Lee Pace Ronan Romane & Geschichten

His eyes ran across the six to seven of us, that now seemed like a group. “It’s just the two of us,” Leah said. “The rest are people we don’t exactly know.” I resisted the urge to laugh at her reply. Surely if she became the Luna, the Blood Moon Pack was going to find it hard to keep all their social connections. “I’m from the Rising Moon Pack,” Scarlett replied, and he nodded. “I’m Ronan,” he finally said. His name was familiar; I seemed to have heard it somewhere before. But where? It was hard to take note of anything around me with Ronan beside me, occupying each of my senses. From his scent to his every move, I was entranced by him.

Matthew let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t sound real. “She already has a partner, Grayson.” He added. “She can speak for herself.” The words had fallen out of Ronan’s clenched jaw, The tension between them crackled like electricity, like I was trapped between two walls. My heart pounded so hard I was scared they could hear it. Before I could force words out, Selene appeared beside Ronan like magic, slipping her arm through his smoothly, pressing close to his side. “Ronan, baby,” she purred, loud enough for people nearby to hear. “We talked about dancing, the first slow song together. You promised, remember?”

As expected, Torin lightly chuckled, insinuating, "Mr. Ronan has good social skills; you can encounter your friends even in the United States, huh!" Ronan directly ignored those two mocking "hehe" sounds, feeling a bit uneasy as he looked at Lyra. "Hello, I'm Grace." The woman nodded and smiled. Lyra remained calm, nodding slightly, "Hello." Grace looked at Torin and Lyra, a tall and handsome man, a beautiful and serene woman, and a slightly bulging belly. She naturally regarded Torin and Lyra as a married couple. Grace's eyes shifted, pretending to be a bit embarrassed, and smiled, "Mr. Ronan, I came to the United States for a magazine photo shoot, and I forgot to bring my wallet when I wen

He bursts in suit rumpled, phone already to his ear followed by two security guys I don’t recognize. “We’re taking this seriously now,” he says without preamble. “The threats are escalating. We’ve hired private protection. Elite. He’s starting tonight.” I cross my arms. “I don’t need a babysitter.” “You need someone who can actually stop a bullet if it comes to that.” He gestures behind him. “This is Ronan Hale. Ex-Special Forces. Best in the business.” The door opens wider. And then he walks in. Everything slows.

Unwelcome ones are rarer still. “Name?” I ask. Another pause—shorter this time. Cautious. “Ronan Hale.” The name settles into the room like a weight. I turn slowly, already masking whatever flicker of recognition crosses my face. Ronan Hale doesn’t do spontaneity. He does leverage. Timing. Appearances designed to unsettle. “Send him in,” I say after a moment. The door opens minutes later, and Ronan steps inside as if he owns the space—or expects to, eventually. Tailored suit. Calm expression. Eyes that measure rather than admire.

"Those are for her." Ronan ignored her completely and looked at me hopefully, like a kid asking for candy. I laughed. "Okay, you can have some." Lira sighed loudly, but Ronan just grinned and took a pancake from the plate. He ate it in two bites and looked satisfied with himself. As we ate, Ronan told me about his day. He had been out scouting, making sure that the coast was clear. He mentioned a few things he ran into along the way, like a couple of stubborn recruits who ignored instructions and a small argument he had with one of the instructors.

Where I could escape if I needed to. Principal Morrison stood at the podium, waiting for the noise to die down. Behind him, several faculty members sat in a row of chairs. And beside them, looking perfectly composed, were Celeste and Ronan. Celeste wore a stunning white dress that made her look like an angel. Her blonde hair was styled in perfect waves, and she had a glow about her that made everyone stare. She kept glancing at Ronan with sparkling eyes. Ronan sat stiffly in his chair, his face a mask of careful neutrality. But I could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his hands were clenched into fists on his lap. He looked like he was sitting through his own execution.

And we—the bond, Ronan and I—are breaking the script. ---

"Scarlett." ******

The dad is not Ronan. "Juicy. Keep me posted."