Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 187: Perspectives

A soft sound escaped Ronan’s throat, surprising even himself. Embarrassed, he shifted, but Riven’s hand came down, warm and sure, resting behind one ear.

"Don’t move," Riven whispered. "I like touching your ears, just like you like to touch mine."

Ronan opened his eyes, just a little, enough to look up.

Riven was smiling.

It wasn’t the sly smile he often wore in the waking world. No, this was something different—tender and calm, with a warmth that made Ronan’s chest ache.

The wind rustled the leaves above them. Birds chirped lazily in the distance.

The soft breeze in the dream faded. Riven’s warmth dissolved into mist, and Ronan stirred.

His eyes blinked open, only to meet the emptiness of his dimly lit bedroom. No meadow. No tree. No Riven. Just the lingering ache of something that had never truly been his.

Ronan let out a shaky breath.

The bed beneath him was soaked, the sheets clinging to his skin. Sweat had gathered at the nape of his neck and along his back, the result of fever and restless sleep. His heart beat slowly, heavily, as if still mourning the loss of that fragile illusion.

He sat up, pushing a hand through his long, pale white hair. It hung around his face in damp waves, sticking to his skin. His body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. He needed to bathe—to wash off the weight of his thoughts, the sweat of his longing, and the bitterness that still clung to the corners of his mind.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet. Pale, silver light filtered through the curtains it was going to be a long night.

He crossed the room slowly, the silence pressing in around him.

The fabric slid from his shoulders, revealing a body shaped by years of discipline. His chest was broad and defined, each muscle honed with care. Scars traced faint stories across his torso—memories of battles past, sacrifices made, victories hard-won. His skin, pale and cool-toned, contrasted with the shadow of stubble along his jaw.

He hadn’t been taking care of himself these days, and solving the issues within the clan was most important.

He discarded the shirt and stepped into the adjoining bath chamber.

The tub was already filled. His attendants had followed their routine, even if he hadn’t stirred. He stepped into the water, easing himself down, and sank in with a low exhale.

Warmth enveloped him.

He closed his eyes.

The heat pressed gently into his muscles, coaxing away the ache in his bones. His long hair floated in the water, weightless. Silence filled the space, save for the soft lapping of water against porcelain and the distant echo of a bird’s call beyond the window.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Riven.

What could he do?

---

The chamber was suffocating with tension. Soren stood at its centre.

His subordinates lined the walls, eyes downcast, breaths shallow, each acutely aware of the tempest brewing within their leader.

"Twenty-four hours," Soren’s voice was a low growl, each syllable laced with venom. "Twenty-four hours since Riven was taken from under our noses, and you bring me... nothing."

The silence that followed was deafening. No one dared to speak, to offer excuses or explanations. They knew better.

Suddenly, the heavy doors creaked open. Xavier entered, his steps measured, a sealed envelope in his gloved hand. He approached Soren, bowing slightly before extending the letter.

Soren snatched it without a word, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. As he read, the tension in his shoulders eased, but only slightly. Riven was alive. He was with Ronan.

A myriad of emotions flashed across Soren’s face: relief, anger, jealousy. His grip on the letter tightened, the paper crumpling under the pressure. He had lost precious time, and Riven had chosen to be with Ronan. The thought was a dagger to his heart.

"Dismissed," he barked, his voice sharp. The subordinates filed out quickly, leaving Soren alone with his thoughts.

He paced the room, the letter still clenched in his fist. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with his turmoil. He had always been possessive of Riven, his love bordering on obsession. The idea of Riven choosing someone else, even temporarily, was unbearable.

Yet, he couldn’t act on his impulses. Ronan was his mate. Harming him would harm Riven, and that was a line Soren couldn’t cross. But the restraint was maddening. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

He needed air. He needed to escape the confines of the room before his thoughts consumed him. With a swift movement, he exited, the corridors echoing with his footsteps.

Outside, the night was cool, the stars obscured by clouds. Soren stood alone, the wind tousling his hair. He looked up, seeking solace in the vastness above, but found none. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, each more intense than the last.

He thought of Riven, of his smile, his laughter, the way he fit perfectly in Soren’s arms. The memories were both a comfort and a torment. He yearned for Riven, craved his presence, his touch. The distance between them was a chasm he couldn’t bridge.

The wind cut sharply against his fur as Soren’s form blurred and shifted. Sleek, powerful, and utterly silent, a silver-white leopard emerged from the shadows of the forest surrounding his estate. His obsidian eyes gleamed under the moonlight.

Paws pounded against damp earth, leaping over plants and pebbles.

He ran hard and fast, desperate to outrun the boiling thoughts in his mind. Each stride, each push of the muscle was an attempt to forget. But it didn’t work. His rage did not quell.

A growl rumbled from deep within his throat, low and dangerous.

Soren skidded to a halt at the edge of a clearing, his breathing heavy, eyes narrowed. Then, instinct surged. The scent of prey drifted through the air. A herd of deer. He dropped low, a predator cloaked in moonlight, moving with lethal grace.

The first kill was instant. A snap of the neck. Blood spattered his fur, warm and crimson. But it wasn’t enough.

He moved again. Another. And another.