7: Admiration

Ronnie's POV 

I blinked, my breath hitching in my throat. I knew that voice. Every instinct in my body recognized the predator standing over me.

The Lycan King.

He crouched down, his face finally coming into the light. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt dangerous. 

Those beautiful eyes pierced into mine, his gold necklace dangling just a little above me. 

"I sent the guards to give you a few minutes to round off," he muttered, reaching out a gloved hand to push a stray lock of hair from my forehead.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, which only made it more terrifying. "I didn't realize you were in such a hurry to meet me that you'd throw yourself under my wheels."

I tried to find my voice, to tell him to go to hell, but all that came out was a weak, pained wheeze.

"Well," he said, standing back up. 

"Since you're already here... let's waste no more time." 

By now, I could already hear the guards voice around the area. 

He reached down once again, scooping me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all.

"You're coming with me now. No more running."

He carried me toward a sleek, black SUV. 

He slid into the backseat, keeping me firm against his chest. The interior of the car smelled of expensive leather, cedarwood, and that thick smell of his. 

"To the pack’s hospital," he commanded, his voice slicing through the silence. "Now."

"But Sire," the driver stammered, glancing in the rearview mirror, "the Royal Infirmary is better equipped for..."

"Her injuries should wait for us to get to the Lycan Kingdom?" the King snapped. The air in the car grew heavy, the pressure of his command.

Without any further words, the car surged forward. I tried to stay awake, to track the turns and the landmarks, but the pain in my side and the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of the man holding me acted like a sedative.

 My vision blurred, the streetlights outside turning into long, golden smears of light. The last thing I felt was the rough texture of his coat against my cheek.

****

I woke up in stages. 

First, it was the smell. Antiseptic and lavender. Then, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

The room was bathed in the soft, blue glow of the moonlight filtering through a half-drawn curtain. My body felt heavy, wrapped in bandages that restricted my movement, but the sharp, stabbing pain had faded into a dull, manageable ache.

I shifted my head slowly, expecting to see a nurse or perhaps my mom. Instead, my breath caught.

He was still there.

The Lycan King hadn't left. He was sitting on a small, uncomfortable-looking couch pushed against the far wall.

His long legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. His head was tilted back, resting against the cold hospital wall, and his eyes were shut.

In the silence of the night, without the terrifying weight of his gaze, I found myself staring. I couldn't stop. He had shed his coat and his gloves, leaving him in a dark shirt. He looked… human. Almost. 

Driven by a sudden, reckless impulse, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor, sending a shiver up my spine. I stood up, swaying for a moment until the dizziness passed, and crept toward him.

Every step felt like a gamble with my life. When I reached the couch, I held my breath, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looked so peaceful, so still. I reached out, my fingers trembling. I needed to know if he was real, or if this was some fever dream brought on by the accident.

I brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from his forehead, revealing the full symmetry of his face. My hand lingered, my fingertips grazing the warmth of his skin. I trailed my hand down his temple, over the high curve of his cheekbone, and down to the edge of his jaw. His skin was slightly rough. 

I froze, heart hammering against my ribs.

 I leaned in closer, double-checking his eyes. They stayed shut. No flicker of the lids, no change in his breathing. He was deep asleep.

Now, my mind whispered. Now is the only chance you’ll ever get. 

The admiration snapped like a brittle twig. What was I doing? Touching him? Admiring the man who had hunted me down?

I turned away from his sleeping form, my movements hurried and frantic. I reached the heavy wooden door of the hospital room and pressed my weight against it. It swung open with a soft groan.

I stepped into the hallway, my heart leaping with the hope of the night air... only to slam into a wall of black tactical gear.

I gasped, reeling back. The hallway wasn't empty. It was lined with guards, two deep, standing like statues on either side of the door. Their eyes were cold, fixed forward, but their presence was an absolute, impenetrable barrier.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice didn't come from the guards. It came from behind me.

I spun around, my back hitting the doorframe. The Lycan King wasn't on the couch anymore. He was standing in the center of the room, his silhouette towering and immense. There was no trace of sleep in his posture, no softness in his expression.

He walked toward me, his movements slow and predatory, exactly like the wolf he carried inside. He stopped just inches away, his shadow swallowing me whole. Fear, cold and paralyzing, gripped my throat.

"The door is guarded, Ronnie," he said softly, leaning down until his lips were level with my ear. "And the windows are high. I told you before... no more running."

"And let me warn you. If you try to run once again, you might as well kiss your mother and that talkative friend of yours goodbye." 

Those words though spoken softly, made me freeze.