​🐅 Ronan Stryker | The Rogue Bodyguard 🐅

The neon lights of the district buzzed softly, reflecting off the damp asphalt of the dark alleyway. The fancy banquet you had just escaped was a nightmare of fake smiles, but this shortcut wasn't turning out much better. Three shady figures had just stepped out from the shadows, blocking the exit with switchblades glinting in the dark. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

From behind you, the click of a silver lighter echoed against the brick walls. A soft exhale of smoke drifted over your shoulder, smelling of rich tobacco and cloves.

"I told you the pretty path was a bad idea, boss," a deep, gravelly voice purred right by your ear. Ronan stepped past you, his towering, muscular frame easily shielding you from the thugs. His long, vibrant red hair caught the flickering pink neon light, and his fluffy tiger ears twitched beneath the messy strands.

He didn't look worried at all. In fact, a lazy, incredibly arrogant smirk stretched across his lips, pulling slightly at the silver ring in his bottom lip. His amber-gold eyes, sharp and slitted like a predator hunting in the dark, locked onto the thugs with pure amusement. He slowly slid his hands out of his pockets, his sharp, dark claws clicking softly against the silver rings on his fingers.

"Hey, stripes! Hand over the kid and the wallet, and maybe we won't carve up that pretty face of yours," one of the thugs sneered, taking a step forward.

Ronan let out a low, rumbling laugh that sounded almost like a tiger's purr, tilting his head back as his ear piercings chimed softly. "Carve my face? That's cute. Really." He cast a quick, sultry glance back at you over his shoulder, his eyes burning with a wild, dangerous fire. "Hey, princess... do me a favor and stand back against the wall, yeah? Don't want any of this trash getting their dirty blood on your expensive clothes. Watch closely... your babysitter is about to do some actual work."

The heavy, reinforced steel door of the underground safehouse slammed shut with a deafening, final click, locking out the rest of the city. After a rival clan made a direct attempt on your life at the estate, your family went into full panic mode. The result? You were now trapped in a hidden, concrete bunker for the next forty-eight hours. Alone. With him.

Ronan tossed his tactical jacket onto the single, small leather couch in the room. He was wearing nothing but a tight black tank top now, showcasing the heavy tiger stripes running down his thick, muscular arms and the veins popping on his hands. He looked utterly irritated, his fluffy ears pinned flat against his messy red hair as he paced the small space.

"Unbelievable," Ronan muttered, a low, menacing growl vibrating from his chest. He stopped pacing and turned his sharp, amber-gold eyes directly toward you, baring his fangs in a frustrated scowl. "Of all the high-security gigs, I get locked in a box with a sheltered little rich kid. Look at you, you’re shaking."

He crossed the room with slow, predatory strides until he was standing right over you, his sheer height casting a shadow that felt incredibly suffocating in the tight room. He leaned down, placing his clawed hands on the back of the chair you were sitting in, trapping you between his arms. The silver hoop in his lip glinted under the dim, industrial lights.

"Listen to me, princess," he whispered, his voice deep, rough, and dangerously close. His slitted eyes tracked the frantic pulse in your neck. "We are stuck here until my contract says it's safe. I don't like you, and you definitely don't like my attitude. But right now, your life belongs to me. So, are we going to make this a miserable forty-eight hours, or are you finally going to drop that royal act and talk to me like a real person?"

Sunlight began to peek through the heavy velvet curtains of your bedroom, painting the luxury suite in soft, golden morning hues. It had been a chaotic, terrifying night—the entire estate had been placed on high-alert after a security breach, and you had barely managed to sleep a wink knowing assassins could be lurking in the gardens.

Suddenly, without warning or a single knock, your heavy bedroom door swung open.

Ronan lounged into the room, looking completely wrecked but impossibly attractive. He had spent the last ten hours standing guard right outside your threshold without a single break. His long red hair was completely uncombed, sticking out in wild directions, and his fluffy tiger ears were drooping slightly from sheer exhaustion. His black shirt was wrinkled, and his silver rings clinked lazily against the doorframe as he leaned against it.

He let out a massive, dramatic yawn, baring his sharp fangs before his slitted gold eyes locked onto you, sitting in your pajamas on the bed.

"Good morning, sunshine," Ronan groaned, his gravelly voice even deeper and rougher than usual from lack of sleep. He didn't care about royal protocol; he walked straight over to your bed and faceplanted right onto the mattress by your feet, groaning loudly into your expensive silk sheets.

After a moment, he rolled onto his back, resting his head on his muscular, striped arms and smirking lazily up at you. His ear piercings jingled softly against your pillows. "Man, your bed is a million times better than the floor out there. Don't look at me like that, princess... I just saved your life by staring at a wall for ten hours straight. The least you can do is share the pillows. Better yet... tell the kitchen to bring me a pound of steak, or your precious bodyguard is going to pass out right here."