Marvel Ronan Novels & Stories

He fought like hell not to be brought here. But when he speaks, his voice is saturated with panic. “Alpha, please. I didn’t touch the ledger. I swear it wasn’t me-” Ronan steps out of the shadows like he’s been there all along. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Tattoos crawling like black fire over his forearms. His eyes catch the weak winter sun and glow molten. I want to rip out the part of me that thinks he’s the most stunning sight I’ve ever laid eyes on.

But in the light of what Sebastian just told me, I couldn't help but wonder if Ronan had strategically placed himself in my life without me even knowing. Was he the "they" Sebastian was talking about? It made sense. Ronan Graves was the most powerful man in the city. He had the resources to buy the SEC, the connections to plant witnesses, and the patience to wait for me to fall right into his lap. Did he want me, or did he want the Drene empire? Or both? Ronan seemingly noticed my detachment. He glanced over, his eyes softening with a flicker of concern. He reached out, his hand hovering near mine as if trying to breach the space between us.

He looked stiff, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. "He's not moving right," Nora Bennett, the team's PR Alpha, muttered beside me. "Jack, what did you give him?" "A chance," I replied, my hands trembling in my lap. On the screen, Noah Vexley, a rival from the Shadowpine territory, checked Ronan into the boards. The impact sounded like a gunshot. Ronan didn't go down. He spun, his eyes catching the camera for a split second—they were blue, the color of a frozen lake, instead of his usual gold. The neutralizer was working, but it was killing his strength.

Right now, he was too busy enjoying my suffering to be useful. Beside him, Ronan—my Gamma—was the very picture of poorly contained amusement. A hulking brute with reddish-blond hair, blue eyes, and a wicked sense of humor, Ronan thrived on chaos. Where Elias was strategy, Ronan was instinct—a warrior through and through. My most trusted men. My closest friends. And the biggest pains in my ass. Ronan leaned forward, resting his muscled forearms on the table, barely suppressing his grin. “So… how’s the mate situation?”

"The monster is real. And you know it." His face went white. "Guards!" He shouted. "Arrest these people! They're dangerous!" The guards didn't move. Too many townspeople between us now. Too much hope in the air. Ronan stepped forward. Pushed through the crowd. Rolled up his sleeve. Showed his arm. The one that had shadow veins. Dark tendrils spread from his fingers. They are gone now. Healed. Only faint scars remained.

I vaguely wondered if Ronan would agree to a rematch, then realized that was probably a horrific idea. Through training, we’d discovered that Marni was an untapped fountain of talent. She could detect a threat well before the others, and her speed was unmatched. It didn’t get past me how much Xavier noticed too. The moment the moon crested, Aniyah and an Indigenous woman stepped in front of Ronan, who stood in front of a gigantic bonfire. They were both wearing gorgeous silk robes in shades of gold, red, and amber.

His golden eyes blazed with fury as he took in the scene—his wolves dead or wounded, a naked stranger standing between him and his prize. "Well, well," Ronan said, his voice dripping with contempt. "The half-blood found herself a protector." He laughed, and the sound was ugly. "Did you think one man could stop me? Did you think *anyone* could take what's mine?" Stellan didn't answer. He just stood there, blood dripping from fresh wounds, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed on Ronan with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Ronan studied him for a moment, and something flickered in his expression. Recognition? Confusion?

One of his eyes was gone too, sow shut by the doctor and leaving him with one eyes. “So Eric, I badly want to know, how did you play your game? Oracle, and also Eric as my beta.. you’re so good I need to learn from you.” Sounds of heels clicked into the room, revealing both Stacey and Lena. They both halted with the guard bringing them in, their eyes on Ronan. “My wife is here.” Ronan said with a beautiful smile, standing up from the bed and approaching her immediately. He pulled her into a hug, pecking both her cheeks before staring deep into her eyes,

Deflecting," he said. I wasn't stupid. I was aware that all of this was a part of his complex plan. Ronan wasn't a decent person. Nothing could alter the length of time spent in solitary confinement. if he was speaking up for Kieran and Lucien. Then he had a secret agenda of some kind. An old rage tightened in my throat as I took a stride toward him. Do you need me? Do you really believe that I would ever need you after everything, including attempting to usurp my reign and intimidating my wife?

The theater’s physical world was built by Ronan, the head set builder, a mountain of a man with sawdust in his beard and calloused hands. He was quiet, observant, and fiercely protective of his crew and his domain: the workshop and the stage itself. He’d seen Lila’s red eyes, Marta’s newfound silence, and the predatory way Kaelen shadowed Elara. Ronan’s loyalty was to the theater as a temple of craft, not to the god who currently defiled it.