CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

Nyra’s POV

I should run, but my feet refuse to obey. Every instinct in me screams to run, to hide, to survive, that has always been the rhythm of my life, yet something about him roots me to the spot, a weight pressing down on my chest that I cannot lift no matter how hard I try. “Drop the weapon,” he says, and it is not a command, not even loud, yet it reverberates inside me as if the air itself has turned solid, pressing against my lungs and pulling at my will. I let out a small, defiant laugh, sharp and uneven. “Or what?”

His eyes darken, a subtle shift, but the warning is unmistakable. “Or I take it from you,” he says, simple, certain, dangerous in a way that makes my stomach twist. I tilt my head, letting the smirk curl across my lips even as my heart hammers in my chest. “You can try,” I say, though my wolf stirs beneath the surface, restless, restless for something I cannot name.

The world holds its breath. For a suspended moment, neither of us moves. The air between us is thick, heavy, almost alive, as though the forest itself is waiting for something to snap. Then he steps forward, just one deliberate, measured step, and the energy around him shifts. Power rolls off him like heat from an untamed fire, and my wolf, dormant for years, twitches and stirs. I feel it deep in my bones, that ancient pulse of something primal and unfamiliar, a thrilling, frightening surge that makes my blood drum in my veins.

“Who are you?” he asks, and his gaze is sharp, cutting through every layer I wear, probing every secret I thought buried. “I could ask you the same thing,” I answer, meeting his eyes, refusing to falter. “I asked first,” I add, letting a smirk tease my lips even as my pulse races.

He studies me for a heartbeat too long, and then unexpectedly, a smile flickers across his face, small, knowing, dangerous. It changes everything. There is beauty in it, sharp and almost cruel, a promise that he could ruin me and still make me ache for it. “I like you,” he says, and the words hit me like a shock, unprepared for softness in the midst of this wild, terrifying tension.

“Good for you,” I snap, though the tremor in my voice betrays me. “I don’t like you.”

His smile fades, but the intensity in his eyes does not. “Unfortunate,” he murmurs, and it is both a statement and a threat.

Before I can think, he moves. Too fast, too sudden. My dagger is gone, my wrist caught in his grip, and my body is slammed against the rough bark of a tree. My heart hammers against my ribs, every muscle tensed as though bracing for something unstoppable, yet he does not even seem to notice my struggle.

“Let me go,” I hiss, breath catching.

“Not yet,” he says, his face impossibly close, his scent dark and strong, wild beneath it, a heat that makes my knees weaken even as I tell myself I do not feel this, I cannot. “I said let me go,” I growl, every word a defiance that feels both necessary and fragile.

For a long moment, his eyes flicker, measuring, weighing, before he releases me. I stumble back, putting distance between us, shaking, heart racing in a rhythm that makes the air hum.

“What do you want?” I demand, voice sharper than I feel.

“An answer,” he says, calm, unyielding, and I shake my head, refusing to give him even a hint of what simmers beneath my defenses.

“You won’t get one,” I say.

He studies me, the weight of his gaze suffocating and magnetic at the same time, and then, with a quiet authority that leaves my chest hollow, he speaks words that change everything, words I cannot forget, words that mark the beginning of a danger I cannot yet name. “I need a Luna.”