Chapter 32: Lines Drawn

RONAN

She'd dared me to kiss her, voice low and taunting, eyes daring me to break whatever boundary we'd been skirting for so long.

 I couldn't turn her down — not when she looked at me like that, and not when every part of me wanted to close the distance between us. 

So, I did. And after that kiss — after feeling her breath hitch and her hand slide up the back of my neck — she looked at me, eyes bright and unreadable, and smirked. "Think you can handle another dare?" she whispered, challenging me in that way only she could, the way that made me want to prove myself even when I knew I'd already crossed a line.

But this kiss wasn't just a fleeting brush of lips; it was the kind that changes things, the kind that had us both leaning in deeper, testing limits we hadn't fully acknowledged. 

What started as a dare quickly turned into something else.

We had this heavy, heated makeout session, the kind that leaves you dizzy and questioning all your choices. My hand was tangled in her hair, her breath warm against my neck, and it felt like we were both teetering on the edge of something inevitable. 

But right as it felt like we might just let it happen, reality hit me, sharp and cold. 

I remembered Isabelle, the mess of feelings I hadn't sorted through. And she… well, she had her own reasons, ones I could see flickering in her eyes, reminding us both of exactly why we'd been so careful all this time.

So, in one heartbeat, we pulled away. 

She mumbled something I couldn't quite catch, then slipped into her room, leaving me standing there, pulse still racing, feeling like I'd just crossed a line I wasn't supposed to. I went to my room, shut the door, and tried to pretend like none of it had happened.

By morning, I'd forced myself into casual detachment, trying to follow her lead as we moved around each other like it was just another day. 

But that tension was still there, humming in the air like a live wire between us. 

Every glance, every brush of our shoulders felt loaded, like we were both holding our breath, just waiting for the spark that would set everything off again. And yet, we kept up the act, pretending the night before was just another forgotten impulse. 

Only, it didn't feel forgotten. 

Not even close.

If I'd learned anything by now, it was that nothing in our world could stay simple. 

This truce, this unlikely partnership we'd built over the past days, was fragile at best, and loaded with complications. 

Maeve's defiance was maddening, sure, but it also made her the one person I trusted to stay strong amid the chaos swirling around us. I'd grown too used to her presence, and maybe that was the problem. Whatever was growing between us, I couldn't let it distract me. 

The danger around us didn't allow for those kinds of risks, and I reminded myself every day that, for now, we couldn't afford to look too closely at whatever was building between us.

Today was no different.

We had to attend another political meeting. The council hall loomed ahead, its grand stone arches and tall windows casting an air of severity that was impossible to ignore. 

Inside, representatives from every supernatural faction would be waiting — werewolves, witches, vampires, dryads, humans — a mix of power and suspicion that rarely settled into anything resembling unity. 

Even walking through these doors felt like surrendering to a battlefield.

Maeve walked beside me, her shoulders set, her chin high. That resolve of hers was something I hadn't expected. She had the look of someone ready to fight for something real, something bigger than herself. And despite knowing how risky this would be, I admired her for it.

"Just keep close," I said, glancing over at her, trying to mask the concern in my voice. Her gaze flicked to mine, stubbornness mingling with a hint of a smile.

"I'm not planning on getting lost in there," she replied, her voice low but unwavering.

Inside, the hall was as crowded and chaotic as always. High ceilings, dark wood paneling, and the omnipresent hum of conversations mingling into an intense wall of sound. 

Maeve's eyes swept the room, taking in the grand architecture, the tension of countless factions jostling for position. 

I watched her absorb it all, her mind already running, calculating. There was a resolve in her that I hadn't expected, a quiet determination that made her seem far older and wiser than she ever let on.

It reminded me of my mother in this very hall, a lifetime ago. 

Jean Westwood had stood here with the same set to her shoulders, that same iron will disguised behind a calm expression.

 She had faced a room of hostile factions, pushing through years of opposition to bring humans and supernaturals together. Her strength had never wavered, and she'd seen it through — even if it meant the world turned against her. 

I couldn't help but admire her, even now, for that drive. But her presence came at a price. Her ideals had driven her to meddle with every aspect of my life, controlling it in ways that left me trapped in her vision. 

I'd given her far too much leeway for too long, handing her the reins to situations I should have controlled myself. I could see now that it was my weakness, my mistake as an Alpha, that had allowed this whole mess with the wedding to unfold.

We moved toward our seats at the werewolf delegation's table, my mind still lingering on the shadow of my mother's influence. I felt the scrutiny of every faction in the room as we passed — eyes assessing, calculating — but Maeve didn't flinch. 

She met their gazes with her chin raised, her own resolve reflected in the set of her jaw. 

She'd chosen her clothing with intent, dressed in something new that fit the political atmosphere of the meeting better than her previous, more casual style. 

Shopping with the women of my pack had clearly left its mark, though she hadn't lost her edge. 

Maeve still refused to shrink under scrutiny, a quality that was maddening and impressive in equal measure. It was as if she'd decided to step into her role fully today, whether the rest of the room approved or not. And maybe, in some strange way, I needed her to.

Across the room, I noticed Nimah and Brielle seated with the witches' delegation. Nimah's expression was serene, her usual composed elegance giving nothing away. Brielle, on the other hand, looked as if she owned the entire hall, radiating a quiet arrogance that left no room for doubt. 

Maeve's gaze lingered on them, her brow furrowing as if she could feel their scrutiny from across the room.

Just as we settled in, Nimah caught my eye. A slow, calculated smile spreading across her face before she turned her gaze to Maeve. Her expression sharpened, amusement flickering as she raised her voice, her tone dripping with barely contained disdain.

"It's curious," Nimah said, her voice cutting through the murmur of the hall. "A human, freshly tied to this world, taking such a prominent seat. What could she possibly offer us?"

Maeve stiffened beside me, but she didn't flinch. 

For a moment, I tensed, ready to intervene, to remind Nimah that Maeve's place beside me wasn't up for debate. But then I saw Maeve take a steady breath, visibly relaxing as she prepared to respond.

 She turned her gaze on Nimah, and something in her posture shifted — perhaps a signal she'd picked up from Nimah, something familiar that I couldn't see.

Maeve spoke with a calmness that surprised even me. "I may not be supernatural, but that doesn't mean I don't belong here," she replied, her voice steady. "As Ronan's wife, I have a say in this pack. And that's what matters. I may be human, but this world can't move forward unless humans have a seat at the table."

The silence in the hall was almost palpable as Maeve's words sank in. Nimah's smile faltered just slightly, and I caught a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. 

Brielle, however, looked on with a smug, disinterested expression, as if she were only waiting for Maeve to slip up, to prove her point for her.

Maeve turned to face the rest of the council, her gaze sweeping over each delegation with defiance. "For the first time, a human stands at the Alpha's side, not just as an observer, but as part of this community. It's a chance to bridge our worlds, to truly integrate." She met Nimah's gaze again. "So, yes, I'm new to all of this. But that doesn't mean I'm less."

I saw several of the representatives exchange glances, expressions flickering between approval and skepticism. But Maeve's words had landed, her voice a bold echo in a room not used to hearing from anyone outside its rigid power structure.

But just as Maeve's words settled, the door at the far end of the hall opened, and a familiar figure stepped in. 

Declan Moriarty. 

My blood ran cold at the sight of him.

It had been almost two decades since I'd exile that snake, and not a day too soon. Declan was a reminder of every fracture, every bit of damage my family had endured. He'd been there at my father's side, a whispering manipulator who'd resisted every attempt my mother made to bring humans and supernaturals together. Seeing him now, seated with the human delegation, made my fists clench.

Maeve's gaze shifted to me, her eyes flicking with concern. She could feel my anger simmering just below the surface, but I forced myself to remain outwardly calm. Declan hadn't noticed us yet, but his presence here was an insult, a reminder of the battles my mother had fought against him and his twisted ideals.

I leaned in closer to Maeve, my voice low, each word measured. "Stay alert. I won't let anything happen to you, but Declan has his own agenda. He is dangerous."

Maeve gave a slight nod, her eyes narrowing as they followed Declan's every move. 

Despite my shock at seeing him seated so comfortably among the human representatives, his presence did not throw Maeve. 

Her jaw clenched with quiet determination, her hand resting on the table as though bracing for impact. She knew as well as I did that Declan was more than just a former Beta or a disgraced pack member; he was a tactician with motives he'd never fully revealed, and his presence here was both calculated and ominous. 

Whatever he was planning, it would not benefit anyone but him.

As the meeting began, the factions launched into their usual routine of political maneuvering, a careful dance of territory disputes, resource arguments, and accusations. 

It was the same spectacle as always, with each faction clawing for advantage, afraid to yield a single inch of power. 

Declan, of course, positioned himself as the calm, rational voice among the human delegation, the one who seemed just benevolent enough to make him even more sinister.

But Nimah hadn't forgotten about Maeve. Her smile returned, sharper now, a glint of malice in her eyes as she addressed the room again.

"Forgive me," Nimah purred, her voice a sharp contrast to the undercurrent of venom in her words. "But isn't it a bit ambitious to have someone so young, and so new to this world, assume such a prominent role?" Her gaze flicked to me with a mocking softness, before turning to the council. "Or perhaps we're all just curious if the pack can expect an heir soon — after all, that's the natural order for an Alpha couple, isn't it?"

Nimah's words hit with precision, the blatant question cutting through the council's usual pretense. It was a challenge designed to chip away at Maeve's authority, to expose her vulnerability and reduce her presence to something purely transactional. 

A ripple of murmurs echoed across the room as her question lingered, a dozen eyes trained on Maeve with fresh scrutiny.

I tensed, biting back the urge to lash out. I could see the gleam of satisfaction in Nimah's gaze as she landed her strike, each word intended to reduce Maeve to nothing more than a human distraction, incapable of leading, there only to provide a future heir. But then, as I caught Maeve's steady gaze, I saw her shoulders straighten. She gave the faintest nod to Nimah — a silent signal, almost like an acknowledgment, though one that I wasn't supposed to see.

Maeve's gaze swept over the council, a calm defiance glinting in her eyes as she addressed Nimah's question head-on.

"Yes, after all I'm twenty four," she began, her voice steady and unflinching. "And I may not have grown up in this world." She let her gaze travel across the council, pausing on each faction, ensuring every member felt the weight of her words. "But that doesn't make my voice any less relevant. My presence here is proof of what your community needs. I'm a bridge — a living example that humans and supernaturals can work together. Integration isn't just possible; it's necessary."

A murmur rippled through the hall as her words settled, but Maeve didn't falter. She held her ground, her posture unyielding as she continued, her tone measured yet cutting. "As for an heir," she added, her voice softening just slightly, though there was a steely edge beneath her calm, "well… nature doesn't rush, nor should we. Time will show what's right." 

Her gaze flicked back to Nimah, a spark of challenge in her eyes. "The natural order of things has its own timing, doesn't it?"

A brief silence followed her words, as if the entire council were absorbing what she'd just said, the balance of power shifting ever so slightly in her favor. I could sense the factions turning it over in their minds. Her words sinking in, igniting conversations in low murmurs and nods exchanged among representatives. 

The shift was palpable; she'd found her mark and struck it, hard enough to leave the room reassessing her role.

But then, just as the voices around us rose again, a ripple of tension spread through Maeve's body, a strange, electric current that made the hairs on my arms stand up. 

Her hand gripped the edge of the table, fingers turning white with strain, and her breathing hitched — a quick, shallow intake of breath that seemed to resonate beyond her. 

Her chest rose in short, panicked bursts, each breath coming faster, each one barely enough. 

She was trying to hide it, to keep herself grounded, but her face paled, her shoulders beginning to shake as she fought for control.

"Maeve?" I murmured, leaning closer, but she didn't respond. 

Her gaze was distant, fixed beyond the council hall, as if she were seeing something — or someone — none of us could. 

Her breathing turned rapid, erratic, each inhale rasping like she was choking on air itself. And then, something shifted. The air grew thick, heavy, like a gathering storm.

The council fell silent, all eyes drawn to Maeve as if compelled by a force they couldn't understand. 

Her eyes snapped open, but they weren't her eyes. They glowed an eerie, pale silver, casting an otherworldly light that illuminated her face in an unsettling way. 

The glow was so bright that I could see faint patterns flickering across her skin, like ripples of water under moonlight. Slowly, her body began to lift, her toes barely grazing the ground as she floated just inches above the floor, suspended by some unseen force.

"Maeve?" I called out again, louder this time, though my voice sounded small against whatever was happening to her. 

Her breaths were shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling at an unnatural rhythm, like a creature caught between two worlds. The air around her vibrated with energy, crackling like static.

Her head tilted back, her mouth opening as if in silent agony, and her hand loosened from the edge of the table, fingers hanging limp. I moved toward her, but the force emanating from her was enough to make my steps falter. 

The council members stared, stunned, some backing away, their faces painted with shock and fear. The power surrounding her was unlike anything they'd ever seen, unlike anything I had ever seen.

"Maeve!" I shouted, breaking the silence, lunging forward just as the light around her began to fade, the levitation stopping as quickly as it had begun. 

Her body lost its ethereal suspension, and she collapsed forward, slipping from that strange state back to something painfully human. 

I caught her just before she hit the floor, her limp form settling against my chest as her head fell onto my shoulder. Her breaths were faint now, barely gasps, as though she'd been pulled back from some place beyond even her own understanding.

"Clear the way!" I barked, my voice reverberating through the hall, the authority in my tone enough to part the council members as I held Maeve tightly, gathering her up without hesitation. 

She was unconscious, her face pale, her breathing dangerously shallow. I cradled her against me, her weight slight but grounding, as I maneuvered through the room, each step urgent but controlled.

The council watched in stunned silence, their whispers fading into the background as I carried Maeve from the hall, my focus solely on her. 

She was lifeless against me, her breaths faint, and the thought twisted something inside me — a fear I hadn't expected, a raw, instinctual panic that I hadn't felt in years.