Chapter 9 – The Hunt Resumes
Ronan's POV
The scent of her defiance lingered in the air.
Ronan stood motionless on the riverbank, his wet clothes plastered to his skin, golden eyes tracking the path where Selene had vanished. The forest loomed before him—silent, expectant, waiting for him to act. The distant rustling of leaves and the faint echo of her hurried breaths betrayed her desperate retreat.
She had fought him.
She had escaped him.
And now, she was running, thinking that she had gained the upper hand.
Ronan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as his muscles tightened with anticipation. His wolf stirred, restless and impatient. Every instinct within him screamed to give chase immediately—to crash through the underbrush, to follow her scent like a beast hunting down its mate.
But he didn't move.
Because Ronan wasn't just a beast.
He was a king.
And kings did not chase their prey.
They hunted.
The Wolf in the Shadows
He closed his eyes and listened.
The forest spoke to him in the language of movement and silence. The wind carried the shifting scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped—too sharp, too deliberate.
She's close.
But close was not enough.
Selene was fast—faster than most wolves he had encountered. She was desperate now, her heart hammering with the need to escape, and desperation could be unpredictable. If he rushed after her blindly, he risked giving her another opening.
So instead, he played the waiting game.
He lifted his head, inhaling deeply.
The fading traces of her scent carried through the cool night air. Rainwater and pine. A sharp tang of adrenaline. The unmistakable heat of defiance.
Ronan smirked.
She could run.
She could struggle.
But she couldn't change the fact that he had already won.
Because the moment she had fought him—had touched him, had burned her presence into his skin—she had sealed her fate.
She was his.
Whether she accepted it now or later didn't matter.
Because he had the patience of a hunter.
And patience always won.
The Strategy
Selene had likely chosen the most direct route—straight through the thickest part of the forest, hoping to lose him in the dense foliage.
It was a good tactic.
For someone who didn't know these lands better than they knew their own heartbeat.
Ronan did.
He didn't need to follow her exact path to find her.
He needed to predict her destination.
His golden eyes swept the darkened landscape.
The rogue lands stretched far beyond the river, vast and untamed. It was a place where survival meant knowing how to navigate treacherous cliffs, how to avoid the beasts that lurked in the shadows.
Selene had no allies here. No shelter.
But she wasn't thinking about that yet.
Right now, she was only thinking about putting as much distance between them as possible.
Which meant she was moving toward high ground.
There was a ridge not far from here, a sharp incline with loose rock and thick undergrowth. If she made it there, she might think she had a better vantage point, a chance to assess her next move.
But the ridge was also a dead end.
And Ronan?
He knew a faster way to reach it.
A slow smirk curled his lips as he shifted course, slipping through the trees with practiced ease. His movements were silent, his steps calculated. He wasn't chasing.
He was herding.
Because the moment Selene thought she had a moment to breathe—
He would be there.
Waiting.
The Hunt Tightens
Time stretched as Ronan moved through the forest, his body a shadow against the towering trees. The damp earth absorbed the sound of his footfalls, his breathing steady, controlled.
He reached the edge of the ridge before she did.
And then—
There.
A flicker of movement through the trees.
Selene's form darted into view, her breath coming in short gasps. Her soaked clothes clung to her, the moonlight catching the strands of her damp hair.
She wasn't just running anymore.
She was struggling.
His wolf rumbled in satisfaction.
Ronan stayed hidden, watching her movements with razor-sharp focus. She was favoring her right leg slightly—a sign of strain. She was breathing too hard now, her earlier sprint catching up to her.
She was strong. But she was mortal.
And mortals had limits.
She slowed near a fallen tree, pressing a hand against its damp bark, her shoulders rising and falling as she sucked in a deep breath.
Then she turned, scanning the darkness behind her.
Searching for him.
Ronan tilted his head.
Had she sensed him?
Or was she simply afraid of the monster lurking in the shadows?
A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
She should be.
Because he was closer than she realized.
And he was done waiting.
The King Strikes
He moved before she could react.
One moment, she was alone.
The next, the night shifted.
Selene felt him before she saw him—an oppressive weight in the air, a predator's presence pressing in around her. She spun just as he stepped from the shadows, golden eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Her breath hitched.
Ronan didn't speak.
Didn't lunge.
Didn't rush forward like some reckless beast.
He simply watched.
Selene's hands curled into fists, her body taut with resistance. "You're relentless," she bit out.
His lips quirked, slow and knowing. "You're predictable."
Her eyes flashed, her breath still ragged from the chase. "Then why haven't you caught me?"
Ronan chuckled, a low, rich sound. He took one step forward, and she tensed. "I already have."
Selene lunged—
Fast. Strong.
But Ronan had been expecting it.
She barely made it two steps before he moved.
One smooth motion. One heartbeat.
And suddenly, she was in his arms.
Her body slammed into his chest, her struggles wild and vicious, but he absorbed it—took every strike, every desperate attempt to free herself. His grip locked around her, firm but unyielding, heat radiating from his skin.
Her heart thundered against him.
And gods—so did his.
Selene growled, twisting violently in his grasp. "Let me go."
His fingers flexed around her wrist.
Then, he did.
She stumbled back, shocked, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She stared at him, disoriented, her hands clenched at her sides.
He had released her.
Why?
Ronan took a slow step forward, gaze never leaving hers.
"You still don't understand, do you?" His voice was quiet, but it commanded.
Selene's jaw clenched. "Understand what?"
His golden eyes burned.
"You're not running from me, little wolf."
His fingers brushed the edge of her jaw—just for a second. Just enough to make her shiver.
"You're running to me."
Selene's breath caught.
She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to snarl.
But Ronan was already gone.
Vanished into the trees.
Leaving her standing there—breathless, shaking, and completely unsure whether she had truly escaped at all.
Because for the first time—
She wasn't sure she wanted to.