Ronan didn't slow until they reached the old stone building at the edge of town—an abandoned firewatcher station with ivy clawing up its sides and a single lamp glowing softly through the rain. He halted under the awning, chest rising in controlled, quiet breaths, still holding Elena as if setting her down too quickly might shatter something fragile.
"Ronan…" she breathed.
He looked down at her, rain dripping from his hair, golden eyes glowing faintly in the storm-light. His expression shifted—subtle but unmistakable—into relief. A soft, unguarded warmth.
He was happy she was safe. Not just protected. Safe with him.
Slowly, deliberately, he lowered her to her feet. But he didn't step back.
His hands stayed on her waist a moment too long. His thumbs tracing tiny, grounding strokes. Beastman instinct—contact reassurance.
Elena felt it like a current running through her.
When he finally pulled his hands away, it was with visible restraint, as if a part of him didn't want to break the contact.
"Inside," he murmured.
He pushed open the door, guiding her in with a soft touch at the small of her back. Even that—light, barely-there—felt charged.
The safehouse interior was unexpectedly warm; dim yellow lamps lit the room, and the scent of cedar and something wild clung to the air. A single bed sat pushed against the far wall, blankets rumpled as if he used the room often.
Elena turned to him. "Ronan… what just happened out there?"
He shut the door quietly behind them, but his shoulders remained tense. Not fear—alertness. Awareness of the outside world.
His attention flicked to her again, and something softened.
He moved closer. Not abruptly. Not explosively. He approached her like she was something rare—something precious—something he was afraid might slip through his fingers.
"Elena," he said softly, "I didn't want you to see any of this yet."
"See what? Your strength? Your speed? Or the—things—following me?"
His jaw clenched. "All of it."
She folded her arms lightly, not out of defensiveness—no, more like bracing for truth. "You promised you'd explain."
He nodded, stepping even closer until she had to tilt her head to keep his gaze.
"I will," he murmured. "But I need to understand something first."
His eyes searched her face with staggering intensity.
"When I touched you," he said quietly, "when I held you—did you feel afraid?"
Elena blinked, startled by the raw vulnerability in the question. "No."
"Not even for a moment?"
"Ronan," she said gently, "you were the only thing I wasn't afraid of."
His breath hitched.
And for the first time—he broke eye contact.
Not out of guilt. Out of something deeper.
Beastmen avoided eye contact when overwhelmed.
Observation 8:He's fighting an instinct. An instinct tied to her.
He walked past her to the window, drawing the curtains shut with a sharp flick. Then another. And another. The shutters clicked as he locked them.
She realized something:
He was securing the room like she was a treasure he refused to lose.
"Are they still out there?" Elena asked softly.
He nodded once. "But they won't come inside."
"Why not?"
He turned back toward her slowly.
"Because I'm here."
Her pulse jumped, heat curling low in her stomach.
He approached again—this time more cautious, as if conscious of how close he wanted to be—and stopped just in front of her.
"Elena…" His voice dropped, warm and rough and intimate. "You see things others don't. The way people shift their weight. The way they hide intention in their shoulders. The way their eyes betray them before their words do."
She swallowed. "I analyze tells, yes."
"That's what makes you dangerous," he murmured.
"You keep saying that," she whispered. "Why? What do you think I can see?"
"Me."
Her breath caught.
He lifted a hand—not touching her yet—but close enough she felt its warmth hovering near her cheek.
"I need to know what you saw in me back on that bridge."
Elena steadied herself, letting her mind slip into observation mode—her lens, her specialty.
"Okay," she said softly. "If you want the truth…"
His jaw tightened, but he nodded.
She raised her eyes to his.
"Your body says you're trying to be careful with me," she began. "You're stronger than you let on. You didn't run—you hunted. Every movement you made was to shield me, even when you pretended it wasn't."
Ronan's breath deepened.
"You were… calm," she continued. "Unnaturally calm. That means you've faced predators before. This is routine for you."
His golden eyes glimmered.
"And when you touched me," she whispered, "your whole body shifted. Your pupils widened. Your muscles tightened. Your posture changed."
He swallowed hard.
"That wasn't protection," she said slowly." That was instinct."
A low, involuntary growl vibrated in his chest.
"Elena," he breathed.
"You reacted to me physically," she continued, voice trembling now. "Proximity mattered. Skin contact mattered. My heartbeat mattered. Beastmen bond through closeness—don't they?"
His eyes flared—bright gold.
"Elena," he said again, voice deeper, rougher. "Stop."
"Why?" she whispered.
Ronan stepped closer until their chests nearly brushed.
"Because if you say one more thing like that…"His voice dropped to a pained whisper."…I won't be able to hold myself back."
Her breath hitched. "Ronan…"
He closed the distance before she realized he'd moved—one hand braced on the wall beside her head, the other hovering at her waist, trembling slightly as if begging to touch her but refusing without permission.
"Elena," he murmured, "you read me too easily."
"You brought me here," she whispered. "You protected me. You ran with me in your arms. You—"
His forehead touched hers.
He exhaled shakily.
"Elena… please. Don't push me unless you mean it."
Her eyes softened. "Ronan… do you want to touch me?"
His breath stilled.
Then—
"Yes."
The admission escaped him like a confession dragged from the deepest part of him.
"But I shouldn't," he whispered. "Not until you understand what I am."
"Then tell me."
He hesitated.
"You already know," he murmured. "Your instincts are screaming it."
She lifted a hand slowly—giving him time to stop her—but he didn't move.
Her fingers slid gently into his damp hair.
Ronan shuddered.
"Elena," he rasped, "you don't understand what that does to me."
"Then explain it," she whispered. "Help me see what you really are."
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight as if fighting himself.
But when he opened them again, the gold was brighter—almost glowing.
"Elena," he said softly, "I'm not human."
Lightning flashed outside.
"And the part of me that isn't human…"His voice turned molten."…is choosing you."
Her pulse thundered.
"Is that why you can't touch me?" she whispered.
"No." He stepped closer, breath brushing her lips." It's why I can't stop wanting to."
Her knees weakened.
Slowly—achingly slowly—he lowered his head toward hers.
Not kissing. Not yet. Hovering.
Close enough her lips tingled from the heat of his breath.
"Elena," he whispered, "I need to know—do you want this?"
Her heart pounded so loudly she barely heard her own voice:
"Yes."
Ronan exhaled sharply—relief, hunger, restraint snapping all at once—
When—
A violent crash struck the wall outside.
Ronan's head snapped up, all softness vanishing.
His eyes went savage. Predatory.
"They found us."