Chapter Eleven Elara

Chapter Eleven

Elara

The minute I wake up, I know my collar is gone. The familiar silk that had become both a burden and a strange comfort is no longer resting against my skin. Sitting up in bed, I touch my fingers to my neck, tracing the smooth expanse where the ribbon used to rest, confirming its absence.

“I cut it from you as you slept.” Ronan’s sleep-roughened voice pulls my attention to the other side of the room. The privacy screen has been moved aside, offering him an unobstructed view of me as he reclines in the steaming bath. His muscular arms are stretched across the rim of the copper tub like a king surveying his domain. Water glistens on his tanned skin, tracing rivulets over the chiseled planes of his chest and defined ridges of his abs. Dark hair clings to his forehead, and a lazy smile plays on his lips as his intense gaze meets mine.

A flush warms my cheeks as memories of the night before flood back—the way his hands explored every inch of me, how his lips ignited a fire along my skin, the whispered words that made my heart race. I move to get up and fist my hands in the sheets, still pleasantly sore from how we moved together in perfect rhythm, over and over until we collapsed into each other’s arms just before dawn.

“You are free, Elara,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it, tinged with a hint of disappointment that surprises me. I should be ecstatic. This is what I want, isn’t it?

“Come,” he says, holding out a hand. “Join me.”

A week ago, I would have told him to get bent. A week ago, I would have told him to ask me nicely and maybe I’d think about it. But somehow a week has felt like a year, and now I’m a different woman entirely. Or perhaps I’m just more authentically myself. Maybe this version of me only exists with him .

It might be all those things or none of them, I have no idea. What I do know is that a warmth blooms in my chest, spreading outward, and there’s nothing I’d rather do in this moment than obey him.

Slipping out from under the sheets, I cross the room. Steam caresses my skin as I approach. He takes my hand, his fingers warm and strong as he guides me into the bath. The water is blissfully hot, enveloping me as I settle between his legs, my back resting against his solid chest. His arms wrap around me, pulling me so close that the steady rhythm of his heart echoes through me.

“Your instinct is to gain or remain in control at all times,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “Tell me why.”

I tilt my head back, resting it on his shoulder. “Why do you insist on making demands of people instead of just asking them?” I counter, though the usual sharpness in my tone is softened. My mind is still blissfully hazy and sex-fogged.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest and against my back. “It has always been my way.” Under the water, Ronan intertwines his fingers with mine, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. “Demands are merely questions with a different inflection. Regardless, you have the right to refuse me, Elara. Always.”

“I know,” I reply honestly, turning my head to catch his gaze.

And I mean it. I would never kneel for him if I thought it wasn’t my choice, and I trust that he would never demand anything I wasn’t willing to give. From the very beginning, I felt safe with him. My broken pieces recognized his. I didn’t know the shape of his jagged edges or if they fit with mine, but knowing they existed was enough.

“Let me in, Elara,” he whispers against my temple.

I close my eyes, vulnerability wrapping around me like a cocoon. I should realize by now that it’s futile to deny this man anything.

Ronan is an expert puppet master, and I’m his marionette, tangled in strings of my own making. With diligence and patience, he works to set me free. Every meaningful glance, every weighted command, every unexpected kindness cuts through another of my knotted threads.

Nestled in his arms, surrounded by the warmth of the water and the steady cadence of his breathing, I allow myself to let go. To share the weight I’ve carried for so long.

“My mother had me when she was very young,” I begin softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “My father wasn’t in the picture, but my grandmother said my mom was determined to raise me on her own. Unfortunately, she inherited Granny Bea’s free spirit and Grandpa’s insatiable wanderlust. She wanted to be a good mom, but being tied down by a kid was more than she could handle. When I was eleven, she dropped me off at Granny Bea’s to pick berries.”

I suck in a breath, the vivid memories of that day washing over me. The sun blazed high in a crystal-blue sky. A warm breeze whispered through the garden, carrying the scents of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries, so fragrant that I told Granny Bea the air tasted like fruit punch. We wandered through rows of berry bushes, and I filled my wicker basket to the brim. On the drive back, the sun began to dip low, painting the horizon with streaks of pink and orange. I leaned my head out of the car window and let the wind tangle my hair while I hummed along with Stevie Nicks as she crooned out of the speakers.

I knew Mom would be waiting for us when we got back. But when we pulled into the driveway, her car wasn’t there. One night turned into two, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Each sunset brought the realization that things would never be the same.

I don’t realize I’ve gone silent until Ronan gives my hands a gentle squeeze. “And then?” he prompts, his voice a tender rumble against my ear.

I shrug, a casual move that belies the ache still lingering after all these years. “And then she never came back.”

He doesn’t fill the space with the hollow apologies or clichéd reassurances I’ve heard from Granny Bea. Instead, he tightens his embrace, wrapping his arms around me beneath the water and brushing a tender kiss against my temple.

The hardened, domineering side of Ronan has the power to make my knees weak and my sex ache. But this Ronan—the gentle giant who holds me like I’m something precious—he has the power to ruin me.

“Your turn,” I say, my voice husky with emotion as I tilt my head to look up at him. “Let me in.”

Ronan’s gaze shifts, his eyes distant as if he’s looking into a past only he can see.

“I was away with the Swords’ Royal Guard,” he begins quietly. “Serving at the borders, upholding my oath to protect the kingdom and the prince. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly.”

His fingers trace idle patterns on the surface of the water, sending ripples dancing across my skin.

“During one of my leaves, I returned home expecting everything to be as I left it. But instead, I found my world turned upside down.”

I remain silent, allowing him space for his story to unspool.

“My father was gone,” he continues, his voice tightening. “The business he’d built—gone. Our home was…empty. Abandoned.”

I reach up and gently place my hand over his on the edge of the tub.

“He had met a woman several months prior,” Ronan says, bitterness creeping into his tone. “A mysterious traveler passing through town. She was captivating, enchanting. She seduced him, and they had a dramatic affair. He became obsessed with her—spent exorbitant amounts of money to keep her entertained. Lavish gifts, extravagant outings… He neglected the business, neglected my mother.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, feeling his pain as if it were my own.

“And then, just as abruptly as she appeared, she left,” he says, exhaling slowly. “She grew tired of him, of their affair. But she didn’t simply leave him behind; she left devastation in her wake. My father was shattered, as if she had cast some spell over him. Consumed by shame and despair, he vanished without a trace.”

A heavy silence settles between us, the only sounds the gentle lapping of water and our steady breaths.

“My mother…” Ronan’s voice falters for a moment. “She grew ill from a broken heart. Grief consumed her. By the time I arrived, she was a shadow of the woman I remembered. I stayed by her side, did everything I could, but she passed away within a week.”

“Oh, Ronan,” I whisper, turning to face him. “I’m so sorry.”

He meets my gaze, jaw tight. “I vowed to discover who that woman was. To confront her, show her the repercussions of her reckless and cruel actions.”

I search his face, but his eyes have turned to steel. “Have you changed your mind about confronting her?”

“No,” he says, the word clipped and final. “Nothing could change my mind about that.”

“Then why did you remove my collar?”

“Our deal was that you help me secure an invitation to the Mabon Festival and I would help you find a way home,” he says, lazily dripping water from his fingers on my shoulder, the droplets tracing warm paths along my skin. “You have met your end of the bargain. Now I am meeting mine.”

Reaching over to the small table holding the basket of soaps and oils, he retrieves a small piece of paper folded in half. With a flick of his wrist, he opens it, revealing three elegantly scripted names. They mean nothing to me, of course; I don’t know anyone here besides Ronan and Sally.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“Those who have knowledge about magicks and other realms. If anyone can get you home, I believe it will be one of them.”

I turn around to face him fully and take the parchment. “Is this what you were doing every day when you left me with Sally? Looking for people who could help me?”

He nods solemnly and tucks a damp section of hair behind my ear. “You were dedicated to my cause. I wanted to do the same for you. You don’t have to wait any longer, Elara. You may go to them now if you wish.”

“But what about the festival? I have to serve—”

“That is not necessary. I already have the invitation. They will allow me entry whether you are present or not.”

My stomach twists. I’m deeply moved that he was helping me all along, relieved that there might be a way back to New York, back to my own realm. But the thought of leaving him squeezes my heart.

“Thank you, Ronan,” I murmur, though the words feel inadequate.

“No need to thank me. A promise is a promise.” He gives a stiff nod, his gaze momentarily shifting away as the muscle in his jaw tenses ever so slightly.

Folding the paper again, I place it back on the table and wrap my arms around his neck. “I started this mission with you, and I’m going to stick around until the end. I mean, if that’s all right with you…my lord.”

A genuine smile spreads across his face. An honest-to-God smile that crinkles his eyes and deepens the dimple in his cheek, melting me like chocolate.

“I would love nothing more.” He pulls me close, his strong arms wrapping around my waist. In one fluid motion, he lifts me and positions me to straddle his lap, trapping his lengthening arousal between us. His hands slide up my thighs, fingertips grazing sensitive skin. My breath catches when his thumbs brush the edges of my hips, drawing small circles that stoke the fire growing within me. His gaze locks on mine, eyes darkening with desire.

His hands find the curve of my waist, guiding me as we move together. Each shift sends waves of pleasure rippling through me, building steadily with every heartbeat. The water swirls around us, warm and soothing, amplifying every sensation. My fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer as our movements become a slow, sensual rhythm. Time seems to blur, the boundaries between us dissolving in the haze of steam and desire as the world outside fades away until there’s nothing but the two of us.

The light outside begins to wane while Ronan and I dress. His perfectly tailored burgundy coat is adorned with gold accents that highlight the breadth of his shoulders. His dark hair is brushed back, slick and shiny from the bath.

Just before we step out the door, he turns to me. His eyes search mine, and without a word, he closes the distance between us. His lips meet mine in a deep, lingering kiss that steals my breath and fills me with a warm emotion I hesitate to name.

“Wait,” I say, my hand flying up to my bare throat. “Won’t they be suspicious if I’m not wearing your collar?”

“You will be.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a ribbon—a choker similar to the pawn collar but unmistakably different. It’s crafted from rich velvet in the same deep crimson as his jacket and edged with delicate gold thread and with tiny jewels that sparkle in the low light.

He steps closer, his fingers brushing against my skin as he fastens it around my neck.

“There,” he says softly, his gaze lingering on me. “It suits you.”

I run my fingers along the velvet. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “But will it…” I’m not sure how to ask the question without sounding distrustful.

“No, but others will assume it will perform the same as the collar.”

Relief washes over me, but before I can respond, his warm hand settles on my waist, fingers pressing through the fabric of my dress. His other hand lifts, and calloused fingertips trail along my neck to where the edge of the choker meets my skin. The contrast of his delicate touch against the strength I know he possesses sends a shiver coursing through me. A fresh wave of heat pools deep within, stirring an ache I can’t ignore.

“However,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky timbre that vibrates between us. “I hope you will not begrudge me my fantasy that it is something much more meaningful.”

Our faces are mere inches apart now, breaths mingling in the charged space between us.

My words are barely above a whisper when I finally manage to speak. “What fantasy would that be?”

The hand at my waist slides to the small of my lower back, pulling me flush against him. The heat of his body seeps through my dress, igniting every nerve. His other hand strokes my throat, his fingers pressing possessively against my pulse. As he squeezes, fire rolls down my spine, leaving me breathless.

“That you wear my collar because you are mine. Not because of the consequences but because it is what you wish to be. As much as I wish to be yours.”

Emotion swells within me, a tidal wave crashing against my carefully constructed walls. My eyes sting with unshed tears, and I swallow hard.

“I want you to be mine too, Ronan,” I breathe, my voice trembling with desire, with passion, with love. “But even more than that, I want to be yours.”

He captures my lips in a passionate kiss. His mouth moves against mine with a fervent need, lips soft yet demanding as they part to deepen the connection. I respond eagerly, my hands sliding up to grip his shirt. His hand slips from my throat, and he cradles the back of my head, fingers weaving through my hair.

A distant chime sounds through the room, the clock marking the hour with a gentle clang. The sound breaks through the haze, reminding us of the world beyond these walls, beyond us.

We pull apart slowly, foreheads resting together as we catch our breaths.

“It’s time to finish the mission,” I whisper, smiling up at the man I love. My fingers trace the line of his jaw, roughened by a shadow of stubble. “Let’s get you through tonight so you can put the pain of your past behind you and move on with your life.”

“Move on with my life. Of course.”

But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. A flicker of something I can’t quite read shadows his gaze. It must be the tension he’s feeling about the upcoming confrontation with the woman who destroyed his family. Anyone would be anxious facing such a moment, no matter how much they’d prepared or how deeply they wanted it. I’m positive that once he unburdens himself and gets everything off his chest, that weight will lift, and he’ll feel a thousand times better.

Then maybe we can explore this connection between us before I set off to find the wizards who can get me back home.