Intimate Truths and a Looming Revelation

The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting Ronan's room in a silvery glow. We'd been talking for hours, our conversation drifting from music to memories to dreams. Something about the night made confessions easier, secrets slipping out in the darkness between us.

"I want you to meet my family someday," Ronan said quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on my palm. "They have a farm on the eastern border. Nothing fancy like the Warner estate, but it's beautiful in the spring."

I smiled, picturing a rustic farmhouse surrounded by wildflowers. "I'd like that. What are they like? Your family?"

Ronan's expression softened. "My mom's the strongest person I know. Runs the whole farm practically by herself since Dad's health started failing. My sisters are all smartasses—three of them, all older and constantly bossing me around."

"So that's why you're so good at taking orders," I teased, poking his ribs.

His laugh was quiet, a little sad around the edges. "They're not going to understand this, you know. Me being here, training to be a soldier."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, shifting so he could look directly into my eyes. "My family... they're academics. Scholars. Been that way for generations. My sisters all followed tradition—one's a historian, one's a mathematician, one's studying ancient texts."

"And you chose a different path," I said, understanding dawning.

"I was never good at books and theories. I'm better with my hands, with action." His voice dropped lower. "When I told them I was enlisting in Vance's special forces program, my mom cried for a week. My dad wouldn't speak to me."

My heart ached for him. "They don't support your choice?"

"They think I'm throwing my life away." His thumb brushed against my wrist. "That I'm not smart enough to do anything else."

"That's ridiculous," I said fiercely. "You're one of the most intelligent people I know. Intelligence isn't just about books and theories."

"Try telling them that." His smile was bleak. "They tolerate my 'phase,' as they call it. Keep expecting me to give up and come home."

I reached up, touching his cheek. "They don't see what I see."

"And what's that?" he asked, vulnerability plain in his eyes.

"Strength. Loyalty. A man who thinks deeply about everything, who feels everything so intensely he sometimes can't speak it." I moved closer, letting my body press against his. "I see a man who cares so fiercely he'll transform into a beast to protect what matters."

His eyes darkened, and his hands slid to my waist. "Keep talking like that, and I might have to show you just how fierce I can be."

"Maybe that's what I want," I whispered.

Something shifted in his expression—a hungry, desperate look that sent heat pooling low in my belly. He moved so quickly I barely registered it, flipping our positions until I was beneath him on the bed, his body a warm weight pressing me down.

"Tell me again," he murmured, lips hovering just above mine. "Tell me what you see when you look at me."

"I see Ronan," I said simply. "The quiet one who notices everything. The one who makes me feel safe." I reached up, threading my fingers through his copper hair. "The one I couldn't imagine leaving behind."

His kiss was different this time—possessive, almost desperate. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp.

"I know I'm not like the others," he said between kisses, trailing his lips down my neck. "Not commanding like Kaelen, not charming like Rhys, not brilliant like Silas, not powerful like Jaxon."

"Stop," I said, framing his face with my hands, forcing him to look at me. "I don't want you to be like them. I want you to be you."

Something broke in his expression then, a vulnerability so raw it made my chest ache. He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands sliding under my shirt, tracing patterns against my bare skin.

"I need you," he whispered, and the simple honesty of it undid me completely.

I tugged at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. "Then take me," I said.

Our clothes fell away in a frantic rush, hands exploring newly exposed skin, hungry for connection. Ronan's body was a work of art—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles defined from years of training.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, eyes drinking me in like I was water in a desert.

His touch was reverent, exploring every inch of me with careful attention. When his fingers found the heat between my thighs, I gasped, arching into his touch.

"Like this?" he asked, watching my face with intense concentration.

"Yes," I breathed, hips moving instinctively against his hand. "Just like that."

He was a quick learner, adjusting his rhythm and pressure in response to every small sound I made. When I was trembling beneath him, right on the edge, he withdrew his hand.

I made a small noise of protest, but then he was positioning himself between my thighs, looking down at me with those ice-blue eyes darkened to midnight.

"Are you sure?" he asked, ever considerate.

In answer, I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. The slow press of him entering me pulled a moan from deep in my throat. He moved carefully at first, his eyes never leaving mine, gauging every reaction.

"Ronan," I whispered, hands gripping his shoulders. "I won't break."

Something wild flared in his eyes then—the beast he kept carefully contained. His next thrust was deeper, more forceful, and I cried out in pleasure.

"Like that?" he asked, voice rough.

"Yes," I gasped. "Don't stop."

He set a rhythm that had me clinging to him, every thrust pushing me higher. His quiet control was slipping, replaced by something primal and beautiful. I watched in awe as he gave himself over to it, to us.

"Hazel," he groaned, forehead pressed to mine. "I can't—"

"Let go," I urged, feeling my own release building. "I've got you."

We crashed over the edge together, his name a prayer on my lips, my name a growl in his throat. He collapsed beside me afterward, gathering me close against his chest, his heartbeat thundering under my ear.

"You're incredible," he murmured, pressing kisses into my hair. "I don't deserve you."

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze firmly. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

A small smile touched his lips. "Bossy."

"Only when necessary." I curled closer, feeling incredibly safe in his arms. "Thank you for telling me about your family. For sharing that part of yourself with me."

"Thank you for listening." His fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare back. "For seeing me."

I fell asleep like that, wrapped in his arms, feeling more balanced than I had in days.

---

The next morning, I noticed that my heat symptoms had finally stabilized. The pounding headache and restless energy had faded to a manageable level, allowing me to focus properly during training with Rowan.

"Much better," he commented, watching me complete a series of complex telekinetic exercises. "Your control is improving."

"I still feel off," I admitted, lowering the hovering objects carefully to the ground. "Like something's not quite right."

Rowan tilted his head, studying me. "The bond is still establishing. It will take time for everything to settle."

Over the next week, I threw myself into training, determined to master my abilities. But at night, a strange new compulsion took hold of me. I found myself collecting items of clothing from each of my bonds—a t-shirt from Rhys, a hoodie from Silas, a tank top from Jaxon, a sweater from Ronan.

"What are you doing with my shirt?" Jaxon asked one evening, catching me sneaking it from the laundry pile.

I froze, embarrassed. "I... I like the smell," I admitted.

Instead of mocking me, his expression softened slightly. "Scent bonding," he said, as if that explained everything. "It's normal."

He was right—surrounding myself with their scents helped calm the persistent anxiety that had taken root since my heat began. Still, sleep remained elusive most nights. I'd lie awake, feeling an imbalance I couldn't quite define.

After seven days of intensive training, we received a summons from Headmaster Vance. My stomach immediately knotted with apprehension.

"What do you think he wants?" I asked as we made our way to his office.

"Probably another lecture about protocol," Rhys said, but the tension in his voice betrayed his own concern.

When we entered Vance's office, I immediately sensed something was wrong. His face was grim, his usual commanding presence subdued. He gestured for us to sit, avoiding my eyes in a way that sent ice down my spine.

Silas and Rhys took my hands instinctively, while Ronan stood protectively behind me. Jaxon positioned himself near the door, arms crossed, expression wary.

"I have news," Vance said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Some good, some... less so."

"Just tell us," I said, my heart pounding.

Vance looked directly at me then, his blue eyes troubled. "It's regarding your parents."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications I couldn't yet understand. My grip tightened on Silas and Rhys's hands, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.