He heard it.
A gasp.
Soft. Sharp. Human.
His blood-slick head snapped toward the sound, muscles tense and trembling with leftover rage.
Brynn.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror. The glow of her lantern flickered against the broken remains of stone and ash, the bodies—or what was left of them—still smoldering in the aftermath.
Ronan wanted to say her name.
Wanted to tell her it wasn't what it looked like.
But he couldn't.
His body wouldn't move the way he wanted.
His heart pounded, but not with fear—with instinct.
His eyes locked on her and every fiber of his beast-ridden form screamed prey. His claws twitched. His legs shifted into a low, predatory stance.
No. Stop. Don't.
But it was too late.
He charged.
Not by choice.
Not with intent.
But with everything wild and broken inside him let loose.
He saw her lips move—calling his name—but it was muffled, distant, like it was coming from underwater.
Her scent hit him next.
Warm. Familiar. Kind.
It carved through the blood-haze like moonlight through mist.
He could smell her fear—but beneath it, something else.
She wasn't running.
Brynn didn't flinch. She didn't draw her sword. She just stood there—arms trembling, but open.
"Ronan… it's me."
But his body didn't listen.
Ronan watched helplessly from inside the cage of his mind as his clawed hand raised—ready to strike.
Ronan's claw hovered midair, trembling—mere inches from Brynn's throat.
His breath came out in short, ragged bursts, hot against her face. His golden eyes blazed like twin embers, wild and unfocused. Blood ran down his jaw. His lips curled back in a low, animal snarl.
But still…
She didn't move.
Didn't scream. Didn't run.
She looked into him—not at the monster, but past it.
Her voice, calm but shaking, cut through the frenzy.
"Ronan… you're still in there. I know you are."
He twitched.
The snarl faltered.
"Come back," she whispered.
Then, with the gentlest motion, she reached up and placed her hand on his face.
His skin was hot—burning with rage and blood-rite energy. Her palm rested just below his eye, fingers brushing the edge of a long, claw-like scar. For a moment, it was like touching lightning barely held in a cage.
Ronan's entire body shook.
His claws scraped the air beside her neck… then stopped.
He stared into her eyes—wide, afraid, but unmoving.
And suddenly, something gave way inside him.
The beast howled from within—but it didn't win.
His breath hitched.
The golden glow in his eyes flickered… then dimmed.
The clawed hand dropped to his side.
His body slumped forward, and his forehead gently touched hers, blood and sweat mingling between them. He shuddered once, deep and broken, and whispered with a raw, cracked voice—
"…Brynn."
His voice was barely a breath—raw, human, trembling.
She exhaled in relief, her forehead still pressed to his. "You came back," she whispered.
But her hands didn't move.
Not yet.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at the blood-soaked earth, the ruined bodies, the cracks in the man standing before her.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Ronan blinked, confused—swaying on his feet, still half-lost in the haze.
She placed her second hand on his chest, just over his pounding heart.
"I can't let you lose yourself again."
A soft hum of magic flickered between her fingers.
Ronan's eyes widened—just a fraction of a second too late.
CRACK.
A bolt of lightning surged from her hand into his chest, a brilliant flash lighting the clearing with blinding white-blue energy.
His body arched, muscles locking up, and then—
Darkness.
He collapsed into her arms, unconscious, smoke curling gently from the rune-scorched mark on his chest.
Brynn caught him, trembling. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry, Ronan," she said again, softer this time, cradling his head against her shoulder. "But I had to stop the beast… before it takes you for good."
Ronan stirred.
Pain bloomed like fire in his chest, muscles aching, skin tender where lightning had kissed him. His senses returned slowly—first the weight of blankets, the scent of herbs and soot, then… warmth.
Someone was lying on him.
His eyes fluttered open.
The room was dim, firelight casting gentle shadows across worn wooden beams. A quiet hum of wind whistled through the shutters.
Then he saw her.
Brynn.
Her head rested against his chest, one arm draped loosely across him. Her breath was slow, steady—completely asleep. He could feel the rise and fall of her body against his, grounding him more than she could possibly know.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just stared at the ceiling as his memories clawed their way back—the vampires, the blood, the beast, her hand on his face… and then the flash of lightning.
He swallowed hard.
She had stopped him.
Saved him.
Even after everything she saw… she stayed.
Guilt twisted in his gut, sharper than any claw or blade.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to push her away.
Not yet.
Instead, with a shaky hand, he brushed a silver-streaked lock of hair from his eyes and whispered, barely audible—
"…You should've run."
Brynn shifted in her sleep, a small sigh escaping her lips.
Ronan froze, heart thudding beneath her cheek.
Her fingers twitched against his side, and then her eyes slowly blinked open—hazy, unfocused at first.
And then she realized where she was.
Still half-draped across Ronan's bare chest. Her hand splayed just over the faint scorch mark left by her spell. Her leg—
Oh gods, her leg was over his.
Her eyes went wide. "Wha—?!"
She shot upright so fast she nearly fell off the bed, face flushed a deep, burning red. "I—I didn't mean to—! I must've just—there wasn't another chair and I was watching over you and I—!"
Ronan raised an eyebrow, trying not to smirk. "Morning."
Brynn stammered, hands flailing as she backed up against the nearby wall. "I-It's not what it looks like! You were hurt and I didn't want to leave you alone and—"
"You drool in your sleep."
Her mouth fell open. "What?! I do not!"
"You do," he said, voice rough but teasing. "Right here." He tapped his collarbone.
Brynn's face turned an even darker shade of crimson. "I hate you."
Ronan laughed—just a little—but it hurt. He winced, hand going to his ribs.
Immediately, Brynn was by his side again, her flustered energy giving way to concern. "You shouldn't be sitting up. You're still healing."
"Yeah, well," he muttered, "Lightning to the chest doesn't exactly tickle."
"…You were losing control," she said quietly, guilt creeping into her tone. "I had to."
"I know," he replied. "Thank you… for stopping me."
Their eyes met—soft, uncertain.
A moment passed between them. Not quite peace. But something close.