Stargate Atlantis Ronon Novels & Stories

Chapter Four: Controlled Breach The alarm cut off mid-tone. That was worse than it continuing. Ronan reacted instantly. He moved Elliot without touching skin gripping the back of the chair, hauling it several feet away from the open center of the room and into the shadowed angle between two reinforced walls. It was fast, efficient, impersonal. Necessary. “Stay,” Ronan said. Elliot laughed breathlessly. “You’re really enjoying that word.” Ronan ignored him. He was already in motion, pulling an earpiece from his pocket, activating a secure channel that hadn’t been used in years.

~ SELENE ~ I wake to find that I'm in a hospital, being attended by a very nice doctor. At first, I think I am dreaming, but after the doctor recounts how I was driven here by a group of men, who I shortly discover are Ronan Bane, Killan Hale, Cain Winchester, and Draven Thorn, I know it is not a dream.

Silver-black Lunar energy spiraled uncontrollably around his body while shattered tunnel walls collapsed in his wake. Several sanctuary guardians attempted stopping him near the lower district crossing. Bad decision. The moment one wolf reached for his weapon, Ronan’s unstable energy detonated outward violently enough to throw all of them backward across the corridor. “I said move.” The guardians obeyed instantly. Not because of his title. Because the Alpha standing before them no longer looked completely sane. One older guardian stared at the glowing fractures spreading across Ronan’s skin and whispered fearfully, “He’s becoming synchronized.” The others backed away immediately.

It was lucky no one else was on the road at the time. An EMT was standing by the perimeter of the taped-off scene. I didn’t know him, but he seemed to know me. “Alpha Grey,” he said as I approached. “Can’t say I’m too surprised to see you, but it is unexpected.” “I am making it a personal mission to end these Rogue attacks,” I said, allowing my aura to do some persuading. “It shouldn’t have to affect me personally for me to give a damn.” “Quite noble of you,” he said, without shade or judgement. “I’m Ronan, my associate Erina is with the victims.”

He looked like someone who enjoyed trouble and he looked familiar “I wasn’t lost,” Hazel muttered. “Sure,” the man drawled. “Wandering around alone, looking over your shoulder every five seconds? Definitely not lost.” Hazel narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?” He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Luna. The Alpha’s mate doesn’t even know my name.” Hazel’s nose scrunched. “Don’t call me that.” The man chuckled. “I’m Ronan. Callan’s Beta. Second in command. Keeper of secrets, we saw during breakfast”

One wrong move, one sudden breath, and the small gamekeeper’s cottage would become a slaughterhouse. Ronan did not flinch. His massive frame remained perfectly still, a solid wall of black tactical gear between me and the rifles. He did not look at Captain Kaelen, nor did he look at Taylon. Slowly, deliberately, Ronan turned his head slightly over his shoulder, his stormy grey eyes meeting mine. There was no fear in his gaze, only a quiet, absolute devotion.

My stomach feels like it’s tied in three knots—fear, grief, and possibility. The stone of the walls looms on either side, familiar and suffocating. The gate ahead is a heavy wooden structure banded with iron, standing open a crack. Two guards flank it. They look… uneasy. Not hostile. Between them, in the gap where the outside world shows like a new page stands Ronan. He’s not in armor. Just a dark shirt, sleeves rolled, throat bare. No visible weapons. His hair is a little messier than usual, like he’s run his hands through it too often. His eyes are fixed on us.

But then, a shadow shifted in the distance—a flicker of movement just beyond the gates. My breath caught, and I instinctively stepped back my pulse racing. --- I hurried to find Ronan, bursting into the strategy room without knocking. “There’s someone out there,” I blurted, my voice trembling. Ronan’s head snapped up, and in an instant, he was on his feet, grabbing his gun from the table. “Where?” “At the gates,” I said, struggling to steady my breathing. “I saw something move.” Without hesitation, Ronan issued orders to his men. “Lock down the compound. No one gets in or out without my say.”

He could release the gate, turn, and take the constructs apart piece by piece, buying her time to run into a hail of darts. Or— Ronan looked at the device in the lead Hunter’s hands. He knew the type: signal disruptor—short‑range, directional—designed to break bonds they didn’t understand well enough to respect. He released the gate. Metal crashed into the floor, dust blooming. Kiera flinched. “Ronan—" He stepped backward into the Hunting Floor, placed his body squarely between her and every direction pain would come from, and bared his teeth at the world.