CHAPTER 5

Kira’s POV

The night air bites sharper than his teeth ever did.

I stand outside the barracks, arms wrapped around myself, listening to the wolves howl from the northern ridge. They sound hungry. Restless.

Like me.

He’s late.

I told myself I wouldn’t wait. That I didn’t need answers from an alpha who only sees what he’s allowed to see. But here I am. Boots planted in the dirt. Jaw tight. Heart louder than my thoughts.

The door swings open.

Ronan steps out.

His shirt’s rumpled. Hair wet from a late shift or a cold rinse. He pauses when he sees me, and something flickers in his eyes—hesitation, maybe. Or memory.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

I tilt my head. “That’s funny. You’re the one who dragged me into this lie.”

“I protected you.”

“No.” I take a step forward. “You claimed me.”

His expression doesn’t shift, but his body does—chest drawn, like he’s bracing for impact.

I take another step. “Do you remember the Blood Moon?”

Silence.

My nails dig into my palms. “The fire. The roots. A girl with ash on her face and blood on her tongue.”

Still nothing.

My voice cracks like frost underfoot. “You bit me.”

Ronan’s face goes still. Too still.

“You left me with your scent in my blood and your teeth in my skin.”

He stares at me, like the memory’s clawing its way through years of denial.

“And I waited for you,” I whisper. “Like a fool.”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t deny it.

But his throat bobs as he swallows.

I move closer until there’s barely space between us. I can see the flicker of recognition now—buried under guilt and something sharper.

“You told me not to scream,” I say. “You vanished. And I waited.”

Ronan’s voice comes low. “You were just a girl.”

“I was a child who bled for you.”

His eyes shut like the truth physically hurts. “I didn’t know—Kira, I didn’t know it was you.”

“But your wolf did.” My voice is quieter now. “That day at the trial. He knew.”

He nods. Barely.

“Then why lie?” I ask. “Why not say my name?”

“Because I was afraid,” he says, finally meeting my gaze. “Afraid that if I said it, I’d lose control.”

I pause. The wind picks up. My scarf flutters around my neck—the same one my mother gave me before the fire.

“You were the only soft thing I remembered after that night,” he says. “But soft things die in packs like ours.”

My breath catches.

I want to hit him. I want to forgive him.

I do neither.

Instead, I say, “You don’t get to choose when you remember me. I lived those twelve years. I bled for them.”

He steps closer, slow and careful, as if approaching a wolf in pain.

“I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness,” he says. “But I will protect you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

I laugh. It's a brittle sound.

“I don’t need protection,” I say. “Not from you. Not anymore.”

“You think this is about protection?” His voice dips, low and raw. “You think I claimed you to save face in front of the Council? I was dying, Kira. The second they said you’d be executed, something inside me snapped.”

I blink, the anger faltering for a breath.

His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t trust himself to.

“Do you know what that means?” he asks, quieter now. “That after all these years, I still recognized your blood in the air?”

I say nothing. My throat is tight.

“It means I never forgot. Not really.”

“You acted like you did.”

“Because I thought it would protect you. Because I wasn’t ready for what it meant to remember you.”

“Too late,” I say. “You already did.”

A long silence stretches between us. I can feel the tension between our bond, however broken or unfinished, pulling taut like a thread ready to snap.

Then he murmurs, “I wake up sometimes hearing your scream. Only it never came. That night, under the roots—I told you not to scream, and you listened.”

I press a hand to my chest. The ache there is old. Familiar.

“I thought if I stayed quiet, I’d be safe.”

“I was wrong to leave.”

“Yes. You were.”

I take a breath. “You weren’t just a boy who bit a stranger, Ronan. You started something.”

His eyes meet mine. “There are three stages to the bond. You know that, don’t you?”

“Remind me.”

“The First Bite—instinctual, primal. Happens in fear or fury. That was us, under the roots. The Trial Bond—public, political. What I claimed during the council. But the True Bond… that one’s chosen. Mutually. Permanent.”

“And we never got there.”

He nods, slowly. “Because I left. Because I buried it. I thought if I left it dormant, it would die.”

“But it didn’t.”

His voice drops. “No. It didn’t.”

Finally, I step back. I need air. Space. Anything that isn’t him.

He watches me like he doesn’t know whether to stop me or let me go.

“You don’t get to choose this now,” I say. “You don’t get to rewrite the past. You left me in the dirt. You let me rot.”

“I’m here now.”

I smile, sad and sharp. “And I’m not the same girl you left behind.”

Then I walk away.

And I don’t look back.

But I feel his eyes on me—burning, bleeding, begging.

Just like they did all those years ago.