Chapter 2

SONG OF THE CHAPTER: Love the way you lie by Rihanna and Eminem.

IVARA'S POV:

The pull is instant, a wildfire roaring through my chest, and I stagger back instinctively. My pulse is thundering, ears ringing with the echo of engines and snarls. He’s looking at me... Ronan Draven, the man whose bloodline my father destroyed. The wolf inside me stirs violently, claws scratching under my skin, screaming in confusion.

I can’t do this. I refuse to. What even scares me more is the fact that he hasn't said a word yet.

He blinks, almost as if he didn't, but I see it... the flicker of something in his eyes. Not just control, not just fury at his enemies, but something… different. Something that should terrify me.

My wolf whines beneath my skin, unsettled, instinctively leaning toward him even as I shove the feeling down with every ounce of pride and hate I have.

I take a shaky step backward, leather boots scraping against gravel, and glare across the chaos. “Your brother… Damien… my father...my father, he killed him and I hope every night you rot in that grief because of him.”

Ronan’s jaw tightens, and I feel it before I see it. A flash of memory bleeding into his gaze; Damien, sprawled across cold asphalt, his blood pooling around him, his eyes wide and pleading. Ronan’s fists pounding, grief and rage colliding in a storm that almost shattered him. Kael Voss, my father, standing over the carnage, pride twisting his face into something monstrous.

I taste bile in my mouth, not from hunger or nausea, but from the heat curling in my veins, the bond pulling, insistent, insatiable. I hate him. I should hate him. He’s the enemy. His family is dead because of mine. And yet… my wolf doesn’t care about logic. My wolf whines and strains, desperate for him, desperate to answer a call I don’t want to exist.

Kael’s hand presses against my shoulder, firm and controlling, grounding me or trying to. “Enough, Ivara. Control yourself.” His voice is a whip, sharp and cold. “Do you understand the gravity of this? What it means for our family? For your loyalty?”

“I do understand,” I bite out, my voice trembling with fury I can’t contain. “I understand exactly who he is and exactly what he lost because of you,” I hiss, jerking toward Ronan again. “And I am not and will never be his.”

My father doesn’t flinch. He just drags me back a step, eyes narrowing like knives. “You will obey,” he snaps. “Or you will regret it. You are a Voss. Loyalty is blood. Never forget who you are.”

I clench my fists, leather biting into my palms, trying to shove down the heat, the pull, the hunger that coils around my chest and ribs. My wolf growls, restless, frustrated, and I can feel him in my bones... Ronan, dominant, alive and dangerous. I am drawn to him and I despise it.

The Dravens are regrouping. The remaining wolves form a circle, muscles tense, claws gleaming in the neon light. Engines rev, a low hum of danger buzzing under the asphalt and Ronan stands at the center, composed, commanding.

He doesn’t shout, growl and he doesn’t need to. His victory is clear. His presence is magnetic. My pulse drags toward him again despite every rational thought screaming to flee.

I shove my wolf down, bite the inside of my cheek, taste iron and salt. I will not give in. I cannot give in. I turn my gaze away, but the bond burns between us like a live wire. He knows. I know he knows and I hate the way it terrifies me.

Kael’s hand tightens on my arm, dragging me behind the Voss bikers. “This is not a playground,” he hisses, voice low and dangerous. “Do not let your curiosity be mistaken for weakness. Stay controlled, stay vigilant, or you will answer for it.”

I swallow, nod, but my chest still heaves, wolf whining under my skin, wanting him, needing him. I shove the heat aside, but it pulses relentlessly, insistent. And I realize that no amount of anger, no amount of training, can erase what just happened.

Later, in the silence of my room, I can’t escape him. Neon stripes from the roadhouse cut across my floor, across my walls, slicing the darkness into jagged pieces. My wolf paces beneath my skin, restless, scratching, demanding. My body aches, muscles tense, heart racing. And then I dream.

I see him. Ronan. His blue eyes sharp and his gaze heavy with something I cannot name. The bond calls, pulling at me, dragging me toward him, and I feel it in my chest, my bones, my very soul.

His hands are strong, capable of destruction, but somehow… impossibly gentle in ways my mind refuses to acknowledge. His scent fills the air, metallic and sharp, tainted with blood, fire, and something raw that makes my pulse thrum.

The dream blurs the line between night and reality. We are running across asphalt, engines roaring beneath us, wolves leaping beside us. And yet it is more than a dream;it is him, here, there, everywhere. His voice drifts into my mind, low, rough, irresistible:

“Ivara…”

I wake up with a jump, my heart hammering sweat slicking my hair to my scalp. My wolf hisses softly, frustrated and restless, nudging me to respond, to reach out, to answer. I bury my face in my hands. No. Not him. Never him.

Even as I repeat it, the heat pulses stronger, a wildfire that refuses to die. My wolf hisses again, sharper this time, clawing beneath my skin, desperate, trembling. It knows what my mind won’t admit: he is mine and I am his.

Miles away, in the darkness of his own room, Ronan wakes in the same turmoil. Sweat beads his brow, chest heaving, muscles tense. His wolf growls low, threatening, desperate. The bond claws at him as much as it does me, and he can’t stop it. He whispers my name, unconsciously, hoarse and ragged.

“Ivara…”

The pull is real, physical and unignorable. My wolf arches beneath my skin, desperate, aching, urging me to find him, to give in, to answer. I clutch the blanket around me, gripping it like a lifeline, trying to suppress the ache, the need, the impossible draw that threatens to consume me.

I twist onto my side, eyes wide in the darkness, mind racing with every possible way to resist, to survive, to fight the pull. My wolf growls softly, its voice unyielding. It knows what I cannot say. It knows what my heart refuses to accept.

The night stretches endlessly, the neon stripes cutting across my walls, and I realize, with a hollow, sick sort of awe, that there is no ignoring him. There is no escaping the pull. He is alive in my mind, in my blood, in my wolf, and the bond will not be denied.

I bury my face in the pillow, trying to drown the sensation in darkness and sweat, but it claws at me relentlessly. Somewhere, in the quiet of his own room, Ronan is doing the same. Whispering my name, growling it under his breath, drenched in sweat, struggling against the pull, against the heat that refuses to abate.

The bond is alive and I have no idea how I am going to survive it.