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CHAPTER SEVEN
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2025-04-25 06:08:14CHAPTER SEVEN
Ronan The wind carried her scent before he saw her. Subtle. Clean. Hints of citrus and something soft, like jasmine after a summer storm. Ronan was standing across from the café when the breeze stirred, brushing her presence against his senses like a whisper meant only for him. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just watched. There she was—Talia—sitting in the window beside her friend, laughter caught on her lips, the sunlight kissing the edge of her cheek. Completely unaware of the way the world shifted around her. Of how the curse tethered him to her like a chain around his ribcage. He’d been careful up until now. Careful not to let himself be seen. Careful not to go near her when the moon swelled or his instincts howled. But today? Today felt like something inside him had frayed. The dreams were getting worse. The urges, too. She haunted his sleep like a ghost he’d once known. But she wasn’t a memory. She was real. And the bond—unnatural as it was—only grew more potent. It wasn’t supposed to be her. It wasn’t supposed to be anyone. He clenched his fists inside the pockets of his coat. The curse had been clear: You’ll feel everything. Want everything. But she’ll know nothing. And he hadn’t—not truly—until the night he saw her by accident, just blocks from the bookshop. The second their eyes met, something ancient and wrong snapped into place. The witch’s magic, dormant for years, came roaring back to life. And now he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stay away. It didn’t help that Talia wasn’t just beautiful. She was calm in a way that burned. Quiet strength. Poised but detached, like she’d spent years building walls no one dared breach. He saw it in the way she kept her back straight, her eyes guarded. How she smiled for others but kept part of herself out of reach. He understood that kind of solitude. Too well. A shadow shifted behind the café’s glass. Her friend—Amara, if his sources were correct—stood up, stretching. Ronan took a step back into the shade of a nearby tree, out of view. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out, thumb hovering over the screen. Leander: Where are you? We need to talk. It’s spreading. Ronan’s jaw ticked. Spreading. Of course it was. The curse wasn’t just about him. It infected the bond. Poisoned it. The longer he waited, the more dangerous it became—for her, for him, for anyone around them. He needed control. But control was slipping. The air shifted again. His eyes snapped back to the window—Talia was looking straight at him. She blinked, startled. Like she’d seen something she wasn’t sure was real. And then Amara returned, pulling her attention back. Ronan stepped out of the shadows and disappeared down the alley. --- Back at the estate, the atmosphere was tense. Ronan’s second-in-command, Leander, stood waiting near the stone archway that marked the edge of their land. The pack house loomed behind him—modern, fortified, but rooted in ancient protections. “You were in town again,” Leander said. Not a question. Ronan walked past him, voice low. “Did you come here to lecture me?” “Depends. Are you ready to listen?” Ronan stopped. Leander folded his arms. “The dreams are affecting the younger wolves. Something about your connection is leaking through the bond—our bond. The pack is restless. On edge. They can feel her.” “She doesn’t know.” “She will soon.” Ronan turned, face unreadable. “It’s not her fault.” “I didn’t say it was. But the curse wasn’t designed to be passive. You sleep with a witch, piss off her sister, and now we’re all dancing on a landmine.” Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know who they were.” “Doesn’t change what she did. You bonded to a woman who’s completely unprepared, Ronan. If she rejects it—rejects you—the backlash will ripple through the entire structure. We could lose the inner circle.” Ronan knew. Of course he knew. But every time he tried to keep his distance, something yanked him back. Her laugh. Her scent. The way she looked at the world like she didn’t trust it but still tried anyway. “She’s different,” he murmured. Leander huffed. “Yeah, that’s what scares me.” Ronan moved past him, entering the long hallway of the estate. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along one side, moonlight painting streaks of silver across the polished stone floor. He stopped at the door of the war room and pushed it open. A few of his lieutenants were already seated—Silas, grim-faced and calculating, and Nova, arms crossed with her boots on the table. “We have a problem,” Silas said without preamble. “Three more reported incidents. Wolves waking up howling. One went into a full shift during a dream.” Ronan exhaled slowly. “This isn’t just the curse anymore. It’s the bond echoing. Feeding into the pack.” Nova tilted her head. “So the girl’s a trigger.” “She’s not a thing,” Ronan snapped, voice cold. Nova raised a brow. “Didn’t say she was. But this is our reality. If the magic continues to build, and she remains unaware, we risk a fracture in the link we’ve spent years fortifying.” “I know.” Silas leaned forward. “Then what’s your move, Alpha?” Ronan’s silence stretched too long. He didn’t have an answer. Not one he liked. Because the only path forward involved revealing himself to Talia. Risking her rejection. Or worse—her fear. But waiting? Waiting was turning his wolves into shadows of themselves. --- Night fell over Puya Ridge like a velvet curtain. Ronan stood on the edge of the cliffs behind his estate, the town twinkling below. He could feel her again—like her presence was stitched into the very air. He didn’t want a mate. Didn’t need one. But fate—or rather, the cruel humor of a bitter witch—had other plans. He was the Alpha. He didn’t chase. He didn’t ache. And he sure as hell didn’t dream. And yet... Her name lingered on his tongue like a secret. Talia. His to protect. His to destroy. Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure: She was already inside him. And soon, she’d have to face the truth. The bond wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse.
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BOUND TO HER WILL CHAPTER SIX
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BOUND TO HER WILL CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE Ronan She was waking up. Ronan felt it like a current in his blood, a subtle shift in the air that told him Talia Elowen was no longer just dreaming—she was remembering. Sensing. Reacting. He leaned against the edge of the stone railing on the upper balcony of the Thorne estate, the sprawling woods of Puya Ridge stretching into the distance, blanketed in dawn mist. From here, he could see the edges of town, smell the sleepy stir of its human occupants. But there was only one scent he cared about lately. Her. Talia’s scent lingered in his mind like a splinter he couldn’t pull out. Clean linen. Jasmine. A hint of something sweeter beneath it, something elusive. Not perfume—her. And she was pulling him in. He hated that. He clenched his jaw as the ache in his chest pulsed again—low and sharp. The bond wasn’t just forming—it was fusing. And he didn’t want it. He hadn’t asked for this. But she had triggered it. Not by choice—no, this wasn’t her fault. This was hers
