Ronan Kree Novels & Stories

“Ronan.” *** Thoughts??? ***

And at the center of it all, undefeated, untouchable, was Kane Shawn. Standing at 6'5", with a body carved from years of brutal discipline, he was a titan among men. His blonde curls were damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead as he rolled his shoulders, his enormous arms flexing with ease. His skin glistened under the dim lights, his six-pack rippling with every movement. But it was his face that truly set him apart a masterpiece of sharp lines and perfect imperfections. His light blue eyes had the power to pierce through a man's soul, making even the most confident opponents hesitate. His lips, full and sinful, often twisted into a smirk that made women weak and men envious.

Still nothing. One of the guards grabs my shoulder, squeezing hard. "Answer when spoken to." I look up, slow and calm, eyes burning. "I wasn’t aware being prey required introductions." The silence that follows is sharp as broken glass. Then—a growl. And *him*. Ronan Maddox. He steps from the shadows behind the dais, tall and broad, wrapped in command like a second skin. He wears black leather and the Crescent crest over his heart. His face is harder than I remember—sharper jaw, colder eyes. Stormclouds over wildfire.

Furthermore, I implore you, if you struggle with any body dysmorphic or eating disorder and feel literature could be triggering or damaging, please read with caution. Secondly, Creature is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Certain long-standing institutions (like the Royal Opera House and Bolshoi Ballet) are mentioned, but the characters involved are completely imaginary. . ｡༶・° T E R M I N O L O G Y °・༶ ｡.

“I should kill you right here. You're worthless. Half breed. “ Knox said as he continued to squeeze. Nora’s vision faded to black as her body slumped. Knox groaned as Nora passed out. He let go and let her fall to the ground. As he let go her body automatically inhaled. Knox huffed looking at her. He let his anger get the best of him now he had to carry her to the dungeon. Mallory kept quiet as they pulled up to an old stone building. She glanced over at Ronan who seemed like he was contemplating his next move. He let out a small sigh and then looked at Mallory. “Wait here.” He said firmly but was looking at her hard. “What are we doing?” Mallory said not really responding to the wait here.

Annie is panting practically, making me nauseous on his scent. I see the warriors behind him, waiting for his signal. He must be high up in command. He looks strong and powerful, maybe a Gamma or a warrior chief or something. “He’s handsome as hell Dana”. Annie… Now is not the time and shit, he has my knife in his shoulder. Annie freezes… “you bladed our mate you bitch”. I scoff, yeah well I didn’t know he was mid air.. Besides, the last thing I need is a man telling me what to do.

The door to the deepest cell groaned open as I approached. And there he was. Ronan Grey. Strapped to a reinforced cross-like frame, his wrists and ankles bound tightly with iron chains designed specifically for wolves like him. His body was bruised, blood dried in streaks across his skin, but he wasn’t broken. Not mentally. Not yet. The moment his eyes locked onto mine, everything in him snapped forward. “You!” he snarled instantly, straining against the restraints until the metal bit deeper into his skin. “What did you do to her?! Where is Vexia?!”

One moment, a warrior would be sharpening his blade; the next, black veins would spiderweb across his throat, and his eyes would wash over with a milky, violet film. "They aren't dying," Kael shouted, pinning a thrall against the stone wall. It was a young guard he had trained since boyhood, but the boy was no longer there. The thrall snarled, snapping its teeth with bone-breaking force, its strength doubled by the supernatural rot. "Ronan, they’re still breathing, but there’s nothing left inside!" Ronan stood in the center of the courtyard, his wolf prowling at the edges of his consciousness. He looked at the dozen thralls already restrained by the Winter-Fang guards. These were his people—

“I just thought about something. Yeah.” That was convincing enough, because her eyes moved from my face back to the view before us outside the window. Ronan stood out in the garden, bare-chested, wearing only a pair of cream-colored combat shorts that barely reached his knees. The early morning sun kissed his skin as he watered the flowers, splashing water playfully into the air. The water doing justice to his whole body too. Water ran down his broad shoulders, over the hard ridges of his abs, and disappeared into the waistband of his shorts. His chestnut hair was damp, messy, and sticking to his forehead.

About 40 minutes after our arrival a doctor stepped into the room. “Are you Miss Clarke’s family?” He asked. “Yes, I'm her fiancé, Nick Thorn, and this is my brother, Elio.” “Nick, I'm Dr Aleka. Why don’t you take a seat.” “I shook my head, is she alright? Please just tell me if she’s alive.” “Yes, please take a seat.” I did as instruct and took a seat opposite him. I felt a momentary wave of relief wash over me but there was something about his tone of voice and the look on his face that told me something was seriously wrong.