Ronan stood atop the hill, scrutinising the land beneath him with undisguised contempt.
He despised this part of the year in ShadowFall.
There were far too many unsightly memories laid bare here in the South. He'd been alive and young when the massacres occurred, and he still shouldered that pain several years later, as his father had, as his brothers did, as their sons would.
Only another three miserable weeks and he could return North.
The wolves of Moonborn Pack were uneasy this past week; more howls, more movement.
Ronan wondered at their disquiet but didn't devote much time to their restlessness. They were practically savages, their distasteful dealings more like hyena than wolf.
If dark times had befallen them, they had only themselves to blame.
However, the reason for his position standing as sentinel on the hill observing the river that bordered their land was the sudden proximity of a large group of them to his territory.
Ronan wouldn't stand to tolerate any trespassing.
Thus far, there had been no incursions across the border, and if they were, they would not go unpunished.
His keen ears caught the splash of water that informed him there was a crossing, but it was only one that was daring enough, not the multitude of wolves he could hear across the river.
Not an incursion. An exile, perhaps?
That wouldn't do.
If Moonborn Pack desired getting themselves rid of a pack member, they should have done so without disturbing the sanctity of his forest.
Ronan shifted swiftly, his limbs elongating and morphing into a beastly form—one far more creature-like and horrifying than the lesser wolves across the river.
He loped down the hill, his claws rather than paws dug into the soil as he sprinted to intercept the daring intruder.
Never let it be said that his lands were unprotected. He could hear the wolf scrabbling around the forest, faint whimpers and weak howls of...pain? When the shuffling quietened, he stopped.
Releasing a roar that invoked silence across the trees, Ronan charged again.
When he reached the shifter, he loomed above her, standing on two hind legs and roaring again as rage clouded his vision.
The she-wolf didn't even dare to breathe in his presence. She lay there in her human skin, scantly covered by a tattered shawl. She was pale, trembling, and staring up at him with wide emerald eyes.
Ronan readied a claw to swipe at the trespasser, hellbent on sending her scurrying across the river for her pack to deal with when her scent hit him.
And when her scent really hit him, Ronan withdrew his claw and clenched it at his side instead.
There was a snarling threat at the back of his mind that restrained him, his Lycan half whispering a warning that said: '
Do not harm.'
It had been years since his Lycan half uttered a word.
At the same moment, Vivian's eyes rolled back into her head, and her body slumped against the tree behind her.
Ronan's anger seemed to dissipate, and he relaxed, tilting his head to the side as he examined the she-wolf.
Nudging her with the back of his claw, Ronan awaited a reaction but received none.
Underneath the she-wolf's scent was another, like burnt timber and the smell that lingered in the air after a lightning strike.
Magic, imbued with symbols traced across her petite, frail body.
Ronan shifted back into his human skin, regarding the she-wolf all the while.
This wasn't just unexpected. It was unfortunate. The scent, the magic.
What was he supposed to do with this pitiful bundle of skin and bone?
Her hair was silverish in some parts, while the length of it was as white as snow, draping the length of her back and covering most of her shoulders.
She was so tiny and fragile compared to him; Ronan feared she would break if he touched her.
Nevertheless, he minimised his strength, tucked the shawl as modestly around her body as he could and picked her up. A sudden cry tumbled from Vivian's lips while she writhed in pain but didn't awaken.
Ronan rubbed the burn on her side with one hand, eliciting another helpless whimper as the she-wolf curled her body inward to avoid the touch.
The symbols were active. Not just active...combative, punishing. What had she done to deserve such punishment?
What could this weak, defenceless little wolf have done to earn such suffering?
Turning, his charge held tightly in his arms, Ronan climbed back up the hill towards his home.
Howls emanated from across the river. Ronan didn't think they were daunting enough to return, for they had gone awfully silent when his roar reverberated over his territory.
An arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked up the hill.
If the wolves of Moonborn Pack wanted his charge back, then he'd dare them to come and get her.
It had been a bloody long while since he'd devoured lesser wolves. He reckoned himself he could still muster up the appetite for the lot of them.
Vivian whimpered softly in his arms again, drawing his attention back to her. He watched her white-coloured brows furrow in distress, her nose scrunching as if she were subconsciously scenting him.
Ronan's intense gaze seemed to only darken further, his grip on her body tightening ever so lightly. Any tighter and her frail bones would be crushed under his strength.
"You're barely breathing enough to be alive, but you're still conscious of my presence," Ronan mumbled to himself, amused by the she-wolf's resilience despite her injured state.
The Lycan shook his head a moment later, as if to clear his thoughts and prevent himself from being overly generous with his sympathy for the she-wolf in his arms.
She should never have crossed into his territory.
This was a complication he refused to deal with, one that he didn't want at any cost.
After relinquishing all hope of ever finding her, he had just chanced upon his mate.