Chapter 156

Lila

The first thing I noticed was the smell of herbs. Sharp and bitter, willow bark and mint.

It mingled with the faint sweetness of the lavender sachets stuffed into the bedframe, the contrast oddly comforting. My head felt thick, heavy, every thought slow to surface, like trying to swim through honey.

I blinked against the dim light and realized I wasn’t alone.

Ronan sat at the small table near the window, broad shoulders hunched as he carefully unwrapped a folded cloth. Inside were sprigs of something dark and glossy, leaves crushed to release their oils.

He moved with surprising delicacy for someone so large. I took note of his measured motions, those precise hands. A small ceramic bowl sat beside him, steaming in soft tendrils.

“You’re awake.”

His voice was low, calm. He didn’t turn towards me immediately, but I saw the way his shoulders eased slightly, tension bleeding out of them.

“How long?” My own voice sounded raw, like I hadn’t used it in days.

“A few hours,” he said, finally glancing over his shoulder. His eyes scanned my face briefly, assessing my condition, before returning to his work. “You’ve been sleeping on and off. That’s good I think.”

I pushed myself up on my elbows. The motion sent a wave of dizziness crashing through me, and I nearly collapsed back into the pillows.

“Easy.” Ronan was at my side in three long strides. One calloused hand braced my shoulder, steadying me until the room stopped spinning. His touch was warm, almost startling against the chill of my skin.

“I’m fine,” I lied, breathless.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached for the bowl on the table and pressed it into my hands.

The porcelain was warm, the faint heat seeping through my trembling fingers. It was broth, thin but fragrant, carrying hints of garlic and rosemary.

“Drink,” he said simply.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t have to be.” His tone softened, but there was no room for debate. “You need to build your strength. Start with this.”

I stared at the bowl for a moment, then brought it to my lips. The first sip burned; not painfully, but enough to remind me I was alive. Salt and heat spread down my throat, settling in the hollow ache of my stomach.

“Better?”

I nodded, wordless.

A comfortable silence settled between us. Like Ronan understood I didn’t have the strength for conversation. He remained beside the bed, arms loosely crossed, watching me drink as though ensuring I wouldn’t set it down halfway through.

When I finally lowered the bowl, he took it gently from my hands and set it aside.

“Rest,” he said.

I hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” His gaze flicked to the door where the guards stood silent outside, their shadows shifting beneath the crack in the door. His voice dropped. “But I want to.”

Something in my chest ached at that.

I looked away quickly, staring at the folds of the blanket pooled in my lap. It was easier to believe this was Ronan’s duty; that he was only here because Damon had ordered it, or because protecting me was part of his role.

It was easier than thinking someone might choose to stay.

“Thank you,” I whispered anyway.

He didn’t answer, but his hand lingered briefly on the back of the chair before he returned to the table, a quiet, steady presence.

For the first time in days, I didn’t feel completely alone.

When I woke again, the fire in the hearth had recently been stoked, the orange glow throwing long shadows across the walls.

My body ached in that bone-deep way that was becoming status quo; every muscle was too tired to hold me together. Sweat clung to the back of my neck despite the cold draft seeping in through the cracks in the window.

I pushed the blankets aside and swung my legs to the floor. It was cool under my bare feet, grounding but sharp. My balance wavered as soon as I stood; the room tilted sideways, and I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself.

I didn’t hear Ronan come in until his hand closed gently over mine.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low, steady in a way that made the spinning slow.

I startled at first, then relaxed when I saw him; he was broad-shouldered, hair disheveled from too many sleepless nights, eyes shadowed but alert. He didn’t look surprised to find me up. More like he’d been expecting it.

“I can’t keep lying in bed,” I murmured. “I’ll go mad.”

“You’re still healing.” He guided me carefully back toward the mattress, not forcing but firm enough I couldn’t refuse. “Give it time.”

Time. As if I hadn’t already lost weeks to this place, to waiting, to captivity that stretched longer every day.

“I don’t know what I’m waiting for,” I admitted softly, letting him ease me down onto the edge of the bed. My hands trembled in my lap, so I clenched them together until my knuckles ached. “If he wanted me, wouldn’t he be here?”

The words hung between us. I didn’t mean to say them aloud.

Ronan crouched so we were eye-level, forearms resting loosely on his knees. He wasn’t looking at me the way most people did, not with pity or judgment. He was steady, patient. It made something in me unravel a little more.

“He’s trying,” Ronan said finally. “In his way.”

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “His way doesn’t feel much like love.”

Silence again. The crackle of the fire filled it, soft and steady. Like Ronan.

I didn’t know why I kept talking. Maybe because no one else was here. Or because Ronan didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to fix things he couldn’t fix.

“My mother’s gone,” I whispered. “My wolf’s gone. I don’t even know who I am without them. And I—” My throat tightened. “I don’t know if I can stay here.”

I expected him to argue. To tell me I would find my place here, that I couldn’t give up. Instead, Ronan’s hand rested lightly on my shoulder, in his comforting was.

“You don’t have to decide that tonight,” he said quietly.

Something inside me cracked at the gentleness of it. Damon’s love had been fierce, overwhelming; Ronan’s comfort was quiet, steady, like standing in the eye of a storm.

I didn’t mean to lean into him. My body just moved, as if it had been waiting for something solid to rest against. His shoulder was warm beneath my cheek, broad and unmoving.

For a moment, I let myself breathe against him, shallow, trembling breaths that smelled faintly of cedar and iron.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words barely sound.

I felt the way his chest rose sharply, how his muscles went taut for a heartbeat before he forced them to relax.

His hand hovered near my back but didn’t settle there. He made sure to be close enough to steady me, but far enough to respect the space I might need.

When I finally pulled away, exhaustion crashing back over me, he didn’t mention it. He simply eased me under the blankets again, tucking them close without ceremony.

As sleep crept in, I murmured Ruby’s name into the quiet, a habit of hoping for her I couldn’t break. There was still no answer. But for once the silence didn’t feel unbearable.

Because Ronan stayed.