Chapter 10 – The Rogue King's Hunt
Ronan's POV
Ronan stood on the bank, his breath steady despite the fire roaring beneath his skin. His clothes clung to him, soaked and heavy, but he didn't feel the cold. All he felt was her absence.
Selene had escaped.
She had fought, clawed, and burned through every ounce of her strength to flee him.
And she had won this round.
Ronan exhaled slowly, lifting his gaze to the moonlit forest beyond the river. The land stretched endlessly, thick with twisted trees and sharp terrain—a dangerous place for someone alone, especially someone like her.
Yet, instead of frustration, something darker curled in his chest.
Satisfaction.
She ran.
And he would hunt her.
This wasn't over. It would never be over.
She was his.
Ronan rolled his shoulders, the movement controlled, precise. He let his wolf rise just enough to sharpen his senses, to track her through the damp earth and lingering traces of her scent.
Selene was fast. Smart. Fierce.
But she had made one mistake.
She thought she could outrun him.
The Strategy
He didn't follow immediately.
No—he let the tension settle, let the night close around him. Let her think she had gained distance.
Selene would keep moving, convinced every shadow held his presence, every sound meant he was near.
That fear, that anticipation—it was part of the game.
She wouldn't stop.
Not yet.
And that was exactly what he needed.
His wolf prowled beneath his skin, eager to run, to chase, to devour the distance between them. But Ronan forced control. He would not hunt blindly.
Selene was unpredictable.
But so was he.
Instead of immediately running after her, he lifted his head, scenting the air. The rogue lands were his kingdom. He knew every tree, every hidden path, every place she might try to take refuge.
And she had nowhere to go.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
If Selene thought the river had saved her, she would soon learn.
There was no escaping the Rogue King.
Only delaying the inevitable.
The Hunt Resumes
The night stretched before him, thick with shadows and secrets. He took his time crossing the river, the water rushing around him, but his movements were deliberate. Controlled.
Selene had gone north. He could smell it—the sharp, lingering trace of her mixed with the damp scent of the forest.
But Ronan wasn't going to chase her directly.
No.
That was what she expected.
Instead, he veered west.
Selene would move in bursts—running until exhaustion forced her to slow. She would find shelter, a place she thought was safe.
That was when he would strike.
A slow, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest as he moved, his wolf sharpening every step, every sense.
Selene had challenged him.
Now, he would remind her who the true predator was.
And when he found her—
He wouldn't let her go.
Not this time.
The River Took Her. But Not for Long.
The cold water lapped at the shore, reflecting the moonlight in rippling silver waves. Ronan stood motionless, his golden eyes locked on the spot where Selene had disappeared. His chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, but beneath the calm surface of his composure, something dark twisted and burned.
Selene had slipped through his fingers.
For the first time.
And the last.
Ronan dragged a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as his gaze flickered toward the dense tree line across the river. The scent of damp earth and pine filled his lungs, but beneath it—beneath the wildness of the rogue lands—he could still catch the faintest trace of her.
She thought she had escaped.
She thought the river had saved her.
She was wrong.
Ronan's lips curled, slow and knowing.
This was only the beginning.
The Strategy: A Wolf in the Dark
He didn't move immediately.
No. That was what she expected.
Selene would be running, her body worn from the fight, her mind racing with a single desperate thought: stay ahead of him.
But running wasn't enough.
Not against him.
Instead of charging after her, Ronan crouched low, pressing his hand into the wet earth. He let his fingers sink into the mud, grounding himself in the land that had shaped him—the land that belonged to him.
He could almost hear her heartbeat in the wind.
Fast. Desperate.
She had always fought him. From the first moment she had bared her teeth in defiance, from the first time she had challenged him instead of surrendering like so many others.
And he had let her.
Had let her believe she had a choice.
But now?
Now, she would learn.
Ronan exhaled, slow and controlled. Then, without a sound, he pushed to his feet.
Instead of following her directly, he turned west, moving parallel to her path.
Selene was smart—but he was smarter.
She wouldn't run in a straight line for long. She would veer, searching for shelter, a place to rest. She would try to lose him in the twisting, tangled terrain of the rogue lands.
But Ronan knew these lands better than anyone.
And he knew her.
The chase wasn't about speed—it was about control.
She was running out of desperation.
He was hunting with intent.
And there was only one way this ended.
The Forest Whispers Her Name
Ronan moved like a shadow between the trees.
Silent. Unstoppable.
The forest welcomed him. The underbrush didn't slow him, the uneven terrain barely registered beneath his steps. Every muscle in his body was taut, prepared, his wolf just beneath the surface—eager. Waiting.
Selene had never seen him like this.
Not fully.
She had seen the king. The leader of rogues. The warrior who commanded an army.
But she had never seen the hunter.
Not until tonight.
He inhaled deeply, picking apart the scents carried by the wind. She was close. The river had washed away some of her trail, but not all of it.
And the further she ran?
The sloppier her movements would become.
Ronan's smirk widened.
She was leaving him breadcrumbs.
A broken branch. The faintest indentation in the soil. The lingering scent of her desperation.
He moved faster.
She wouldn't stop yet. Not when she thought she had a chance.
But the moment she did—
That was when he would strike.
Memories of the Past, Fuel for the Hunt
As Ronan moved, his mind drifted—not to the hunt, but to her.
Selene.
The girl who had once been promised to another. The girl who had been raised in a world so different from his own, yet carried the same fire, the same hunger for freedom.
Ronan had known from the first moment he saw her—she wasn't meant to be caged.
She wasn't meant to be his captive.
She was meant to be his equal.
And that was why he let her run.
Not because she could ever truly escape him.
But because he wanted her to fight.
He wanted her to push, to challenge him, to prove that she was worthy of standing beside him.
And Selene never disappointed.
But tonight, she would learn a different lesson.
She would learn that no matter how far she ran—
No matter how fiercely she fought—
He would always find her.
Always.
And when he did—
She wouldn't run again.
The Moment of Reckoning
The wind shifted.
Ronan stilled.
There.
A sound—the faintest rustle in the underbrush.
Too controlled to be the wind.
Too light to be another predator.
Selene.
A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face.
She was close.
Close enough that he could almost taste her defiance in the air.
His muscles coiled, tension thrumming through him like a bowstring drawn taut.
This was it.
The moment she thought she had finally outrun him.
The moment she thought she was safe.
He let her have that moment.
Let her feel it, breathe it in.
And then—
He moved.
Fast.
Faster than human eyes could track.
The forest blurred around him as he surged forward, cutting through the trees, closing the distance.
Her scent grew stronger.
Her presence a pulse in the dark, a flame flickering just ahead.
Ronan's blood sang with the thrill of the hunt.
Three seconds.
That was all he needed.
Two.
His heartbeat synced with hers—wild, frantic, alive.
One.
And then—
He was there.
Right behind her.
And Selene knew.
Because she turned—just in time to see the Rogue King emerge from the shadows.
Her breath caught.
Her body tensed.
And Ronan—
Ronan smiled.
"Run again, little wolf," he murmured, voice like silk and sin. "I dare you."
And just like that—
The chase began again.