CHAPTER 4

Ronan

She’s an enigma.

Quiet. Composed. Not meek like the omegas they parade at court.

Not just the way she fights—though that’s part of it. She doesn’t fight like a wolf raised in the fold. She fights like someone who learned pain first and technique later. Raw. Sharp. She doesn't flinch when she bleeds. Doesn't look away when others do.

She’s too calm.

She doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t bow her head. She meets my gaze every time I catch her watching me—unflinching, unyielding.

Most omegas shrink in the presence of an alpha.

She doesn’t. And that unnerves me more than I want to admit.

Tonight, she’s in the training ring.

Again.

I didn’t ask her to be.

But she’s there anyway. Moving like she belongs. As if blood and ash haven’t burned her from the inside out.

Her stance is practiced, patient. She takes a blow from one of my top warriors, recovers with grace, and counters fast enough to bruise his ribs.

“She’s learning quick,” Thorne mutters beside me.

“She’s not learning,” I say under my breath. “She’s remembering.”

Because no stray omega should know how to move like that. Not unless someone trained her. Someone good. Someone lethal.

She falls, rolls, pops back to her feet.

—but that’s not what keeps catching my attention.

It’s her silence.

It hums.

She says nothing when Jehrin tries to bait her. Nothing when the other warriors mutter under their breath. But I feel her. Like a heat building beneath the earth. A volcano waiting.

I should keep my distance. I claimed her to protect her, not to get close. The bond—though fake—is already interfering with my instincts. Every time someone so much as raises their voice near her, my wolf growls. Every time she passes me, I catch her scent in my throat and forget the names of stars.

I don’t even know her name.

No, that's a lie.

I do know it.

“Kira,” I whisper to myself.

I heard it when she was brought in. But it meant nothing then. Just a name.

Now it claws at something inside me.

I walk the training grounds, trying to outrun my own thoughts. Warriors nod as I pass. Some bow. Jehrin watches me from across the yard, her eyes narrowed, lips thin. She hasn’t forgiven me for naming the girl as my trial mate. Hasn’t forgiven me for looking at someone else.

And that’s when I see it—her shirt sleeve rides up just enough for me to catch a glimpse of pale skin.

And a scar.

Crescent-shaped. White. Faint, but there. Bitten deep. Healed badly.

Because I know that shape.

Because I remember blood on my tongue and bark under my knees.

I remember smoke. Screams.

Roots curling over a small body, trying to hide from death.

And a girl.

A girl I told not to scream. A girl I bit.

My breath catches.

Not just a scar. A mark. A bite.

And something in me shatters.

I remember it—not a dream. A forest burning. A child crying. The scent of ash and pine. Blood. My own hands soaked with it.

And her.

A girl hiding under roots. Clutching fabric.

I bit her.

Twelve years ago.

I’d been sent ahead by the elders, trained to scout rogue territory even as a child. A war was coming. I was too young to fight, but old enough to obey.

I was told to leave no witnesses.

But I didn’t kill her.

I hid her.

Bit her to silence her. To command her to stay hidden.

And then I left.

I never looked back.

My chest feels hollow.

She remembers me. That’s why she looked at me that way. Why she said nothing, but her eyes screamed everything.

I didn’t recognize her because I never expected her to live.

My wolf is silent. Still. Grieving.

Because we left her. Because we forgot.

Because the bite meant more than just survival—it meant bond. Even if undeclared. Even if unfinished.

She’s been carrying that mark alone for twelve years.

And now she’s here. Walking these halls. Holding that silence like a sword.

I breathe deep, trying to gather the edges of my shattered thoughts.

But there’s no gathering this.

There’s only truth.

And guilt.

And the sharp, growing ache of something I can't name—pulling me toward her like a tide I can’t swim against.

I walk away before I can be obvious. My steps are heavy, measured. Back inside the hall, I grip the wall to steady myself.

Twelve years ago.

Twelve years I spent burying that memory, pretending I didn’t see her there beneath the trees. That it was a dream. A flicker of guilt my mind made up.

But it wasn’t.

It was her.

Kira.

I don’t sleep that night.

I dream instead.

Of burning pines and the moon flashing red.

Of a girl with soot on her cheeks and a scarf clenched in her fists.

Of teeth sinking into skin to buy time, to buy silence.

The bond hadn’t even formed yet, but something in me had recognized her.

And I left her there.

I left her.

By morning, my wolf is pacing, frantic.

The mark on my arm—hers—aches.

No ritual. No claim. But it’s reacting. Pulling.

I find her near the stables, alone, hands wrapped in cloth from morning drills.

I don’t speak. I just stand there.

She looks up at me. Her eyes narrow. Calm. Distant.

“I remember,” I say hoarsely.

She doesn’t ask what I mean. She already knows.

Her mouth twitches—something between a laugh and a sneer. “Took you long enough.”

“I thought you were a dream.”

She shrugs. “You were real enough to bleed me.”

I flinch.

“I didn’t mean to forget.”

“I didn’t get to.” Her voice is low, tired. “Every time I breathed, it was you.”

Silence stretches between us.

The guilt in my throat is thick. And still, I don’t move. Because I don’t know what the hell I’d do if I did.

Her fingers curl tighter into the cloth around her fists. Her body tenses like she’s waiting for another blow. Or maybe she just doesn’t know how to stand still around me.

I should say something. Anything.

But all I do is watch her walk away.

And I don’t stop her.

Not yet.