Novel & Cerita Stargate Ronon Dex

Standing in the center of the room, right next to a heavy armored transport vehicle, was my father. Alpha Ronan looked broken. His wool coat was gone, his white shirt stained with grease and the blood of his own retreating enforcers. He was kneeling beside a large, black industrial crate, his fingers typing a series of master commands into the glowing yellow keypad of a military-grade demolition timer. Time Remaining: One Minute, Thirty Seconds. "Ronan!" Darius’s voice was a lethal roar that bounced off the high marble pillars, his hand instantly going to the silver-plated revolver at his hip.

“Ronan.” *** Thoughts??? ***

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.

“You’re doing the right thing.” A knock sounded at the door before either of us could speak again. Ronon entered without waiting for permission, as usual. But this time… he looked different. His face was drawn, tired. The bravado had dulled into something hollow. “What’s wrong?” Dax asked. I didn’t bother. Whatever storm Ronon was weathering—probably involving Stasia—was his burden. I didn’t have the energy to carry it for him. Ronon glanced at me, hesitating before asking, “Why are you really summoning Mark? Is it serious?”

The metallic scent of his blood still clung to my nostrils. "Okay, great, I have a monster in my chest," I said, my voice rising as I took another step toward her, my boots slamming against the rug. The sound echoed in the quiet office, punctuating my desperation. "But how can that save Ronan? How does any of this help him right now?" My voice broke on his name. "He's down there in the infirmary, his core is literally eating his lungs, and the doctors are standing around watching him die! They're giving up on him!" Elara leaned forward, her fingers interlocking over her desk. The candlelight caught the silver rings on her fingers, making them gleam like small moons. Her expression shifted, b

"You are sacrificing an empire for an asset that already belongs to the Afolayan executioner, Ronan Blackwell. Has your wolf completely lost its sanity to a delusion?" Ronan sighed, the heavy steel door sliding open as he prepared to step into the neon-lit rain of the lower district. "Miss Jimenez, your unit has clearly never experienced the raw weight of a true mate selection, but when that frequency locks, even the largest empire on the map looks like a pile of spent brass."

Tessa asked. “Moderately. The tunnels are the problem. They give him multiple exit options and we can’t cover all of them simultaneously without splitting our force in a way that creates gaps.” “So he chose it deliberately,” Ronan said. “Everything Dexter does is deliberate,” I said. Nina had come in during this, moving to stand beside me at the table with the quiet naturalness of someone who belonged at the center of things and had stopped apologizing for it. I felt her presence settle against my left side and felt the bond warm in response.

Kaireen's Pov Rixon pushed through the door before the guards could react, his face tight with the particular expression of someone who had been standing outside listening to every word and had finally decided enough was enough. He was Ronan's third in command, tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair that was always slightly too long and a scar across his left eyebrow that gave him a permanent look of skepticism, and right now that skepticism was directed entirely at the scene on the floor. He moved to Celeste immediately, his hands careful as he helped her up from where she had fallen, supporting her weight as she gasped and clutched at his arm, her face pale and twisted with pain that I k

I look down the wide corridor, my breath hitching when my eyes land on him. Ronan. He's standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his sharp eyes observing my every move like a hawk's. He's standing straight and his face is expressionless, so I can't really say if he's angry or happy to see me. He's tall — over six point five — and built as a tree trunk. His hair is dark and long, falling over his shoulder. His got his left hand on the wall, leaning against it, and a whiskey bottle in his right which he grips tighter as he watches me with the same fiery hunger as the betas outside. Thick stubble lines his jawline, his lips full, his biceps bulging and sleek with sweat. Everything about him scre

>