind flashing to the jagged lines and bruises of her past.
Ronan took a domineering, yet incredibly comforting step toward her. The water rippled around his ankles. “I do not care about your scars, Elara. In fact, I want to see them. I want to see every time I failed to play my part as your mate. I want to see the number of times I wasn't there to protect you.”
“But Ronan,” she started.
“Please,” he cut her off, his voice cracking with a raw vulnerability. “I want to see all of you. I want to embrace everything you are. I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel once and for all, but I’ve been afraid that if I got too close, I wouldn't be able to hold myself back.”
Lyra didn't argue this time. She obeyed the silent command and retreated into the depths of Elara’s consciousness.
The light flared briefly, silver and red, before fading. Elara stood on the mossy bank, stark naked and trembling. Her silver hair fell over her shoulders like a silk curtain, but it wasn't enough to hide the faint, silvery lines on her back and thighs.
Subconsciously, her hands reached down to cover herself, but Ronan was faster. He stepped into her space, his large, warm hands catching her wrists. He held them gently, preventing her from hiding.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers, and took a deep, shaky sniff of her scent. “You are beautiful,” he breathed.
Fenrir let out a guttural growl of agreement in the back of his mind.
Elara shook her head, her eyes flickering wildly between red and silver. Her pulse was a frantic rhythm in her throat. Fear and desire were warring inside her, and Ronan felt every single wave of it.
He smiled sadly and pulled her into a hug. The contact was electric. Skin against skin, the dampness of his body seeping into hers. The water lapped at their feet as he held her tight.
“I am so sorry for not finding you sooner,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry for sending you to fetch those herbs. I’m sorry for hiding the truth about Hector. I am sorry for every second you spent alone.”
Elara’s face was a hundred shades of pink. The heat of him was intoxicating. She was pressed against the hard planes of his chest, her breasts crushed against his heart. Lyra was going crazy in her head, overwhelmed by emotions she couldn't place.
“Ronan,” Elara whispered, her voice trembling.
He pulled back just enough to lean his forehead against hers. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “As for your question about the mark. I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to give you the impression that you were being held captive again. I wanted you to choose me without feeling like the bond was a chain.”
He shut his eyes and let out a self-mocking laugh. “You have no idea how hard it has been to restrain myself. Every time I look at you, I want to claim you. I want to bite so deep that the world knows exactly who you belong to.”
As he kept rambling, his voice growing more strained, Elara reached up and whispered two words.
“Do it.”
Ronan froze. The silence in the hollow became absolute. Even the waterfall seemed to quiet down. In his head, Fenrir went dead silent. Lyra simply brushed the surface of Elara’s mind, waiting.
Ronan opened his eyes, his gold irises blown wide. “What did you say?”
“Do it,” Elara repeated, her voice gaining strength.
“Is that Lyra talking?” Ronan asked, his voice a low rasp.
“No,” Elara cut him off. “It’s me. Lyra is in support, but this is my choice.”
She wrapped her arms nervously around his neck, pulling him closer. “I’ve been wanting this too. I thought you were avoiding it because you didn't want me.”
Ronan gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her skin. “Are you sure, Elara? Once I mark you, you are bound to me for life. You won't be allowed to think of another male. You will be mine in every sense of the word.”
Elara chuckled shyly, looking away for a moment. “I know how the mate bond works, Ronan. I don't plan on being with anyone else anyway. Pandora was just a shadow, and Draven was a mistake. You’re the only one I want.”
Ronan’s expression shifted into something predatory and deeply satisfied. The Shadow King within him was thrilled, his dark energy humming under Ronan's skin.
“Can I kiss you?” Ronan asked, his voice dropping to a husky growl.
Elara looked him straight in the eye, her red and silver gaze burning with a new kind of fire. “Don't just kiss me, Ronan. Claim me.”