Chapter 5 Her Secret

Sienna

There was a knock at the door, and the sound of it broke the silence in my small home like something sharp, something angry, and my heart leapt into my throat. I froze, the dish towel gripped in my hands. 

It was getting late, the moon was barely shining outside, and nobody came here. This was my rural sanctuary outside the pack, outside of him. My wolf bristled, alert, her hackles raised as I padded across the living room, my naked feet chilled against the hardwood.

I turned the handle, and my breath caught in my chest. There stood Ronan Blackwood, his gray eyes glowing, his massive form filling the porch, exuding fury. My wolf whined, the old bond thrumming in my chest, raw and unwelcome, pulling me back to that night two years ago.

"Ronan," I called quietly, my voice shaking, my hands gripping the door frame so I wouldn't fall over. He didn’t pause, walking past me, his tread heavy, the door slamming behind him. 

My little living room collapsed under his presence, the low watt light of a thrift store lamp shading his sharp jaw, his dark hair. He spun me around, catching me by the shoulders and slamming me up against the wall. His smell — cedar and smoke — overwhelmed me, bringing back memories I’d suppressed. My wolf whimpered between fear and a backstabbing pull towards him.

“You actually believed you could escape from me forever?” he growled, his voice low, feral, his breath hot on my neck.  My heart beat sped up and my body trembled in his firm grip. 

“I’m not hiding,” I said, more afraid than it sounded. “I left. You told me to go, remember?” His eyes narrowed, his fingers clenching, the moment my poor wolf shied down but I held his gaze, my heart hammering in my chest.

“You ran,” he hissed, his voice sharp, his face inches from mine. “No word, no trace. Two years, Sienna. Two years of nothing.” I saw the flicker in his eyes: hurt, maybe, or something close. 

“You called me nothing,” I snapped, my voice cracking, tears stinging behind my eyes. “You told me I didn’t fit in your world. What was I supposed to do? Stay and beg?” His jaw tight, his breathing a pant. 

“You should have told me where you were going,” he said now in a colder, accusatory voice. 

“You vanished. And do you know what that did to me?” A bitter, broken sound escaped me and I pushed my hands weakly against his chest; they were nothing against his strength. 

“What it did to you? You broke me, Ronan. You threw me out like trash. We felt the bond, you did too, but you —”

“Nothing of the kind existed,” he snapped, his voice cutting my words in two. 

“You imagined it. You’re an omega, Sienna. You don’t know how I feel!” My wolf howled and the ache of his rejection two years before came back to me, fresh and scorching. 

“Don’t give me a lie,” I whispered, my voice shaking, tears breaking free. 

“I felt it. You kissed me and held me and told me I was yours. Was that nothing too?” He stiffened, dropping me for half a second which his eyes flashed into mine. 

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, but still firm. 

“You can’t. My world does not bend around you.” I shook my head, my hands shaking as I pushed at him once more.

“Then why are you here?” I shouted, my voice climbing, stripped of wound.  “If I am nobody, why did you come? Why come looking for me after two years?”

“’Cause you belong to me,” he snarled, his hands tightening once more and his lips at my ear, sending a shiver down my spine even though I was seething.  My wolf swelled, unable to betray the pull of this human—a traitor I battled, my heart a whirling tempest of fear and rage. 

“I was never yours,” I said, my voice low, my voice breaking. “You told me to leave. So why now, Ronan? What do you want from me?”

His mouth opened  but before he could reply, a low cry struck the air, a low lamentable sound from somewhere beyond in the rear. My heart dropped and my blood went cold. Ronan’s wolf stilled, body tensing, hands falling away from my shoulders.

“What was that?” he inquired, his tone low and menacing, and his eyes darted to the hallway. I went in front of him, my arms outstretched, all the more scared. “No,” I said, my voice sharp, and urgent. “Ronan, don’t.”

He pushed by me, my shoulder gracing his but I stumbled along, my breath catching as he walked in front. My heart raced, my wolf whimpering, protectiveness roaring. He paused in the doorway of the nursery. I was behind him, crying, my hands shaking while holding on to the doorframe. 

There, in the crib, lay our son — barely 2, his black hair tousled, his gray eyes, keen and piercing, blinking up at us. He held a stuffed wolf I’d made, his small face eager, unafraid. Ronan’s voice cracked, a raw splintering sound. “…Mine?” 

I stiffened, my throated tightened, tears pooled on my lashes as I moved closer, my hand hovering over the wall. My voice came out as a whisper, barely heard, weighted by two years’ worth of secrets. “Ours.” 

He glared at the boy, his fists bunched at his sides, his wolf wordless.