She was born to break him. He was cursed to crave her. And the bond between them might just burn them to ash.
Lihat lebih banyakYou know what you must do. Go now. And DO NOT come back till it is done.
Lyra
The moon was full. Too bright. Too hungry.
Lyra Vale moved like she belonged to the forest, but tonight, the woods didn’t want her there. The trees whispered, and the shadows scattered along the ground like something was watching. Waiting. Like hunger needs satisfaction.She didn’t care.She wasn’t afraid of things that stalked or went bump in the dark.Her cloak puffed out around her legs as she followed the narrow, root-choked path out of Black Hollow. Most people stayed indoors during a full moon. But Lyra wasn’t like most people. She never had been.The air was thick with the scent of pine, moss—and something else.…Smoke. Fur. Heat.She stopped walking.Her fingers ghosted toward her satchel, where a vial of wolfsbane pressed against her palm like a promise. Her heart pounding, but her steps stayed steady.She could feel him before she saw him.A shift in the air. With a weight pressing down on her skin. Then, out of the trees, he emerged—like the forest had spit him out. Tall. Shadowed. Made of angles and sin.And those eyes.Burning gold. Like the moon had bled into them.He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He just watched her.“You plan to keep staring?” she asked, voice cold, steady.The corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t smell like the rest of them.”“Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to.”His eyes narrowed, flicking over her like he studied every weakness she had. “What are you doing out here, witch?”That word. It hit like a slap to the face—but she didn’t flinch.“I could ask you the same, Alpha.”The moment she said it, his entire posture changed. Slight tilt of the head. Muscles tight beneath dark clothes. Tension rolled off him like waves of heat.“Not many people say that word with such… disrespect,” he said softly.“I’m not most people.”“No,” he murmured. “You’re not.”He took a step closer. She didn’t move.There was something feral in the way he looked at her—like he was sizing up prey, but couldn’t decide if he wanted to devour her or fight her. She was ready either way.“Name,” he demanded.“You first,” she snappedHe smiled. Sharp. Dangerous. Beautiful, in the way knives were.“Ronan Thorne. Alpha of the Black Hollow Pack.”Her pulse jumped, just for a second. She’d heard the name. Everyone had. Ruthless. Unchallenged. Cursed.“Lyra Vale,” she answered. “Apothecary. Herbalist. Not interested in your pack bullshit.”“Shame,” he said. “You’d make a hell of a wolf.” He smiled slyly. “Careful,” she said, stepping past him. “You might choke on whatever fantasy you’re conjuring in that pretty little head of yours.”He caught her wrist. Not hard—but firm. Commanding.She stopped.His voice dropped to a growl. “There’s something in your blood. I can smell it. Magic. Power. Fire.”“Then let go before you get burned.”
They stared at each other. Locked in something that felt like war,--or maybe reverence.Then he released her.“Be careful in these woods,” he said. “There are worse things than me out here.”Lyra smirked.“I doubt it.”She turned and walked away.But the forest still whispered. And behind her, she knew Ronan Thorne was still watching—with golden eyes that promised havoc.—-Ronans POV—-The second she turned her back, he wanted to chase.It wasn’t instinct. It was temptation.That woman. That witch. That defiant little flame in the woods—she smelled like danger wrapped in desire.Lyra Vale.Her name was wildfire in his mouth. Untamed. Unclaimed. Untainted.He watched her disappear into the trees, her hips swaying like a dare. Every fiber of his wolf strained to follow, to press her to the forest floor, to sink his teeth into the skin and mark her.But that wasn’t what this was. Not yet.She was a threat. Her scent was wrong—half-wolf, half something older. Something cold. Something laced in the kind of power that didn’t belong to his world.He should’ve ended it. Right then. One snap of the neck. One pull of the claws. It was his duty.But when he touched her…The bond stirred.It was a faint flicker. But real.He hadn’t thought about it since the curse. And now his bond, it picked her?No. The gods wouldn’t be that cruel.Or maybe they would. After all, wasn’t that what the prophecy promised him?When the cursed Alpha finds his equal, blood will bind them—and break them.He clenched his fists. The ache in his jaw told him he was gritting his teeth, but he didn’t stop.Lyra had looked at him like she wasn’t afraid. Like she was waiting for him to make the first move so she could end him.That alone should have thrilled him.Instead—it fucked with him.Because she didn’t know it yet.
Didn’t know what she’d awakened.Didn’t know that he’d been dreaming of silver eyes and fire-slick skin for months before she ever walked into his woods.She was the beginning of the end. His end.His curse made flesh.
And gods help them both, he was already addicted. Temptation was knocking.LyraThe world narrowed to breath and fire.The Crimson Fangs surrounded them, their torches casting snarling shadows against the crumbling stone. Silver glinted in every direction. Ronan stood at her front, chest rising like a shield, teeth bared, claws extended.But the bond, itt burned.Not just between them, but through her, down to the dark place inside where the goddess now stirred.The One Who Hungers had not followed them out of the tomb. She hadn’t needed to.She was already inside Lyra.And as the enemy moved in, as the silver caught moonlight and eyes blazed with intent to killThe goddess whispered:“Let me show you how wolves were born.”RonanHe counted six in front, four to the rear.Ten against two.And she wasn’t at full strength.He wasn’t either, not with the silver still thick in his blood, his body aching, the wound from the last fight barely closed. But that didn’t matter.He would die for her.He would die for her.He crouched low, growl vibrating through his ri
LyraThe sarcophagus began to hum.Not a sound, not really, but a pressure in the air, in her blood, in the bond itself.It wasn’t just ancient magic.It was a heartbeat.Hers.Lyra staggered back, but the connection held tight. She could feel the tendrils of something vast and unspeakable wrapping around her soul, dragging her into a memory that didn’t belong to her, and yet somehow always had.The wolf in her went still. Reverent.A pulse answered her from the sarcophagus. Low. Timeless.The stone lid cracked down the center with a shriek of breaking runes.Ronan stepped in front of her, teeth bared, claws out. “Don’t.”But Lyra touched his shoulder and pushed forward.“I have to know,” she whispered.⸻RonanHe should’ve stopped her.Every instinct screamed to drag her back, seal the passage, bury the thing still breathing inside that tomb.But the bond…It wanted this.And worse, she wanted it.Ronan watched as she placed her hand against the cracked lid.And the stone dissolved.
LYRAThe ruins breathed.Not with wind. Not with life.But with something ancient and deep, like the inhale of a god long buried beneath rock and regret.Lyra sat beside Ronan, his head resting against her thigh as she cleaned the silver wound with trembling hands and mountain spring water.It hissed against his skin.He didn’t even flinch.Too proud. Too stubborn. Too hers.She watched him carefully, how the bond pulsed between them like a second heartbeat, low and rhythmic, echoing beneath the stone. It had been more alive lately, stronger, powerful.The ruins themselves seem to be listening.She looked around the hollow chamber they’d chosen for shelter. The arches above them were cracked and covered in old runes, their meanings lost, their power lingering.“I’ve been here before,” she said quietly.Ronan stirred. “When?”“I don’t know. I was young. Or… maybe not even born yet.”He frowned up at her. “Lyra”“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” she muttered.“I’m not. I’m worried.”Sh
LyraThe forest was a blur of shadows and breathless silence.Each step was a heartbeat. Each heartbeat, a countdown.They were being hunted.Not by mere scouts now, but by a war party.The Crimson Fangs had regrouped.And they were coming.Lyra crashed into the ground, lungs burning, claws half-formed and teeth aching from the strain of the shift she was holding back.Her wolf was clawing at her chest, demanding to take over. To protect. To fight.But they couldn’t stop. Not now.Not when they’d seen what she could do.The magic still flickered beneath her skin like hot coals. Runes pulsed faintly on her arms, ghosting in and out of sight, as if her blood couldn’t decide whether it belonged to ancient gods or mortal wolves.Ronan was just ahead of her, barely. His strides longer, body powerful and fast even wounded. But she could feel it.Through the bond.He was hurting.And he was trying to hide it from her.Idiot.She got herself up and poured more speed into her steps, ignoring t
LYRAShe didn’t hear the intruder at first.The rain drummed too loudly on the roof of the safehouse, and Ronan’s weight was still a warmth across her side, his hand loose against her hip where they’d fallen asleep tangled in the aftermath of truths too heavy to carry alone.But something shifted in the air.She felt it. Cold. Off.Her eyes opened to dark shadows at the edge of the door. Three. Maybe four. Movement, fast, silent.Her fingers tightened on Ronan’s forearm. “Wake up.”He stirred instantly, instincts sharper than her voice could ever be.In a heartbeat, they were both crouched low, naked bodies wrapped in shadows and tension.Then…Bang.The door exploded inward, blown off its hinges by raw force.Lyra rolled, grabbing the dagger from her boots. Ronan snarled low, already moving, already shifting. His claws caught the nearest intruder in the gut, throwing him across the room in a bloody arc.But the others poured in behind him.Masks.Silver-edged weapons.And the crest h
LyraShe didn’t speak to him for hours. Not only because she was angry.Because if she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what would come out. Maybe rage, sorrow, desperation. Maybe all of it.After hitting the ravine, they moved through the old tunnels in silence, the flicker of rune-lamps throwing jagged shadows across Ronan’s face. He hadn’t looked at her since the bluff, since “Then we sever it.”As if he could sever something carved into the marrow of her bones.She could still feel him under her skin, tight and agitated. The bond didn’t lie. It pulsed with his guilt, his fear, and something more dangerous than either.His love.It would have been easier if he didn’t love her.She would’ve let him go if that bond didn’t burn just like hers.They stopped at the second safehouse before dawn. An old den carved into the side of a moss-covered cliff, hidden behind a waterfall. She slipped inside first, soaked to the skin, heart racing with more than cold.He followed, silent, slow.She
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