The storm arrived before the man did.
The sky over Valewind always grumbled in late autumn, but tonight it roared—thick clouds rolling over the tops of the pines like a living thing. Elena tightened her cloak around her shoulders, the wind tugging at the hood, the fabric whipping against her cheeks. She'd closed the bookshop an hour early because the power kept flickering, and now all she wanted was to get home, light a candle, and lose herself in her new research again.
The hidden language of thought. The way people spoke truths without meaning to. The unconscious signals beneath every word.
Her father always said she saw too much. Her mentor said she saw exactly enough.
But neither had prepared her for the man waiting on the bridge.
Elena slowed the moment she noticed him—a tall figure, still as a carving, leaning against the wooden railing as rain hammered down around him. The river raged beneath, churning white. The lamps flanking the bridge flickered, giving brief flashes of gold across his silhouette.
She couldn't see his face, but something in her gut tightened.
Not fear. Not quite. Curiosity… edged with something warmer. Something that pulled.
Another flash of lightning lit the world. And she saw him.
Or—she tried to.
He was… beautiful. But not in a delicate, storybook way.
This beauty was carved from contradiction. Broad shoulders wrapped in a dark coat. A jawline too sharp to be gentle. Hair—black, long enough to brush the collar. And eyes…
Gods, his eyes.
In the brief flare of light, they gleamed gold. Not brown. Not hazel. Gold, like molten sunrise.
No man had eyes like that.
Elena's breath caught.
Beastman.
The word rose unbidden, half-myth, half-warning. She swallowed it down. There were no beastmen this close to town. At least, not openly.
He straightened the moment she stepped onto the bridge—slow, controlled, deliberate.
A dominance signal.
Not aggressive. Just… unmistakable.
And he didn't move toward her. He didn't speak.
He simply watched.
Rain soaked her hair. Her shoes splashed against the boards. Her heart thudded far louder than the storm.
When she was ten paces away, his nostrils flared—subtle, but observable. She caught it. Her mind cataloged it automatically.
Observation 1: He smelled something the moment she came closer. Beastman reacted to scent. Which meant he wasn't entirely hiding what he was.
Interesting.
She slowed, gripping her bag. "Are you… waiting for someone?"
His voice came like thunder rolling low over the mountains—soft, deep, resonant, and far too controlled for a man caught in a storm.
"No," he said. "Not someone."
A pause.
"You."
Elena froze.
His voice wasn't merely deep; it vibrated. She felt it in her ribs.
But more importantly… the way he said "you." Slow. Precise. As if selecting the word mattered.
Observation 2:He didn't blink when he spoke. Blinking rates drop when someone is hiding the full truth.
Her pulse kicked up.
"Me?" she echoed.
His gaze swept down her figure—not in a lustful, careless way, but in a way that assessed. Categorized. Remembered. The way a predator cataloged the details of something precious… or dangerous.
Her skin prickled.
"Yes," he murmured. "You."
Another lightning flash—his pupils narrowed, then widened again.
Animalian response. Again—interesting.
Elena took a breath. "Who are you?"
He tilted his head, wet hair sliding across his cheek. "Ronan."
Just Ronan. No last name.
But the way he spoke it… confident, sure, unafraid… made the single word feel heavy.
Then he stepped toward her.
Not quickly. Not threateningly. But purposefully.
The dominance was subtle, warm, almost protective. A silent vow placed between steps.
Her heart drummed harder.
Observation 3:His posture wasn't aggressive. His shoulders were relaxed. Palms visible. He wanted her to see he was no threat.
But his proximity—intentional. A chosen closeness.
He stopped two steps in front of her, rain dripping from his coat, breath steady even though the storm swelled around them.
"Elena," he said softly.
Her breath hitched. She hadn't told him her name.
Lightning cracked again—and she saw it. His pupils weren't round.
They were slitted, only for a heartbeat, then normal again.
The word she'd swallowed earlier returned, louder now.
Beastman.
But he wasn't attacking. He wasn't even tense.
Instead… he looked almost relieved.
"I found you," he whispered.
A tremor shot through her. "What do you mean 'found'?"
He didn't answer immediately. He inhaled again—slowly.
This time, Elena felt the pull of it. As though he were tasting the air around her, confirming something.
His voice deepened. "You carry the scent of a truth-seer."
Her eyes widened.
Not many people knew that term.
Truth-seers could read the hidden thoughts beneath behavior, decode subconscious signals, see truths even when others tried to bury them. It was rare. And never spoken casually.
"How do you—"
"You notice everything," he murmured, stepping just half a pace closer.
Heat pooled low in her stomach. He wasn't touching her—but gods, she felt him.
"You count blink rates. Breath patterns. Foot placement. You track where my eyes go." His lips quirked—barely, but enough to make her breath catch. "You keep shifting your weight to your left foot when you're nervous. And your heartbeat… is very fast."
Her cheeks burned.
"You can hear my heartbeat?" she whispered.
He leaned in just enough that she felt his breath warm against her cheek, despite the cold storm." Every beat."
Soft dominance—clear, confident, but tender. A claim implied, not spoken.
Her knees weakened.
Observation 4:His warmth increased as he leaned closer—beastmen ran hot. Natural body heat. High adrenaline tolerance.
He was what she suspected. Something more than human.
But he wasn't here to harm her. Her instinct, sharp as ever, screamed that.
"What do you want with me?" Elena whispered.
His voice dropped to a near-growl—gentle, intimate, impossible to ignore.
"To protect you."
Her breath stuttered. "From what?"
Ronan's jaw flexed. His golden eyes darted over her shoulder, scanning the forest behind her, then returned to her face with fierce focus.
"Something is hunting truth-seers," he said quietly. "And you're the strongest one I've ever sensed."
Her mind spun. "I'm not— I've barely scratched the surface of my research."
Ronan's lips curved—soft, reverent, as if she'd amused him unintentionally.
"No," he murmured. "You don't understand."
He lifted a hand—slowly—giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.
His fingertips hovered near her cheek but didn't touch.
"Your gift isn't learned," he said softly. "It's instinct. Raw. Wild. Your thoughts run deeper than most minds can hide from."
Warmth tightened around her heart.
"So when you looked at me…" he whispered, "you saw what others never would."
Her lips parted. "That you're… not fully human."
Ronan leaned just inches closer, breath trembling with something intense—something that sent heat coursing down her spine.
"Say it," he murmured, voice roughened. "Say what you saw."
Her heart hammered. Her mouth went dry.
She whispered: "Beastman."
A shiver rolled through him—so subtle she almost missed it.
Almost.
His pupils widened, heat flickering through his gaze—pleasure, relief, something primal that made her knees weaken.
"You see me," he rasped. "Even when I don't want to be seen."
Another dominance cue. Pure, instinctive. Not dangerous—intimate.
He angled his body just slightly toward hers, protecting her from the wind.
"Elena," he said, voice lowering to something molten, "others might fear that truth. But you…" His breath brushed her ear. "You look at me like you're not afraid at all."
"I'm not," she whispered.
The storm cracked, thunder rolling across the valley.
He exhaled shakily—an unguarded moment. Something about her answer shook him.
Observation 5:Guard drops when emotion surges. His mask slipped because of her.
He wasn't expecting her lack of fear.
"Elena," he said again, voice roughened by something warm, "you shouldn't trust me so quickly."
"Then why do you want to protect me?" she countered softly.
His throat bobbed. Rain drummed around them.
"Because," he murmured, "you're the first person whose thoughts I can't predict."
She blinked.
"You… read thoughts?"
"Not like a seer." His gaze softened. "I read bodies. Instincts. You read minds through patterns. I read them through scent, heat, movement."
Two different lenses. Two ways of seeing truth.
Ronan dipped his head closer—close enough she felt the rumble of his voice against her chest.
"You hide nothing," he whispered. "And that's the most dangerous thing in a world full of liars."
Her breath trembled.
"And the most beautiful."
Heat surged through her. Low, warm, dangerous in a way she didn't want to stop.
"Ronan," she breathed.
Something in him snapped—softly, quietly, but irrevocably.
His hand lifted—and this time, he touched her face. Gently. Like she was a secret he'd searched for all his life.
His palm was hot—hotter than any human's.
"Elena…" His voice cracked. "If I came too close now… I wouldn't let anyone take you from me."
Her pulse rushed wild. His thumb brushed her cheekbone.
Her knees nearly gave out.
"That sounds," she whispered, "more like a warning than a confession."
He leaned in, lips nearly grazing her jaw, voice trembling with restraint.
"It's both."
Her breath caught.
The storm howled around them. The river roared. The sky split with light.
And Ronan—this powerful, dangerous, impossible man—stood so close she could feel every controlled breath he took.
"Elena," he whispered, "I didn't just find you."
His forehead brushed hers.
"I chose you."