Ronan stood a few steps away from the small gathering of soldiers working to recover from the tense border skirmish. His long white hair still shimmered faintly with sweat, the remnants of battle running cold under the midday sun.
Raphael had gone to organise the injured troops, leaving Ronan a rare moment alone with Riven. As Soren strode away, ready to regroup his own men, he had to address his soldiers, Ronan's gaze shifted to his mate.
Riven lingered by the horses, he did not even know that wolves had horses! But it made sense, they couldn't hold swords with their wolf paws. They used horses only during the war.
His black hair was left dishevelled around his green eyes, his wolf ears flicked at Ronan's presence. Ronan moved quietly toward him, taking Riven's hands in his own. The crowd of soldiers—wolves, leopards, lions—seemed to fade away as Ronan brought Riven's hands to his lips.
