Ronan 소설 & 이야기

JORDAN Ronan let out a harsh, pained wheeze, his hazel eyes flashing with a mixture of profound exhaustion and genuine frustration as he desperately gripped my forearm to alleviate the crushing pressure. "I swear to the Goddess that I knew absolutely nothing about the betrothal until the Alpha formally announced it to the inner circle this morning, Jordan," Ronan choked out, his voice rough and strained from the compounding physical injuries I kept inflicting upon him. "You are losing your mind, and you are attacking the wrong 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.

The word echoed in the quiet he brought with him. Ash stepped forward, standing slightly between Liora and the stranger. His knife was in his hand. “Who are you?” he asked, voice rough from running. The man’s sad smile stayed. He kept his eyes on Liora. “My name is Ronan. I was your grandmother’s husband.” “Prove it,” Kael said sharply, his hand on his broken knife. He watched Ronan like a hunter would watch prey. “The forest is full of liars tonight.”

“Grey?” Ronan clutched his chest in offense. “Grey? Seriously? Why do you think so little of me?” Nerina rolled her eyes. “Grey is not little.” “It is little,” he argued. “It is very little.” “Actually,” Aleron cut in, smirking, “it suits you.” “Shut up,” Ronan snapped, and quickly slid into a seat just to avoid further humiliation. “Anyway. Mine’s brown.” Nerina gasped. “Brown? Really? That’s…aww! I love it!”

Her pulse raced. Her breath quivered. Her wolf-less body wavered between obedience and terror. Yes. Yes. Bend. She lifted the blade. Rosalyn frowned, startled. “Maxine? What are you…?” Maxine lunged. But just as the blade grazed Rosalyn’s wrist… a sharp CRACK erupted. Maxine collapsed, unconscious. Someone stood behind her. I felt it before I saw it. A familiar signature of rage and blood. Lorenzo.

He shone a flashlight into the car, illuminating her pale face and tangled auburn hair. Elena winced, unbuckling her seatbelt. "I think my ankle's twisted. Can you help me out?" He hesitated, scanning the woods as if expecting company. "Name's Ronan. Ronan Hale. This road's no place for a city girl at night." He yanked the door open, offering a gloved hand. His grip was iron-strong, pulling her free with ease. Up close, he smelled of pine and smoke, his frame towering over her five-foot-six.

A massive figure stood blocking the exit, his silhouette etched against the dim, dust-choked light. Ronan Stone. He was built like a mountain carved from granite. Broad shoulders, thick neck, fists like sledgehammers. His hair was dark and shaggy, his jaw covered in a coarse shadow of stubble. Where Kael was polished cruelty and Zephyr was icy calculation, Ronan was raw, unfiltered violence. He didn’t wear a uniform. He wore a tight black tank top that strained across his chest, his thick arms covered in a lattice of scars.

I nodded, acknowledging his request, "Anything else, sir?" He snorted, settling himself behind his desk, "Yes, stop calling me sir or Mr. Astor. You've lasted as my assistant longer than anyone, bar Katie," his face soured at the mention of her name, lips curling into a snarl, "and you aren't doing any of the stuff she did to keep her job so you've impressed me. Might as well give you the privilege to call me Gunnar." I looked at him with a look of utter astonishment. Did he suddenly see the light inside the bathroom or maybe the ghost of Christmas future approached him?

Although he is sure, Ronan had a different personality from Robut. Ronan had already tied up the second corpse when two others arrived, one guard named Turu, the other being Robut. Rena sat up straighter and she refused to look at them. Her eyes are only on Ronan and his agile movements again tied the roots together for the safety of the corpse.

She asks in a low nervous voice. I look at her, and sigh as I take a few steps and sit next to Brandon, placing my hands on my knees and pulling my body forward. I run my fingers through my face, letting an irritated grunt out. "Her name is Roxanne, Roxanne Bennett. We dated back in high school, a few months before graduation and well, unfortunately things didn't end well. We broke up towards the middle of my freshman year in college, when she confessed to be with someone else. I was able to avoid talking to her while she was busy with her new boyfriend. When things didn't work out with him, she kept coming around, calling me, sending me emails and even visiting my uncle back home whenever w