Ronan stayed in the forest that night.
He didn't mean to.
It was like falling asleep in a dream and waking up more awake than he'd ever been.
The fire Selene built crackled with blue flames—wood that hissed like it resisted burning. Her hut was no more than a shelter woven from living branches, yet warm, pulsing with gentle light, as if the forest itself breathed around them.
“You’re not afraid of me,” Selene said as she handed him a steaming cup of bitterroot tea. “Most men are.”
“I am,” he admitted. “But that’s not what’s stopping me.”
She sat across from him, legs folded beneath her, hair spilling down one shoulder. “Then what is?”
Ronan stared into the fire. “You feel like something I’ve already lost once. And I don’t know if I can survive losing it again.”
The silence that followed was heavier than most words.
Selene looked at him differently now. Softer. No longer the predator, but something closer to the woman behind the magic. She reached for his hand. He let her take it.
Her touch was cool and certain, but when her thumb brushed the line of his palm, his breath caught.
“There’s something inside you,” she said. “A fragment of divine blood. Not fully awakened. Not human.”
“I’ve been told stories,” Ronan said quietly. “They say I was born in the wake of a god’s death. That I shouldn’t exist.”
“They were right,” Selene said, voice barely a whisper. “And yet, here you are.”
She stood and stepped closer, straddling him with no hesitation. Her dress slipped off one shoulder, revealing skin like golden dusk. Her hands settled against his chest—not pushing, not pulling. Waiting.
“You don’t have to touch me,” she said, breath grazing his lips. “But if you do, you’ll start something you won’t be able to stop.”
Ronan didn’t speak.
He kissed her.
The fire surged higher behind them as her mouth met his. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and his hands traced her spine like a map he’d known in another life. Magic sparked at every point where their skin touched, a slow-burning current that wrapped around them both, alive and pulsing.
The kiss deepened, and with it, the forest outside grew unnaturally still. The world held its breath.
They fell together onto the woven floor of the hut, breathless, wrapped in shadow and flame.
And somewhere in the distance, the gods stirred.