Ronan didn't answer.
But after a moment of silence, the door creaked open.
Brynn stepped in, cautious at first, her armor left behind but her sword still at her hip—just in case. She looked tired. There were shadows under her eyes and soot on her jacket, like she hadn't slept either.
She shut the door gently behind her.
"You look better than you did last night," she said, her tone dry but laced with concern. "Which isn't saying much."
Ronan managed a smirk. "I've had worse mornings."
She crossed the room slowly, glancing at the bandages.
"You were burning," she muttered. "Half your chest was raw. And then it started knitting itself back like some nightmare from a druid's fever dream…"
He didn't respond. Just watched her.
After a breath, she stopped beside the bed.
Her hand reached out, almost hesitating. Then she touched his chest—just over the bandaged spot, gently. Her fingers were calloused but warm.
His muscles tensed at first… then relaxed.
The skin beneath her touch was rough but whole. Heat still pulsed faintly beneath it—not feverish, more like a dormant ember waiting to flare.
"You're healing fast," she said, voice softening. "Faster than any lycanthrope I've seen."
Ronan met her eyes. "I'm not like the others."
She didn't pull her hand away. "No," she said quietly. "You're not."
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable—filled with things unspoken.
Then she asked, "What are you really, Ronan Vale?"
Ronan held her gaze for a moment longer, then leaned back against the wall, letting her hand fall away from his chest.
"What am I?" he echoed, voice quiet.
He stared out the window for a long breath, watching the wind shift through the trees just beyond the village.
"I'm… what happens when you try to cage a storm," he said finally. "When you chain up something wild and pretend it'll stay quiet forever."
Brynn furrowed her brow. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got," he muttered. "Not one people like hearing, anyway."
He looked back at her, his blue eye dull, but the golden one flickering faintly beneath his lashes. "There's a curse in my blood. One that wakes up when I bleed, when I'm angry… when people like that mage push too hard."
Brynn crossed her arms. "So you're cursed. That's not uncommon. Hell, half the Order is cursed one way or another. But you—you were healing like a goddamn revenant. And that thing last night? You tore it apart like it was nothing."
Ronan gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. And it almost tore me apart. But no one remembers that part."
Brynn didn't press. Not yet. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him.
"You saved my life," she said after a moment. "And I think you almost died doing it."
"I've died worse," he said, flashing a crooked grin.
She looked at him sidelong. "I think you've been dying a little every day."
That made him pause.
The grin faded.
He looked at her then—really looked—and for a brief second, something in his face softened. Vulnerable. Human.
But just as quickly, it was gone again. Walls back up.
"I'm leaving when night falls," he said, changing the subject. "I don't stay in one place too long. People get nervous."
Brynn nodded. "Then I guess I'll bring you food while I can."
As she stood to leave, he stopped her with one last word.
"Thanks."
She didn't turn around. Just said softly, "Don't make me regret it."
Then she left, the door closing gently behind her.
Ronan exhaled, running a hand through his wild black hair.
One day, he thought. One day someone's going to get too close—and I won't be able to stop what comes out.
He looked up toward the open window above the inn. "Brynn!"
A pause.
Then her voice, faint but sharp. "What?"
He cracked a grin. "You said I looked better. Let's find out how much better."
Minutes Later
Brynn stepped into the yard wearing a loose training tunic, her blade at her back but not drawn. She raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't think you were the sparring type."
Ronan rolled his shoulder. "I'm not. But I've got too much energy in my blood and not enough ways to burn it."
"You sure this isn't just a way to show off?" she smirked.
He stepped into a ready stance, feet planted. "Would it work if it was?"
She answered by lunging.
Their sparring started slow—testing. Brynn was fast and tactical, precise with her movements. Ronan was wild but adaptive, strength backed by instinct and fluid reaction. Fist met forearm. Kick met sidestep. They circled each other, exchanging blows, breath rising.
Brynn ducked low and swept his leg.
He landed hard.
"Oof," he grunted. "Okay… not bad."
She offered him a hand up. "That's twice now I've dropped you."
Ronan grabbed it—but pulled her toward him, twisting and rolling to flip her instead.
She hit the dirt with a laugh. "Cheap."
"Adaptable," he corrected.
Their spar stretched on, a dance of sweat, dirt, and half-suppressed smiles. For the first time in a long while, Ronan wasn't thinking about monsters.
Just movement.
Just now.
Just her.
They were locked, forearms pressed together, muscles straining.
Brynn gritted her teeth, trying to twist free from his grip, but Ronan wasn't budging this time. His stance had shifted—lower, tighter, more primal.
Then it happened.
His blue eye flickered gold. Just for a heartbeat.
But it was enough.
A surge of power rushed through his body, sudden and hot like lightning down his spine. His grip tightened—too tight. Brynn's eyes widened as he shoved her back with a force that sent her sliding across the dirt, boots digging trenches in the earth.
She rolled and came up on one knee, hand already reaching for her sword.
Ronan stood perfectly still. Chest rising and falling. That golden light still shimmered in his eye, the edge of his canines a little too sharp. For a moment, his shadow looked longer—wrong.
He blinked, and the color vanished. Just blue again.
He exhaled, slow and controlled. "Sorry," he muttered, lowering his fists. "I… lost focus."
Brynn slowly straightened, her hand leaving her blade. She studied him—not afraid, but cautious. "That wasn't focus. That was power."
Ronan nodded once, solemn. "That's why I don't spar often."
She approached him slowly, eyes never leaving his. "But you stopped it. You pulled back."
He shrugged. "Barely."
Brynn smirked. "Then spar with me again tomorrow."
That caught him off guard.
He raised a brow. "You sure?"
"You need control. I need practice. You've got something wild inside you," she said, stepping past him, brushing his shoulder as she did. "Let's teach it some manners."
Ronan turned as she walked away, a flicker of genuine surprise—and maybe something else—lingering in his eyes.
For the first time in a long time, someone didn't flinch when they saw his monster.
They challenged it.
As the sun dipped below the treeline and long shadows stretched across the village, Ronan stood alone in the yard, breathing in the cool evening air. The heat of the sparring match had faded from his body, but something else had taken its place.
A scent.
At first, it was faint—just a whisper on the wind.
But then it hit him again, stronger.
Rot. Burned meat. Sulfur. Wet fur.
Ronan froze.
His pupils narrowed. One eye shimmered gold again as he instinctively inhaled deeper, sorting through the layers of scent like unraveling threads.
He knew that smell.
It was wrong—just like the thing he'd fought in the woods last night.
His jaw tightened, lips pulling back just slightly over sharpening teeth. His hand went to the strap on his back where his greatsword usually rested. But it wasn't there. It was inside.
Too far.
He turned toward the darkened street, nose twitching, ears sharpening slightly—just enough to catch something most wouldn't.
A heartbeat.
But it wasn't steady.
It was erratic. Fast. Too fast.
And then he heard something else.
A skitter on wood. Something crawling where it shouldn't.
He narrowed his eyes toward the rooftops, toward the alleys between the buildings. Something was watching him.
No—not just watching.
Hunting.
Ronan took a slow step back, muscles coiling.
The scent had changed.
Sharper. Older. Tainted with dried blood and grave soil.
From the edge of the forest, just beyond the fading light of the village lanterns, four figures emerged—silent, graceful, and unmistakably wrong.
Their skin was pale and tight over angular bones, eyes glowing with a hungry red gleam. Armor clung to their lean forms, though it was faded, rusted—some pieces stained with dried gore. One dragged a curved blade. Another licked blood from his claws.
Vampires.
And not the aristocratic kind whispered about in noble courts. These were feral. Stalkers. Hunters of the dark.
Ronan didn't move. He counted each heartbeat. His golden eye was glowing now, fully awakened.
The lead vampire stepped forward with a smirk, teeth glinting beneath cracked lips. "You smell… ripe, half-blood. Like a beast who hasn't decided which side of the leash he's on."
Another chuckled behind him. "We watched you fight that thing in the woods. Sloppy, but effective."
Ronan said nothing.
The fourth one dropped low into a crouch. "Let's see what your blood tastes like when you're losing."
Ronan's fingers twitched at his side.
No weapon. No backup.
Just teeth. Claws. Rage.
Perfect.
The lead vampire struck first—so fast he blurred.
Ronan ducked just in time, the curved blade slicing the air where his head had been. He twisted with the motion, drove his elbow into the vampire's gut, then spun to slam a fist into its jaw.
Bone cracked.
But it wasn't enough.
The second vampire was already behind him, claws raking across his back. Ronan staggered forward, hissing in pain as blood splattered the dirt. He barely had time to react before the third slammed into him like a battering ram, tackling him through a low stone wall.
They crashed in a heap, teeth gnashing for his throat.
Ronan roared—not from pain, but from something deeper.
Primal.
His body convulsed, bones shifting, sinew stretching. One blue eye burned gold, then both. Claws burst from his fingertips, his jaw elongating just enough to show the beast beneath.
Hybrid Form.
He surged upward, grabbing the vampire on top of him and hurling it like a ragdoll into a tree with a crack. Before it hit the ground, Ronan was already moving, leaping into the air with unnatural speed.
The fourth vampire met him midair, fangs flashing—but Ronan twisted and brought his knee up into the creature's ribs. The impact sent a shockwave through the yard, dirt kicking up in a ring.
They hit the ground and rolled.
The leader hissed something in a forgotten language—and all three remaining vampires converged on him at once.
Ronan's breath came hard and fast. Blood dripped from his side, but his focus sharpened.
He reached into his coat and sliced a finger across a small, hidden rune on his gauntlet.
Crimson sparks ignited.
His claws lit with flickering red lightning—Blood Rite: Crimson Surge.
They came at him in a blur.
Ronan met them head-on.
He ducked under a swing, drove his electrified claws through the second vampire's chest, and ripped sideways. The scream that followed shook the trees. The creature fell, twitching.
The third tried to grapple him—Ronan bit down, hard, tearing out a chunk of its shoulder. With a snarl, he lifted the vampire by the throat and hurled it into the air. As it fell, he leapt and met it mid-descent, driving both claws down through its chest in a bloody arc of fury and sparks.
Then—
A blade pierced through his gut.
The leader.
He whispered in Ronan's ear, "You fight like a beast, but bleed like a man."
Ronan coughed blood, grinning through the pain. "Then let's bleed together."
He grabbed the blade—and yanked it deeper—pulling the vampire toward him and driving his claws straight through the creature's chest.
Red lightning exploded from his hands, sending both of them flying in opposite directions.
Ronan landed hard. Rolled.
Laid still.
Smoke rose from the crater.
For a moment… silence.
Then the soft sound of footsteps. A survivor?
No.
Ronan rose, slow and unsteady.
Covered in blood. Eyes glowing gold. Breathing like a cornered animal.
Three vampires were dust. The fourth, the leader, lay twitching on the ground, half a chest remaining.
Ronan limped over.
"No leash," he growled. "Not anymore."
Then he crushed the vampire's skull underfoot