Kapitel 12: Chapter 12: The Fragile Alliance
RONAN
The hallways of the compound feel more suffocating than usual. After the meeting with Cillian and the other advisors, I'd hoped for some clarity, a path forward. But all I have are more questions. More doubts. The weight of leadership is pressing down on me from every angle, and I'm starting to feel the cracks.
The pack is fracturing, the rogues are closing in, and the supernatural factions are circling like vultures—though, amusingly, not a single one of them is a screeching flock of Harpies. I need to act, to take control before it all crumbles beneath me. And worst of it - Isabelle was still missing and we got no lead on where to look.
And that means facing Maeve.
I stop just outside the suite door, my hand hovering over the handle. I've avoided this conversation for five days, almost a week—too long. I should've spoken to her sooner, but every time I tried, I found an excuse. A crisis with the pack, rogue attacks, even the damn Ministry demanding answers.
But now, I can't run from it anymore. I have to talk to her, to make her understand why this is bigger than either of us.
Why she has to play her part.
The door creaks open, and I step inside, forcing my body to appear composed despite the roiling tension beneath my skin. The sight of Maeve, sitting there with Siobhan beside her, hits me harder than I expect. I lock eyes with her—sharp, hazel, and filled with the kind of questions I'm not ready to answer.
My chest tightens, and for once in my life, I feel a flicker of something I don't recognize. Fear? No, Ronan Westwood doesn't do fear. But it's close enough to make my throat dry.
Maeve has always been able to throw me off-balance. She's been doing it for the past four years, ever since she started planning my wedding with Isabelle.
I never showed it, of course—couldn't afford to—but she has this way of demanding your full attention without even trying. Maeve isn't just someone you can ignore. There's something in her—an intensity, a quiet strength—that pulls you in, even when you'd rather keep your distance.
It's in the way she stands, the way she holds herself, never shrinking, even when surrounded by wolves twice her size. Her personality is sharp, focused, unrelenting.
"Oh, look who decided to show up", I said, sarcasm dripping in my voice. "Well, hello, Mr. Surprise. Nice of you to drop by six days after announcing our sentence—oops, I mean marriage." she said as her eyes landed on me.
I know I brought it on myself, but hell if she doesn't frustrate me.
Even now, sitting there in a room that suddenly feels too small with her in it, I can't shake the knot of frustration curling in my gut.
Maeve doesn't just take up space; she commands it. Always has. And the worst part? I can't let any of it show. Not in front of her. Not in front of Siobhan, who's watching me like she's one wrong move away from ripping my throat out.
And while she's not a werewolf, she's not anything that could pose a real threat to me... but even so, she still does. There's something fierce about her—this raw protective energy that makes even me think twice.
I guess it shouldn't surprise me. Two sisters, cut from the same iron. It's no wonder they both stand their ground like they're born to it.
I clear my throat, my gaze flicking briefly to Siobhan before landing back on Maeve. "We need to talk," I say, and the words come out rougher than I intended. There's an edge to them, a tension I can't quite contain.
Maeve moves like she wants to say something but Siobhan doesn't give her a chance. She's up on her feet, fire in her eyes, fists clenched at her sides like she's ready to swing at me.
"You've got a lot of nerve walking in here like that, after what you've done to her."
I stiffen, jaw locking as I meet her glare head-on. The wolf in me bristles, wanting to assert dominance, but I force it down. This isn't about Siobhan. I don't need her approval, but every second she's in this room is a second Maeve's walls stay up.
So I keep my mouth shut, my eyes firmly on Maeve, waiting for her to make the call.
What I don't expect is the silence.
Maeve just looks at me, those wide hazel eyes searching mine, and for once, I realize I don't know what the hell she's going to do next. I don't know her well enough to predict her every move, not like I could with Isabelle. But I do know her enough to be sure of one thing: silence has never been Maeve's strong point.
She's always had something to say, even if it was a sharp remark or a dry observation that left me biting my tongue. And now, this quiet? It feels like it's stretching the room too thin, pulling everything tighter around us.
I came in here expecting a fight, maybe even hoping for one—at least then I'd know how to handle it. But now, I just need her to... speak. Anything. Just break the silence.
"Siobhan..." Maeve's voice cuts through my thoughts, "I need to talk to him. We've got a lot to discuss.", her fiery eyes on me.
Siobhan's head snaps toward Maeve, disbelief plastered all over her face. "What? Maeve, are you serious?"
Maeve nods, and I swear, the quiet between them is thicker than anything I've felt in a battle. "Yeah, I'm serious."
There's a second where I expect Siobhan to argue. Hell, I kind of want her to. Maybe if she does, it'll stop Maeve from doing what I'm dreading—facing me alone.
But Siobhan just sighs, the fight draining out of her shoulders, and I hate how much relief I feel at seeing her back down.
"Fine," she says sharply, eyes cutting toward me with enough venom to leave a scar. "I'll go. But if he so much as looks at you the wrong way, you call me." Her tone's clipped.
She tosses something on Maeve's bed and throws me one last glare, as if daring me to make a move before she's out that door.
"Remember, sis," she says quietly. "I'm just a phone call away."
Siobhan's parting words echo in my head, and something in them makes my chest tighten.
I don't react. I don't think I even breathe until I hear the door close behind her.
Then, it's just me and Maeve, the silence between us hanging heavy and unbearable.
"So, now we need to talk?" she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now that it's been, what, five days since you've spoken to me? What an honor for you to grace me with your presence."
I wince. I deserve that. "I should've come to you sooner."
"Yeah, you should've," she snaps, standing up from the couch. "But you didn't. And now what? You suddenly realize I exist because the pack's falling apart and you need me to play 'happy wife' for the cameras?"
"How did you know? Did you have another vision?" It's almost terrifying how she knows exactly what I was going to ask before I can even get the words out. Like she's already read my mind, already dissected my intentions, leaving me scrambling for a response.
She rolls her eyes, her voice sharp. "I'm not stupid, Ronan. Even if everyone here seems to think so. You wouldn't come to me without a reason, and this one's the most obvious, given the mess we're in."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to keep my frustration in check. Of course she sees right through me.
"It's not that simple."
"Of course it's not," she says, crossing her arms, her expression hardening. "Because nothing about this situation is simple, Ronan. You threw me into this mess, you ignored me for five days, and now you expect me to just... what? Smile and nod while you parade me around like a political prop?"
Her words sting more than I want to admit, but she's not wrong. She was shoved into a role she didn't ask for, and I left her to fend for herself while I dealt with everything else.
I've treated her like a piece on a chessboard, something to be moved strategically. And, if I'm honest, I would probably keep doing it—because that's what's expected of me, of us. But admitting that out loud? That's a different battle.
I exhale slowly, trying to soften my tone. "Maeve, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ignored you. But things have gotten... complicated."
"Complicated," she repeats, her voice sharp. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've officially reached the Word of the Week. And hey, what a stellar way to build trust between us—so smooth, so effective. Truly."
Her sarcasm is like a slap to the face, and I know I deserve it. I step closer, but I can see the tension in her stance, the way she braces herself, like she's ready to bolt. "This isn't just about the pack. It's about the factions—the rogues, Declan, the vampires, the witches. Everyone's watching us, and if we don't show a united front, they'll tear us apart."
Her eyes flash with anger. "And by us, you mean you. You don't care about what happens to me, you care about what happens to your pack, to your reputation as Alpha."
I clench my jaw. "That's not true. This isn't just about the pack, Maeve. It's about both of us. The bond... the rituals... they're affecting more than just the politics of the city. The magic is—"
"Where were those 'us' you speak about the past five days huh? And don't you dare bring up the magic," she cuts in, her voice rising. "I don't want to hear about how magically bonded we are. This isn't some fairy tale where we're destined to be together, Ronan. This is a nightmare. That magic wasn't meant for me. I'm human—this could kill me. And even if it hasn't yet, I'm not okay." Her eyes flash with anger, but beneath it, there's something else—fear. "I didn't choose this, and neither did you. But now you're telling me I have to pretend like I'm okay with it?"
She's right. Again. And that's what makes this so much harder.
She didn't choose this, and I can't expect her to just fall in line because it's convenient for me. But she needs to understand the stakes, the truth behind what we're caught in. I can't let her fight this blind—not when it's already inside her.
I step closer, lowering my voice, trying to meet her where she's at. "Maeve, I know this is hard. But right now, we don't have a choice." I exhale slowly, trying to find the right words. "You weren't supposed to be a part of this world, not like this anyway. But now, you need to know what you're up against."
I pause, watching her face, the tension in her jaw, the frustration in her eyes. She needs to understand, not just the politics, but the reality of the magic that's already tying us together.
"At the wedding," I continue, my voice low but firm, "those rituals—there were two. The fertility ritual was meant to ensure Isabelle could get pregnant. She's 34, Maeve, and it was already risky because she is a witch. The ritual was supposed to help her. Make sure she could bear a child and give the pack its next leader."
I watch her, the weight of the truth settling between us, but I'm not done.
"The second ritual was a power-sharing ritual. It was meant to enhance Isabelle's magic, make her stronger. It wasn't designed for you. It affected you somehow but you're still standing."
I can see the flicker of realization in her eyes, but I press on, my tone softening. "Maeve, that vision you had... it means something. Maybe you're not simply human after all. Maybe you're more than what anyone thought, including you."
I let the words hang between us for a moment, trying to gauge how she's processing it.
"You need to understand that this magic—it's dangerous. And now, it's a part of you. We don't know what it's doing yet, but it didn't kill you. It's changing you. You survived something that should have destroyed you, and that makes you stronger than you think."
I take a breath, my throat tightening with the weight of it all.
"But right now, you need to brace yourself. You can't pretend this isn't happening. The rituals, they're not just binding us, they're reshaping you. And whatever's happening inside you... it's keeping you alive. You're more than just a target, Maeve—you're more than you ever realized."
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein