Bab 25: Chapter 25: Movie night
MAEVE
It was starting to get dark outside as I sank into the couch with a sigh. Remote in one hand, a bowl of popcorn in the other. Glass of wine close enough to reach without effort and a blanket ready for me to crawl under.
It had been three long days of chaos — first, the shop adventure with my new pack friends. Then, the gallery opening, packed with faces I didn't know but needed to impress, followed by a string of high-stakes meetings, including my first pack council gathering.
Sadly, it wasn't likely to be my last.
And if that hadn't been enough, there was the press conference and the lovely introduction to the local were-coyotes — the third-largest supernatural group in the city, and possibly the most suspicious.
But tonight? Tonight was mine.
No pack members lurking with barely concealed judgment, no obligations, no Ronan. Just me, a cozy blanket, and my favorite thriller, the kind of movie I'd watched so many times I could practically recite the dialogue by heart.
But luck and I hadn't lately been close friends, so naturally, just as I hit play, Ronan walked in.
He looked way too casual, like he'd planned it all along.
Without a word, he sank onto the couch beside me, his expression neutral, but I caught that faint glint in his eye that said he wasn't about to let me watch in peace.
I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my irritation. "You're joining?"
He looked at me with the same deadpan expression he wore whenever he wanted to make a point. "Is that a problem?"
I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Not at all. Just thought big, bad Alphas had more pressing matters than sitting through thrillers with improbable twists."
He smirked, and it was that low, mocking expression I was getting too used to. "Well, let's see if it's worth the hype."
I hit play, pretending he wasn't there. But that plan went out the window when, about five minutes in, he leaned forward, scrutinizing the screen with exaggerated disbelief.
"Wait." He pointed at the screen as the protagonist struggled with a locked door. "Why doesn't he just go out the window?"
I closed my eyes briefly, willing myself not to lose patience. "It's called suspense, Ronan. The door's locked, so he has to work harder to escape. It's about building tension."
"More like poor planning," he muttered. "This guy wouldn't last a day in my world."
I rolled my eyes so hard I practically gave myself a headache. "Right, because everyone in your world has perfect 'practical' solutions. Do you guys keep a personal escape strategy handbook under your pillows?"
He gave me a look that suggested he might, in fact, have something like that. For 'emergencies.'
I tried ignoring him, but every few minutes, he'd lean in just a little, and his expression would shift like he was dying to say something.
Then, predictably, right on cue, he let out another scoff as the hero barely avoided a speeding car with a very improbable leap onto a conveniently placed fire escape.
"Humans think they're all acrobats now?" he asked, barely holding back a scoff. "Why didn't he just dodge left?"
"It's an action sequence, Ronan!" I hissed, gripping the blanket tighter. "You're supposed to suspend disbelief. Just… sit back, relax — maybe even enjoy it?"
"Suspension of disbelief," he repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "I have limits, even for movies."
I let out a long sigh, trying to sink deeper into the couch. "Fine, then. Maybe try to enjoy it like a normal person?"
His look was anything but promising, but he turned back to the screen. Still, I was half-waiting for his next comment, eyes flicking to him whenever something remotely unrealistic happened.
And he delivered.
"Oh, come on," he muttered as the hero miraculously outran an armed villain down an empty city street. "No one else is around to help him? This is the middle of a metropolis, not some isolated mountain."
I bit down on the urge to throw a popcorn kernel at him. "It's late. Maybe everyone's asleep?"
"Or maybe the budget was too tight for background actors," he replied, a smug grin spreading across his face. Despite myself, I let out a reluctant chuckle.
"Would you just let the movie be?" I asked, shooting him an exasperated look. "Do you always pick apart every scene like this?"
"It's not picking apart. It's thoughtful analysis," he corrected, deadpan.
"Thoughtful analysis, sure." I was barely holding back laughter, shaking my head as I tried to focus on the screen again. "You're ruining a perfectly good movie, you know."
He merely leaned back, crossing his arms. "I'm enhancing it. Teaching you the importance of realistic strategy."
"Realistic strategy?" I echoed, now half-amused, half-irritated. "In a thriller where the guy barely has a plan?"
"Exactly my point." He didn't even blink, his smirk widening. It was like he was daring me to argue.
It went on like this, back and forth, until I'd all but given up trying to take the movie seriously.
I'd seen this film a hundred times before, but somehow I was actually finding it more entertaining with Ronan's running commentary, dry as it was.
By the end, I was openly laughing at his absurd critiques, actually leaning into his sarcastic dissection of every improbable stunt and twist.
As the credits started rolling, I threw him a mock scowl. "Well, are you happy now? You've officially ruined my favorite movie."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Completely. Though I prefer to think of it as 'enlightening' you."
"Oh, enlightening me. Absolutely," I replied, laughing as I shook my head. "Fine then, Mr. Enlightenment. Why don't you pick the next one?"
That mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he browsed through the movie options. He paused on a title, his grin widening with that annoyingly smug look that most probably said he was about to mess with me. "Let's go with something… relevant."
Curious despite myself, I leaned forward, watching as he selected An American Werewolf in London. I nearly choked on my last sip of wine. "Oh, this is going to be good. Werewolves through an '80s lens."
He gave me a solemn look, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I thought it would be… educational."
The opening scenes were almost too much, with their grainy cinematography and cheesy soundtrack. The slow-motion shots and intense lighting practically screamed low-budget horror, and I was struggling to hold back my laughter.
Ronan, on the other hand, was watching with that familiar stoicism, though I could see him fighting not to laugh himself.
"Oh, look," he muttered as the protagonist stumbled into a fog-covered, sinister-looking village. "A flawless depiction of rural Britain, right?"
I snickered, nudging him. "Absolutely. And I'm sure every werewolf lurks around in the mist, waiting for unsuspecting travelers. You know, for authenticity."
It continued like that, back and forth, with his dry commentary and my barely restrained laughter. By the infamous transformation scene, it was impossible to take anything seriously — the transformation taking place in exaggerated slow-motion, complete with rubbery prosthetics and questionable sound effects. I barely kept a straight face, and Ronan's neutral expression was priceless, although I could tell he was holding back laughter, too.
"Well, there you have it," he said finally, gesturing mockingly at the screen. "That's exactly how it happens every full moon. The teeth, the fur… it all just pops out in seconds."
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my wine. "Oh, yeah? And then you go stalking around the countryside just like this?"
He nodded, somehow keeping a straight face. "It's practically a public service. I wouldn't want to traumatize the pack members."
I leaned in, arching an eyebrow. "So all that careful posturing and intimidation? It's just a ruse. You're really a big softie who transforms with dramatic '80s synth music in the background."
"Clearly." He took a calm sip of strawberry milk, nodding. "The soundtrack is key. It adds… ambiance."
By the time the credits rolled, we'd laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. And for a moment, I saw Ronan in a different light. Not the brooding Alpha or the too-serious leader.
Just… Ronan.
The version who could laugh at himself, who could relax.
I glanced at Ronan, and he was already looking at me, a strange warmth in his eyes.
My cheeks heated, and I looked away quickly, suddenly aware of how close we were sitting.
The silence hung between us, charged in a way that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable — just… there.
"Well, thanks for… an enlightening evening," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, though it came out softer than I'd intended. "My favorite movie might never be the same, but it was… fun."
"Anytime," he replied, and his voice matched mine.
It was just the two of us, with nothing between us but the ghost of laughter in the air.
I shifted, stretching and stifling a yawn to break the tension.
"Well, I should probably head to bed," I mumbled, pretending to be nonchalant. "Can't have the werewolf community upset with me for sleep deprivation."
He chuckled, and offered his hand to help me get up. But before I could take it, I tripped over the blanket I was covered in. The world dangerously tilted and as I was seconds away from hitting my head on the coffee table, Ronan's arms outstretched, and caught me around the waist bringing me close to him. I felt him close to me, warm and oddly thrilling, a spark humming in the air between us.
"Well, goodnight, Alpha Movie Critic," I said, trying to stand up straight.
"Goodnight, Maeve," he replied, my name rumbling from him in a way that stirred something low and dangerous in me.
His gaze held mine, steady and unyielding, like he was stripping away every defense I'd ever built. The air between us felt charged, electric, sparking with an intensity that felt like it might combust if either of us so much as breathed wrong.
Ronan was right there, a breath away, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him.
His scent filled the space around us — woodsy, smoky, and thoroughly intoxicating. It wrapped around me, drowning out every last coherent thought until all I could think about was him, standing so close I could almost feel the heat of his skin under my fingers.
His eyes darkened, his gaze traced over my face. I could feel his eyes lingering on my mouth, and an unspoken question hung heavy in the air between us.
It wasn't tender. No, this was something raw, something primal that twisted in my stomach, making my pulse hammer and my resolve weaken.
He leaned in, slow and deliberate, his lips hovering just a whisper away from mine. I held my breath, heart thrumming like a live wire, and I could see it — the way his eyes flicked down, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
Just as his lips brushed mine — a whisper of contact that set every nerve ablaze — Ronan paused, hovering there like he was daring me to close the gap.
His breath was warm, almost too warm, mingling with mine, creating a small pocket of heat that felt both sacred and dangerous. I was suspended in that heartbeat, lost in the slow, deliberate rhythm of his thumb tracing my cheek, grounding me even as the world seemed to dissolve around us.
Then, his mouth pressed fully against mine, and the sensation was electric.
The gentleness melted away as his lips moved against mine, slowly but with a simmering intensity, as if he were tasting every moment, every inch, savoring and possessing in the same breath.
A spark ignited, unraveling a hunger I hadn't even known was living within me.
My hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath my fingers, grounding me and sending me spinning all at once.
Ronan's hands slid from my face, threading into my hair, anchoring me to him.
Each caress, each tilt of his mouth was unhurried but brimming with something untamed, something that told me he had been holding back, waiting. And now, every restrained desire was spilling into this kiss, making me dizzy, making me ache.
His fingers tightened slightly, just enough to draw a gasp from my lips, one that he swallowed greedily, as if it were the very thing he had been waiting for.
My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out every thought except one: more.
I leaned into him, letting myself be lost in the way he claimed me, how his kiss seemed to carry things words never could.
The world around us shrank, until it was only his mouth, his touch, his breath, his tongue —
There is no going back from this…
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone