Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

RONAN

T he echoes of chaos slowly faded, but it took everything Ronan had to bring the panicked gala guests back from the edge of hysteria. Phoenix's empathic attack had swept through the ballroom like a wildfire, lighting up every fear and insecurity hidden beneath the surface of the well-heeled, oblivious humans. Most of them didn't understand what had happened—they only knew they had been overcome by a terror so fierce, they'd nearly trampled one another to escape.

Ronan had to force down his own rising anger as he helped calm them. If only he could have let his tiger out to use its power to intimidate the crowd into quiet submission. But that wasn't how it worked with humans. Coming face-to-face with a sabretooth tiger would only have made things worse—it was the last thing the situation needed, not with the chaos already threatening to spiral out of control. So instead, he used his presence, his steady, commanding voice, and his natural aura of authority to soothe them, guiding the humans back to their senses with low, calming tones. They eventually responded, their shaking hands steadying, their frantic breathing slowing.

The grand ballroom was no longer the scene of elegance and opulence it had been just hours before. The crystal chandeliers still glistened, but their light fell over overturned chairs, spilled champagne, and shattered glasses littering the floor. He directed those who were working the gala to get things cleaned up and the guests taken care of.

And in the middle of it all, he saw Lilith on the far side of the room as she slipped away with some of the rest of the crowd. She was gone. Again.

Ronan's jaw clenched, frustration simmering in his chest as he scanned the room for her. The familiar electric charge that always seemed to hang in the air when she was near had disappeared. She'd vanished into the night, no doubt in pursuit of Phoenix or whatever lead had sparked her interest. But damn it, again?

He shouldn't have been surprised. Lilith operated alone, always slipping away before he could corner her. She moved with the silent precision of a shadow. He'd come to expect it, but this time, it hit him like a physical blow. He thought tonight had been a turning point—that maybe, finally, they had been on the same page, both closing in on Phoenix and the rest of the Duvalls. But once again, Lilith had left him behind to clean up the mess.

Damn her.

Ronan's fists curled at his sides, the muscles in his forearms straining. He should have known better. Lilith wasn't a team player. She never would be, and it pissed him off more than he cared to admit. It wasn't just her, though. The whole damn situation with the fae was driving him insane. Phoenix had triggered the chaos, Oberon had let it escalate, and Lilith… well, she had done her usual disappearing act, leaving Ronan to deal with the aftermath.

The problem was that no matter how much he tried to stay out of fae politics, they kept dragging him back in. He'd tried to keep his head down, tried to stay focused on his own world, but between the Duvall sisters, the High Council, Morrigan and Lilith, he was being pulled deeper into the mess. And the more involved he got, the harder it was to extricate himself.

With a low growl rumbling in his chest, Ronan pushed through the remnants of the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and hushed whispers as he strode toward the exit. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, but it did little to quell the tension coiling inside his body. The sounds of the city—the distant hum of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter—faded into the background as his mind raced.

He needed space. Distance. The importance of the night hung heavy all around him, and the tiger inside him was restless, agitated. There was only one place where he could clear his head.

T he bayou lay cloaked in the deep shadows of the night, its thick, humid air hanging heavy between the towering cypress trees draped with Spanish moss. The stillness of the water mirrored the darkening sky above, broken only by the occasional ripple as frogs leapt from the muddy banks. But amidst the serene silence, a new presence cut through the wild landscape like a bolt of lightning—a creature moving with raw, untamed power.

Ronan's sabretooth tiger surged forward, its massive paws thudding against the soft, damp earth with a sound almost too quiet for something so large. His fur—sleek, golden-brown with dark stripes—blurred as he sprinted between the trees, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his coat with every stride. His long, saber-like fangs glinted in the dim light, the cold, calculated intelligence of the predator gleaming in his golden eyes.

The air tasted of earth and decay, laced with the rich scent of cypress and swamp water. Each breath filled his powerful lungs, feeding the beast within as it propelled him through the thick undergrowth. Vines and brush scraped against his fur, but nothing slowed him. The landscape around him became a blur of green and gray as he tore through the bayou, his pace relentless, unstoppable.

The waterlogged ground gave way beneath his feet, but his paws barely hesitated, each movement calculated and precise as he leapt over gnarled tree roots and patches of stagnant water. Ronan's sabretooth instincts honed in on every shift in the wind, every slight rustle in the vegetation, a kind of hyper-awareness that came from centuries of evolution. The bayou was his domain tonight, and the swamp—a labyrinth of shadows and reflections—was nothing but his hunting ground.

His ears flicked, catching the distant calls of owls and the low croaks of bullfrogs, but his focus remained razor-sharp, his body moving like liquid muscle, seamless and powerful. His long tail swept through the air behind him, acting as a counterbalance as he made sharp turns through the winding trails, the mossy trunks of the cypress trees a blur as he dodged past them with ease.

As he ran, the moon continued to rise, casting its silvery light over the bayou, illuminating the mist that clung low to the water's surface. Ronan's eyes, sharp and predatory, reflected the glow as he moved, navigating the wild terrain with the grace of a creature born to this untamed world. He was both man and beast, but in this form, the tiger's primal need to run, to hunt, to feel the pulse of the earth beneath him took over.

The familiar chorus of frogs and insects faded into the background as Ronan's heartbeat matched the rhythm of the bayou—steady, powerful, and wild. He could feel the pulse of life all around him, the way the swamp seemed to breathe, alive with secrets hidden beneath its dark surface.

He was in his element, a force of nature moving through the swamp with lethal intent. Every fiber of his being was alive, thrumming with energy as the wind whipped through his fur and the swamp opened up before him like an endless expanse of possibility.

Ronan leapt over a fallen log, landing in a low crouch just before a shallow stretch of water. The reflection of the moon rippled as his paw brushed the surface, but the stillness of the bayou returned as he paused, his golden eyes scanning the shadows ahead. The swamp stretched out into the horizon, a labyrinth of darkness and light, but the tiger within him reveled in it, thrived in it.

With a low growl vibrating deep in his throat, Ronan surged forward once more, his powerful limbs carrying him deeper into the wild heart of the Louisiana bayou, where nothing and no one could catch him.

Not tonight.

H is cabin stood at the water's edge, perched on sturdy wooden stilts that kept it high above the marshy ground. Warm light spilled from the windows, casting a soft, amber glow on the surrounding swamp. The cabin was simple but solid—constructed from dark wood, with a wraparound porch that offered a perfect view of the bayou. Lanterns hung from the porch beams, their flickering light creating a soothing, rhythmic dance as they swayed in the breeze. It was quiet here, peaceful, a world away from the noise and chaos that had consumed the city.

This place was Ronan's sanctuary. Here, the ever-present tension between man and beast could dissolve. The steady hum of frogs and crickets filled the air, a familiar melody that always managed to settle his nerves. He inhaled deeply, savoring the earthy scent of moss, damp wood, and cypress, the cool night air calming the tiger inside him. He stepped onto the porch, the wood creaking softly beneath his weight, and for the first time that night, some of the tension began to bleed away.

He could almost forget the fae, the Duvall sisters, and everything that had happened at the gala.

Almost.

When he went inside, he stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower, allowing the hot, pulsing water to begin to wash away some of the lingering stress and tension from his body. After his shower, he dried off and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, but before he could even set foot into the main room of his home, a ripple in the air caught his attention—a shift, subtle but unmistakable. Magic. His muscles tensed, his senses sharpening as he scanned the shadows around his cabin.

He wasn't alone. He grabbed a couple of beers and stepped out onto the porch.

"You've always had a good nose for danger, shifter," came a low, familiar voice from the darkness. "It's a shame it didn't help you tonight."

Ronan stiffened as a figure stepped into the soft light of the lanterns, emerging from the shadows like a wraith. Zephyr Windchaser. The fae leader moved with an effortless grace, his tall form draped in fine, silver-hued robes that caught the light. His long white hair gleamed under the moonlight, and his silver-blue eyes glinted with something far more dangerous than amusement.

"Windchaser," said Ronan, handing the fae a beer. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Zephyr's lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained cold as he took the beer and made the bottlecap disappear. "I could ask you the same, Ronan Rousseau. Hiding away in your little slice of paradise while the world crumbles around you."

Ronan shook his head. Why not just open a bottle of beer like a regular guy? The guy set his teeth on edge. Ronan's beast stirred beneath the surface. He had no patience for fae politics, and even less for Zephyr's cryptic games. "Cut to the chase, Windchaser, or get off my porch," he snarled. "What do you want?"

Zephyr took a step forward, the movement deliberate, measured. "I'm here because you've become more involved in this than you realize," he said, his voice smooth but dangerous. "The High Council is rotting from the inside out, and you—whether you want to or not—are standing at the center of it."

Ronan's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had heard enough whispers about the council's corruption, but he'd always kept his distance, always stayed out of their mess. Until now. "I'm not interested in your games," Ronan growled, his golden eyes narrowing.

"Oh, but you should be," Zephyr replied, his tone soft, almost coaxing. "The council is manipulating more than just those who reside within the fae realm. Oberon is after the Duvall sisters. He has been for years. Over time, he's placed curses and barriers around the sisters that have siphoned their magical strength."

"Why should I care? They've become emboldened and aren't always concerned about covering the magical trail they leave behind. Besides, isn't Oberon your problem?"

"Only until he garners enough power to become yours and that of the other supernaturals here in New Orleans and beyond. You believe yourself to be the last of your kind…"

"And whose fault is that?" Ronan growled.

"Believe what you like, but it has left you in the position of being a guardian at the gate, so to speak, and protecting the Duvall sisters is part of it. Once a formidable force, they now stand at a crossroads, and they will need your help if they are to survive the gathering storm. I don't have to tell you that the Council has been pulling strings for centuries, using humans, shifters, and anyone they can to maintain their power. And Lilith…" Zephyr paused, watching Ronan's reaction carefully. "She's a pawn, just like all the rest."

Ronan's chest tightened at the mention of Lilith. He knew she was loyal to the council, but the thought of her being used—manipulated—made his blood boil. Still, he couldn't let Zephyr see how much that truth rattled him.

Zephyr took another step closer, taking a long sip from his bottle, his voice lowering. "The resistance is growing. We need people like you—people who can see through the council's lies and aren't afraid to fight back."

Ronan growled low in his throat, his resolve wavering. He had always fought alone. But Zephyr's words rang with a truth that gnawed at him, and it was almost too much to ignore. If the council was using Lilith, if they were manipulating her… he couldn't just stand by and let it happen.

The night clung to the bayou, thick and oppressive, as Ronan stood on the weathered porch of his cabin; Zephyr Windchaser's words still hanging in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon. The sounds of the bayou filled the humid air, a familiar rhythm that usually calmed the tiger within him. But tonight, no amount of stillness could soothe the fire building inside him.

Lilith had vanished again—of course she had—but it was more than just her absence that gnawed at him. It was the gnawing question Zephyr had planted, the notion that the council wasn't just using her but manipulating everyone, including him. Ronan had always kept his distance from the politics of the fae, their twisted games, their petty power plays. But this... this was different.

Zephyr's presence here, deep in the heart of Ronan's sanctuary, was proof that the web of intrigue had grown wider than he'd imagined. The fae leader stood in the moonlight, his silver hair catching the faint glow, his pale eyes gleaming with intensity.

"There's more at stake than you think, Ronan," Zephyr said, his voice calm, but with a dangerous undertone. "The High Council is rotting from the inside out. You know it. You've seen their influence spreading like a disease, using people like Lilith to do their dirty work. The corruption runs deeper than even she knows."

Ronan's muscles tightened, fists clenched at his sides. "You expect me to believe that? Lilith would never?—"

"Lilith doesn't know the full extent," Zephyr interrupted, stepping forward, his gaze sharp and piercing. "They've kept her in the dark, like they do with all their loyal soldiers. You think she's loyal because she knows the truth? No, Ronan, she's loyal because they've fed her lies. And now, they're pulling the strings behind every battle, every hunt. You've seen it yourself."

Ronan's pulse quickened. He had seen things, heard whispers of the council's growing power. But he'd always kept his distance, thinking it was someone else's problem. Not anymore. Zephyr's words struck a chord he couldn't ignore.

"They're not just manipulating fae," Zephyr continued, his voice low and dangerous, a ripple of barely controlled power behind it. "They're controlling humans, shifters, anyone they can use to maintain their power. They've been stirring up conflict, creating enemies where none existed before. And now, with the Duvall sisters... they're pushing everything to the brink. It's all part of their plan, and Lilith is just another pawn."

Ronan felt a snarl building in his throat, the tiger inside him pacing restlessly. The image of Lilith—her ferocity, her loyalty to the council—flickered in his mind. Could she really be caught up in this? Could the council be using her without her knowing?

"You're involved, whether you want to be or not," Zephyr pressed, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with conviction. "Join us. The resistance is growing. We can stop this before it's too late."

Ronan's fists clenched, every instinct screaming at him to stay out of this, to walk away from the fae's endless games. But Zephyr's words, the truth that lingered beneath them, was undeniable. If the council was as corrupt as Zephyr claimed, then Lilith—and everyone else—was in far more danger than he'd thought.

Before Ronan could respond, a dark ripple tore through the air, thick with magic. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, every nerve in his body screaming a warning. He spun, his instincts flaring to life just as a low, cold laugh echoed through the night.

Morrigan.

"So, this is where you've been hiding, Windchaser," she purred, stepping from the shadows, her dark hair flowing around her like a storm cloud. Her pale blue eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, her smile twisted in sadistic pleasure. "I expected more from a supposed leader of the resistance."

Ronan's heart pounded as he took in the sight of her and the mercenaries flanking her—a pack of enforcers, each one more vicious-looking than the last, armed to the teeth and crackling with dark magic. The air around them was thick with menace, the bayou's peaceful hum replaced by a suffocating tension.

Zephyr's expression hardened, his calm exterior finally cracking as he stepped forward to face her. "You've always been too eager to follow orders, Morrigan," he said coldly. "Still working for the highest bidder, I see."

"Maybe," Morrigan smirked, her voice dripping with malice, "but at least I'll live to see who wins this game."

The magic around Morrigan surged, the dark energy swirling like a violent storm. Her enforcers moved in, their faces twisted in cruel anticipation, weapons gleaming in the faint light as they stalked forward like hunters circling their prey.

Ronan's tiger roared to life, his muscles coiling as the mist swirled up around him as the transformation began. His vision sharpened, senses on high alert as he prepared for the inevitable clash. But even as his body readied for battle, his mind kept circling back to Lilith. The thought of her being used, of her loyalty being twisted by the council, made his blood boil. And the realization that he cared—that he cared too much—only made him angrier.

Morrigan's laugh echoed through the bayou. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Without warning, she unleashed a blast of dark magic, tendrils of shadow surging toward them with deadly speed. Ronan moved on instinct, shifting fully into his sabretooth form in a blur of muscle and fur, leaping out of the way just as the attack slammed into the ground where he'd been standing.

Zephyr's magic flared to life, shimmering in the night as he deflected another strike, but the battle was on. Morrigan's enforcers lunged forward, weapons raised, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust. One of them, a hulking brute of a fae, charged at Ronan, his blade whistling through the air. Ronan ducked, muscles rippling beneath his fur, and with a powerful swipe of his claws, sent the enforcer crashing into a nearby tree with a sickening crack.

But there were more. Morrigan's magic swirled through the air, her enforcers moving in with brutal precision, and Ronan found himself locked in a deadly dance, dodging strikes and deflecting blows as the bayou erupted into chaos.

Zephyr held his own, his magic flaring like a beacon in the dark, but even he couldn't keep up with the sheer number of enemies pressing in. Morrigan was toying with them, her attacks relentless, her laughter sharp and cruel as she watched the carnage unfold.

Ronan's heart pounded, the beast within him roaring for blood. But even in the heat of the battle, his mind kept returning to Lilith—her fierce eyes, the way she fought with everything she had, the way she haunted his thoughts even now.

He tore through another enforcer, his claws slashing through muscle and bone, but the question gnawed at him, growing louder with every second.

Could he trust her?

And more than that—could he trust himself to protect her?

Morrigan's magic flared again, a dark wave of energy slamming into Ronan with bone-crushing force. The fight raged on, but little by little, he and Zephyr were able to beat Morrigan and her minions back until at last they were triumphant.

Ronan was exhausted—his vision blurred for a split second as pain shot through his body. But as he struggled to shake it off, a growl rumbled in his chest. One thing was for certain: his feelings for Lilith weren't just a distraction anymore. They were becoming the very reason he might have to choose sides. And that terrified him more than any enemy he had ever faced.