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Chapter Nine: Home, At Last

Selene’s POV

The cheering had faded. The ceremony was over.

And though the crowd had seen strength in me, I was tired to my bones.

Ronan didn’t say anything. He just scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing. I didn’t ask where we were going. I trusted him. That was enough.

The wind brushed past my face, soft and cool. I laid my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Calming.

Then we arrived.

It was a small stone house tucked between thick pine trees at the far edge of the pack lands. The roof was overgrown with moss. Ivy curled around the walls like vines trying to hold the house together. It was beautiful in a quiet, forgotten way.

“I haven’t stepped foot here since Kael sent me away,” he said softly, setting me down. “It still smells like dust and old firewood.”

I smiled a little. “Then maybe it’s time we bring it back to life.”

We pushed open the creaky door together, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the cloud of dust that flew out to greet us. He coughed and waved it away, and I reached up to open the windows, letting the golden light pour in.

We started cleaning—he swept the floor while I picked up fallen books, old blankets, and broken candles. At one point, we both reached for the same cup on the table and our fingers touched. We froze. Then we laughed.

It was stupid. Silly. But it felt good.

We moved through the house like two kids discovering something forgotten. When I found an old painting of him and his wolf form, I raised my brow. “You looked angry.”

“I was angry,” he said. “Kael had just burned my favorite jacket.”

I giggled again.

That moment of lightness faded when I tripped near the hearth and landed hard on my knees. I hissed quietly.

“Selene?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered, but he was already by my side, kneeling.

His hands were gentle as he checked my leg. His brow furrowed.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

I looked away, embarrassed. “It’s just from training. And the rocks.”

He stood and walked away, only to return with a worn-out wooden box—the first aid kit.

“Sit,” he said, voice soft.

I obeyed.

He knelt in front of me and opened the box. His fingers worked with care—ripping cloth, cleaning the wound, dabbing on healing balm. I winced at the sting, but not because of the pain. Because of him. Because of how his hand touched me like I was fragile but strong at the same time.

When he was done, I met his eyes.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied. “I’d do it a thousand times.”

I didn’t look away this time. And neither did he.

His hand brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. His thumb lingered on my jaw. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t afraid.

“I thought I lost everything,” I whispered.

“You didn’t lose me,” he said.

And then—he kissed me.

Not soft, not hesitant. This time, it was real. Deep. His lips moved against mine like he’d been waiting too long. I gasped against him, and he pulled me closer. My hands tangled in his shirt, holding him like I didn’t want him to ever let go.

We stumbled backward until my back hit the wall. He kissed my neck, slow and warm, and I felt myself melt into him.

“Tell me this is okay,” he whispered against my skin.

“It’s more than okay,” I breathed.

He lifted me into his arms again, carried me through the dusty hallway, into a room that still smelled faintly of cedar and forest rain. He laid me gently on the old bed, as though he was afraid I’d vanish.

I pulled him down with me.

There were no words anymore. Just hands. Mouths. Touch. His fingers traced every bruise, every mark, every place that had once hurt, and made them feel beautiful.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t take.

He loved.

And I let him.

We moved slowly, like the world outside didn’t matter. Like this house, this moment, was the only thing that existed. I had never felt so seen. So wanted. So whole.

When we were done, we laid in silence. My head rested on his chest. His arm curled around my waist.

For the first time in what felt like forever—I felt safe.

Not because he was strong.

But because he saw me. The real me. And stayed.

I looked up at him and whispered, “This… this is home.”

And he replied, “Only if you stay.”

I nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere.”