CHAPTER 6

(Ronan’s POV)

The clearing behind the training barracks was colder than usual. Morning mist clung to the grass, curling around my boots like breath I couldn’t release. I stood in the center, arms crossed, eyes on the treeline.

Waiting.

My wolf was restless beneath my skin, pacing behind my ribs. Not from impatience—no, this was different.

She was coming.

I felt it before I heard her footsteps.

Kira walked into the clearing like she didn’t care who was watching. She wore a loose training shirt, sleeves rolled, braid swinging against her back. The sunlight caught in her scars—silver glints along her forearms, a shadow on her jaw.

My chest tightened.

“You're late,” I said.

She arched a brow. “You're always early. That’s not the same thing.”

I didn’t answer. I tossed her a staff. She caught it easily, spinning it once in her fingers.

“What’s the lesson today, Alpha?” she asked, voice light but laced with challenge. “How to keep a trial mate in check without actually touching her?”

My fingers twitched.

“We spar,” I said flatly. “No claws. No excuses.”

“Perfect.” Her mouth curled into something sharp. “I’ve been meaning to hit you anyway.”

Wood cracked against wood as we moved. Her strikes were clean—fast, precise, deliberate. There was no hesitation in her movements, only fire. Each hit she landed came with something buried underneath it. Rage. Memory. Maybe even betrayal.

We circled. Struck. Blocked.

She ducked a swing and jabbed hard toward my ribs. I blocked, spun, caught her off-balance. Her braid swung forward as she stumbled back.

“Your stance is off,” I muttered.

She lunged again. “So is your moral compass.”

That made me pause.

She grinned like she’d won. “What? No comeback? Must be a first.”

I stepped forward sharply, our staffs locked between us, the tension vibrating through the wood. Our faces were close now—closer than they should’ve been. I could see the sheen of sweat along her temple, the wild flicker in her eyes.

And underneath it all, the scent that made my wolf go still—like pine smoke and danger and something that belonged to me before I even knew what claiming meant.

“Kira,” I said low.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you remember who I was, but don’t want to admit who I’ve become.”

My breath hitched.

Then she twisted the staff and knocked mine away. I didn’t stop her.

She could’ve landed a blow.

She didn’t.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, quieter now.

“Doing what?” she replied, backing away.

“Fighting like you’re trying to hurt yourself more than me.”

Something flickered in her gaze. Then she scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. Hurting you would feel much better.”

My hand moved before I could stop it.

Not in aggression. Not in command.

Just… instinct.

I reached out and gently touched her jaw. Just a brush. Fingertips against skin I shouldn’t have had the right to feel.

The moment stretched.

Her eyes widened. Not soft. Not shocked.

Guarded.

She flinched back.

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp. “Don’t try to be gentle now.”

I froze.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you meant,” she snapped, stepping further away. “You think that touch fixes something? That you can be cold one moment and reach for me the next like I’m supposed to fall into your hands?”

My chest burned.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” she cut in. “You don’t get to play the reluctant Alpha and the tortured soulmate in the same breath.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Every word I thought of sounded like a lie.

Every truth felt like a trap.

“I’m trying,” I finally muttered.

She blinked. “At what?”

“At not ruining you.”

That silenced her.

Even the birds in the trees seemed to go quiet.

“I’m not some fragile thing,” she said, voice softer now, but shaking. “I survived twelve years without you. I bled. I lost everything. I’m still standing.”

I looked at her, really looked—at the defiance in her spine, the flicker of pain she tried to hide.

And I hated myself for the hundred ways I’d failed her.

“I never meant to hurt you,” I said quietly.

She tilted her head. “But you did.”

I nodded once. “And I will again. If you stay.”

That, she didn’t answer.

She just walked past me, dropping the staff near my feet.

But as she passed, she said, without looking back—

> “Then maybe you should’ve stayed gone the first time.”

And then she was gone.

I stared at the training staff for hours after she left.

Later, in the dark, I sat on the edge of my bed, gripping my wrist like it could stop the ache. The bond pulsed faintly beneath my skin, like a warning. Like a promise I didn’t deserve.

> “You don’t get to play both.”

She was right.

But the worst part?

I wanted to.