Page 255 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“He was.”

“Good.”

His gaze stayed on the lake. “I have not thanked you.”

That turned my head. Ronan looked at me then. No council room. No ruling. No execution hidden under careful language. Just a man who had almost ordered his brother’s death and would have to live with how close he had come.

“Thank you,” he said. “For saving Ian.”

The words were formal but his voice was not.

My throat tightened. “I mostly yelled at him.”

“Yes. It was effective.”

“He listens very poorly for someone with supernatural hearing.”

The faintest curve touched Ronan’s mouth, then it faded.

“You brought him back from a place I could not reach.”

“He was not yours to reach the same way.”

Ronan absorbed that.

I wondered if it hurt. I hoped it did just enough to matter.

“I stood behind humans today,” he said.

“Barely.”

“Yes,” he said. “Barely.”

At least he was honest.

His eyes met mine. “Do not make me regret it.”

There he was, Alpha again. But softer. Not kind, exactly. Ronan didn’t seem built for easy kindness. This was something more useful. A warning without contempt. A boundary without denying I had earned a place inside the conversation.

“I will do my best to keep Dad from starting a podcast,” I said.

“I do not know what that means.”

“It means I accept the seriousness of your warning.”

Ronan looked skeptical.

Fair.

“I know what’s at stake,” I said. “I’m angry. I’m not stupid.”

“No,” he said. “You are not.”

That felt like praise from Ronan, which was unsettling.

He turned to leave.

“Ronan.”