The Triquetra Bond

Chapter 6 Ronan’s POV

Ronan stood before the mirror in his room, adjusting the collar of his tailored suit. At twenty, he was the youngest son of the Ancient Woods pack's Beta. His tall, muscular frame and piercing amber eyes mirrored the authority he had cultivated over years of training. His dark hair was neatly styled, and he smoothed his suit jacket one last time, anxiety brewing within him. Tonight was no ordinary evening; it was the annual Mating Ball.

The Ossory pack, known as one of the oldest wolf packs in the country, was recognized for its meticulous records of supernatural history. They inhabited the lush forests of Ireland's midland counties, an area steeped in legend and said to conceal an ancient power that they had safeguarded for centuries. Growing up surrounded by these stories, Ronan was shaped by strict discipline and unwavering loyalty—qualities essential for the Beta's lineage and the warriors he would one day lead.

His gaze drifted to the memorabilia adorning his room: trophies from combat trials, certificates of achievement, and framed photos of his family. He felt pride in his accomplishments, but tonight carried a unique weight. The Mating Ball was not just a tradition; it was a moment that could change the trajectory of his life. His five older siblings had all found their fated mates at previous Balls, and now, it was his turn.

He thought of his parents. His father, Cormac, a figure of unwavering wisdom and strength, had guided him with a firm yet fair hand. His mother, Brigid, was a nurturing soul with a fierce spirit, her pride in her children evident in everything she did. Their bond, an unshakable partnership, was a testament to what Ronan hoped to find in his mate.

As he finished getting ready, the lively sounds of his pack preparing for the journey reached his ears. He stepped out of his room to join them, the cool night air carrying the scent of pine and the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the trees. At the gathering point, his father stood tall at the head of the pack, his mother beside him, her warm smile brimming with pride.

“Are you ready, Ronan?” Cormac asked, his voice calm and steady.

Ronan nodded. “Yes, Father. I’m ready.”

Brigid stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “This night is more than a search for a mate,” she said. “It’s about finding the one who will complete you, someone who will stand beside you through every challenge. Trust in the Moon Goddess and trust in yourself.”

“I will,” Ronan replied, her words fortifying his resolve.

The fleet of sleek, black cars glided smoothly through the countryside, carrying the pack toward the ancient castle where the Ball was held. The journey passed in reflective silence, the scenery shifting from dense, mystical woods to open fields and charming villages.

As they arrived, Ronan’s heart raced. He had heard the stories about Eimear O’Connor, the Alpha’s daughter from the Haven pack. Her transformation into the legendary Cosantóir had become the talk of the supernatural world, stirring curiosity through the werewolf packs. Despite the pull he felt at the thought of meeting her, he tried to keep his expectations in check.

The castle was stunning, its grand halls glowing with twinkling lights and adorned with lush flowers, exuding an air of magic. The fragrance of night-blooming blooms mixed with the low murmur of conversations as supernaturals of all kinds mingled. Ronan walked confidently beside his family, the unity of the Ancient Woods pack earning nods of respect and admiration.

He stood near the edge of the ballroom, scanning the crowd with ease. Years of training alongside his pack had sharpened his instincts, and tonight, every fibre of his being felt on edge. Something was different about this Mating Ball—an unspoken tension in the air that had his wolf pacing restlessly beneath his skin.

He was about to turn away from the gathering when a shift in the atmosphere stopped him cold. The energy in the room grew electric, a hum that resonated in his very bones. Then he saw her.

Standing in the centre of the ballroom, her presence commanded attention, her beauty raw and unearthly. But it wasn’t just her appearance that captured him—it was the pull, a magnetic force that tugged at his soul and made his wolf howl with recognition.

Suddenly the lights dimmed, and a soft, celestial glow enveloped Eimear. Ronan froze as an ethereal mist materialised, merging into the radiant figure of the Moon Goddess herself. Her voice, melodic and powerful, resonated through the hall. “Greetings, my children. It brings me joy to see you united under the moon’s watchful gaze. To those who have found your mates, may your bonds be blessed and enduring.”

Time seemed to pause as the Moon Goddess walked toward Eimear, addressing her directly. Ronan’s wolf growled softly with anticipation, his instincts urging him to pay attention. When the Moon Goddess revealed Eimear’s extraordinary destiny to be bonded with not one but two mates, Ronan’s chest tightened. His gaze flickered to his family, who exchanged astonished looks.

Then it happened—a sudden, searing pain flared above his heart. Ronan clutched his chest, his breathing uneven as the pain subsided, leaving behind a glowing mark. The Celtic Triquetra now adorned his skin, a symbol deeply intertwined with his pack’s heritage and their sacred Hawthorn tree. His mother’s hand gripped his arm, her expression a mix of awe and joy.

Ronan scarcely had time to process the bond snapping into place—one tie with Eimear, the other with someone else. The Moon Goddess’s voice rang out again. “Come forward, those who have received my mark. Meet your mates.”

Eimear turned and his breath caught as their eyes met. Those green, gold-flecked irises seemed to pierce through him, stirring emotions he hadn’t felt in years. A protective instinct roared to life within him, and his wolf growled possessively.

Mate.

The word echoed in his mind, reverberating with certainty. He started toward her, each step fueled by an overwhelming need to be closer. But as he neared, the air around her shifted again, and another figure emerged from the crowd—a Fae with silver hair and amethyst eyes.

Ronan’s wolf bristled, a low growl rumbling in his chest. But as his gaze flicked to the Seelie, he felt no malice, only an unexplainable sense of acceptance. The goddess’s words rang in his ears: “Threads of fate have marked you for a rare connection.”

The truth settled over him like a weight and a promise. Not one mate, but two. His wolf rumbled with both possessiveness and agreement, recognizing the significance of their bond. He stopped before Eimear, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within.

Ronan introduced himself first, his deep voice calm yet charged with emotion. “I’m Ronan, of the Ossory Pack. I believe fate has brought us together.”