CHAPTER FOUR

Ronan

He couldn’t sleep.

Not because of nightmares. Those had long since become familiar.

But because of her.

The way she looked at him. Like she knew him - truly knew him - down to the fragmented places no healer, no priest, no god had ever dared to touch.

Talia.

Even her name clung to the inside of his mouth like a sin he couldn’t spit out or swallow.

The beast inside him hadn’t stirred during the session. Not once. Not with rage. Not with lust. It had simply… watched.

And for the first time in over two centuries, Ronan had felt like the lesser creature.

The way she spoke to him low and unwavering.

The way she moved precise, effortless.

The way she touched him not to arouse, but to own.

There had been nothing violent. Nothing overtly sexual. And still, his body had betrayed him. Every breath had been an effort. Every command, a call to kneel.

And that final moment when her palm gripped his jaw and forced his gaze upward he’d seen it. Felt it.

Not her power.

His need for it.

It disgusted him.

It fascinated him.

And that was the problem.

He hadn’t walked out of that room.

He’d fled.

Not because he feared her.

But because some sick part of him wanted to drop to his knees and ask her to say his name again.

Only this time, with her boot on his throat.

---

Elias

“You’re back,” Ronan said, voice low and without greeting.

Elias stepped into the war room, removing his coat. He looked like he’d walked through a storm.

“I am.”

“Well?”

Ronan’s voice was tight. Controlled. But Elias heard the storm behind it.

Elias met his gaze. “She’s not normal.”

Ronan’s jaw clenched. “No, she’s not.”

“She knew who I was. Called me out in front of everyone. Said you tasted divinity.”

That earned him a slow exhale.

“She’s not a witch. Not a fae. Not a shifter,” Elias continued.

“But she isn’t just human. Or if she is, she’s been altered.

Touched by something. There’s power in her that doesn’t read like anything I’ve seen before.”

“She has no magic,” Ronan said. “None that registered. But I felt… something.”

“I did too.” Elias paused. “It wasn’t magic. It was command. Something old. Elemental.”

“Like the Moon Goddess.”

The words hung between them.

Elias studied him. “You think she was chosen?”

Ronan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stood, walking to the tall windows overlooking the dark forests of Puya Ridge.

“I don’t know what I think,” he said quietly. “Only that after she touched me… I wanted to give her everything. And I didn’t even know what I was giving.”

Elias’s voice dropped. “You need to be careful.”

“I am careful.”

“No, you’re not. You’re restless. You’re cursed. You’ve been bound for so long you don’t know what freedom feels like anymore. And now you’ve found someone who commands you who your beast doesn’t fight and you think that’s salvation?”

Ronan turned, eyes glowing faintly gold. “I think it’s hope.”

Elias stepped forward. “Or it’s bait.”

That struck something. The beast stirred, irritated by the suggestion.

“I’m going to see her again,” Ronan said, final. “I need to.”

Elias didn’t argue. Just looked at him like a man watching his brother walk into a fire.

“Then let’s pray she’s not what I fear she is.”

“And what’s that?”

Elias’s voice was grave.

“An anchor dropped by the gods to drag you under.”

---

The Moon Goddess

Beneath a sky woven with silver stars and endless night, the temple of the Moon pulsed with divine tension. Its marble arches glowed with soft bioluminescence, as if bathed in moonlight no mortal eye had ever seen. The air shimmered with magic intoxicating, slow, thick like the first draw of smoke from a forbidden flame.

She lounged on a throne of moonstone, reclined, naked but for the strands of starlight curling around her limbs like liquid silk. Priestesses worshipped her not with prayers, but mouths and hands and whimpers soaked in devotion.

One nuzzled between her thighs, her tongue reverent and unhurried. Another pressed kisses along the inside of her arm, teeth grazing pale skin. The youngest still marked with the sacred ink of her first rite knelt beside the throne, suckling the goddess’s fingers with trembling lips.

But the Moon Goddess… watched elsewhere.

Her eyes were fixed on the mortal realm and on him.

Ronan Thorne.

Cursed beast.

Split soul.

The only one who had dared defile her sanctuary and take from her what no man had earned.

And even still, a part of her burned to own him.

The pool of divination reflected his image: tall and restless, his eyes shadowed, his spirit ragged. A man seeking to unravel himself for something he didn’t yet understand.

A growl of pleasure curled from her throat as a priestess’s tongue sent sparks along her nerves.

“You feel him,” the Moon Goddess murmured, her voice a velvet purr. “Don’t you, little wolves?”

The priestesses moaned in answer, fingers digging into her thighs as if the goddess’s arousal summoned their own.

“He’s closer now,” she whispered. “To surrender. To breaking.”

Another swirl of tongue. A flicker of her power across the temple. The floor trembled. Moans rose in unison like a choir of climax.

“Let him keep chasing shadows,” she said, arching her hips to meet the mouth below. “Let him think he’s making choices.”

Her laugh was low, cruel, and sweet as honeyed wine.

“He was mine the moment he made me scream in the holiest place on earth.”

And though her body writhed beneath the touch of her priestesses, her mind was already reaching for him again. Through the tether of the curse. Through every strained heartbeat. Through every breath he drew in confusion and craving.

The Moon Goddess watched him stalk through his world, restless and wild.

And she smiled, even as her body shook.

“He thinks he’s seeking her.” Her voice turned sharp with lust and prophecy. “But he’s only remembering me.”