Chapter 4:A dangerous proximity

The firelight flickered against the stone walls, casting shifting shadows as Selene paced the length of the chamber. The tension in her body refused to settle, her muscles coiled tight from the night’s battle. She had survived the ambush. Barely. But the true danger wasn’t behind her. It was standing in the doorway, watching her like a wolf cornering its prey.

Ronan.

She could feel his presence, the quiet intensity of his golden eyes fixed on her. The air between them was thick with something volatile, something she refused to name.

“You’ll wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up,” he said, amusement lacing his deep voice.

Selene halted mid-step, turning sharply to face him. “I should have left when I had the chance.”

Ronan pushed off the doorframe and took slow, measured steps toward her. He moved with a confidence that made her blood hum with frustration—and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“And yet,” he said smoothly, “you didn’t.”

Selene clenched her fists. She hated how he did this—how he unraveled her control with so little effort. It wasn’t fair. Nothing about Ronan was fair. He was too strong, too alluring, too dangerous.

She narrowed her eyes. “I had a mission.”

His gaze dipped slightly, just for a second, before he met her eyes again. “And now?”

Selene’s breath caught. She could still feel the heat of battle on her skin, but the way he was looking at her made it clear this was a different kind of war.

Now she was trapped in his stronghold, surrounded by his people, with no clear escape. She wasn’t a prisoner—at least, not technically—but she knew better than to think he’d let her go easily.

Now, she wasn’t just fighting against him. She was fighting against herself.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. “Now I wonder if trusting you was a mistake.”

Ronan’s lips curled into a slight smirk, though his eyes held something deeper, something unreadable. “You don’t trust me,” he said quietly. “But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?”

She hated that he could read her so well, that he always seemed to know what was beneath her words.

“Stay out of my head, Ronan.”

“Then stay out of mine.” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “You’re not the only one fighting something here, Selene.”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t want to ask what he meant—didn’t want to acknowledge the weight in his voice.

But then he moved closer, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air between them.

Selene forced herself to hold her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to step back. Not because she feared him—no, Ronan had never given her reason to fear him.

She feared herself.

He reached out, fingers brushing against her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and immediate, like lightning meeting water. It was barely a touch, nothing more than a whisper against her skin. But it held weight.

Selene didn’t pull away.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

✦✦✦

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that—locked in a silent war neither of them dared name. But the moment shattered when Ronan finally stepped back.

The loss of warmth was almost worse than the touch itself.

Selene exhaled sharply, turning away before he could see the turmoil in her expression. She needed space, needed air, needed—

“You’re shaking.”

His voice was quiet, but the words struck like a blade.

Selene’s fingers curled into her palm. He was right. Beneath the adrenaline and the frustration, her body was still reeling from the fight. The ambush had been brutal, and she had barely made it out unscathed.

She didn’t want him to see her like this. Weak.

“I’m fine.”

Ronan’s silence was heavy. Then, before she could stop him, he reached for her arm, gently this time, his fingers skimming over the tear in her sleeve.

She flinched before she could stop herself.

His expression darkened. “You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing.”

He made a sound low in his throat, something close to a growl. “Sit.”

She shot him a glare. “I said I’m fine.”

Ronan stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. “And I don’t believe you.”

The words hung between them, a silent challenge.

Selene knew she could refuse. She could push him away, throw up her defenses like she always did. But she was too tired to fight this battle tonight.

With a sharp breath, she sat on the edge of the nearby chair, shoulders rigid.

Ronan knelt in front of her, his touch surprisingly gentle as he pushed back her sleeve. Blood had dried along a shallow cut on her forearm—nothing serious, but enough to sting.

He said nothing as he reached for a cloth and a small vial from the nearby table. The room was too quiet, the air too charged. She should have looked away, should have focused on anything but the way his fingers moved with careful precision.

But she didn’t.

Ronan dipped the cloth into the liquid and pressed it lightly to her skin. The sharp sting made her inhale sharply, and his golden eyes flicked up, watching her reaction.

“I thought you said it was nothing,” he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

His jaw tightened. “That doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”

Selene swallowed. She wasn’t used to this. Not from him. Ronan was fierce, ruthless when necessary—but there was something else here, something softer beneath the rough edges.

“Why do you care?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

His hands stilled against her arm.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, his gaze lifted, and something in his expression made her pulse stutter.

“Because,” he said, voice low, “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Selene’s breath caught.

She wanted to look away, to pretend she hadn’t heard the quiet sincerity in his tone. But she couldn’t.

Ronan finished tending to her wound, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.