The Man I Buried

Lyra POV

The first time I realized I loved Kael, he was standing in the center of the training field with blood on his knuckles and sunlight in his hair.

The field sat just beyond the eastern treeline, a wide stretch of flattened earth carved out by generations of warriors. I’d grown up watching boys become men there, watching bruises turn into pride. But Kael had never looked like the others.

He didn’t fight to impress.

He fought like something inside him demanded it.

I stood at the edge of the clearing that morning, pretending I was only there to deliver the canteen slung over my shoulder. The air smelled of damp soil and sweat. Wolves circled in human form, waiting their turn. Laughter cut through the cool breeze.

And then there was Kael.

He moved differently. Quieter. Controlled.

When his opponent lunged, Kael didn’t snarl or posture. He stepped aside, caught the man’s wrist, twisted, and sent him flat on his back in one smooth motion. The thud echoed across the field.

A cheer went up.

Kael offered his opponent a hand and pulled him up with a grin that was half apology, half challenge.

My stomach did something strange.

“Stop staring.”

I startled. Mira bumped her shoulder into mine, her dark braid swinging over her arm. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I am not staring,” I said quickly.

She raised a brow. “You’ve been here twenty minutes.”

Heat crawled up my neck. I shifted my weight and focused on the canteen strap digging into my palm. “I brought him water.”

“You always bring him water.”

“That’s because he forgets.”

Mira snorted. “He doesn’t forget. He just knows you’ll show up.”

Before I could respond, Kael glanced toward the trees.

Toward me.

Our eyes met.

The world didn’t stop. The wind didn’t freeze. Nothing dramatic happened.

But something in my chest tightened like a thread being pulled taut.

He didn’t look surprised to see me. He never did. His gaze slid over me slowly, taking in the loose braid over my shoulder, the light training tunic I wore, the way my fingers tightened around the strap.

His mouth curved faintly.

Not the grin he gave his friends.

Something softer.

Intent.

I looked away first.

“Go,” Mira whispered. “Before you combust.”

I inhaled slowly and stepped out of the treeline.

The chatter dipped as I crossed the field. Not because of me — because of what I represented. The future Luna of the pack. Even if it hadn’t been officially announced, everyone knew.

Kael didn’t move as I approached. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt. A thin cut marked his jaw, already healing.

“You’re going to dehydrate,” I said, holding out the canteen.

He took it, but instead of drinking immediately, his fingers brushed mine.

Deliberate.

A spark shot up my arm.

“You worry too much,” he murmured.

“You don’t worry enough.”

His eyes held mine over the rim of the canteen as he drank. The sound of the field faded into background noise. I was suddenly very aware of how close we were. Of the way his scent wrapped around me — cedarwood and smoke and something uniquely him.

When he lowered the canteen, he didn’t hand it back.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been out here my whole life.”

“Not like this.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

“Like they’re watching you.”

I glanced around. A few warriors were pretending not to stare. Others weren’t pretending at all.

“I don’t care,” I said.

His jaw tightened slightly. “I do.”

There it was again — that thread pulling tight inside my chest.

“You can’t fight everyone who looks at me,” I said lightly.

“I don’t need to fight them.”

The way he said it made my pulse skip.

Before I could answer, the Beta called his name.

Kael’s gaze lingered on me one second longer than necessary. “Wait after,” he said. Not a question.

Then he turned and walked back into the center of the field.

I should have left.

I didn’t.

The next round was harder. His opponent was older, heavier, ruthless. They circled each other slowly. The air shifted — less playful now, more serious.

When the older warrior struck, it was fast. Too fast.

Kael staggered back as a fist connected with his ribs. The crack was loud enough that I flinched.

“Enough,” I whispered under my breath.

He straightened.

Wiped blood from his lip.

And smiled.

It wasn’t the soft smile from before.

It was something sharper.

The older warrior lunged again, but this time Kael didn’t retreat. He moved forward. Ducked. Hooked a leg behind the man’s knee and slammed him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

Silence.

Kael stood over him, chest heaving.

For one split second, something flashed across his face.

Not triumph.

Not anger.

Something possessive.

His gaze flicked toward me again.

Like he needed to make sure I’d seen.

My breath caught.

The Beta called the match. Applause broke out, but it sounded distant in my ears.

Kael stepped back, offering his hand again, helping the man up like nothing had happened. The moment passed. The edge disappeared.

But I’d seen it.

He walked toward me slowly this time, rolling his shoulders as if loosening tension.

“You’re bleeding,” I said before I could stop myself.

“It’ll heal.”

“You’re not invincible.”

His expression shifted slightly. “Not yet.”

A strange chill slid down my spine.

He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered just long enough to make my skin warm.

“They hit harder when they know you’re watching,” he added quietly.

My throat tightened. “Then I won’t watch.”

His hand dropped.

“No,” he said immediately.

The word came out rougher than he probably intended.

“I want you to.”

Something in the air changed.

The wind picked up, rustling through the treetops. The pack noise swelled again around us, but it felt far away.

“Kael,” I began, unsure what I was even about to say.

A horn echoed from the northern ridge.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The training field went silent.

Every head turned toward the sound.

The Beta swore under his breath.

Kael’s body went rigid beside me.

That wasn’t a hunting signal.

It wasn’t a patrol return.

It was a summons.

For warriors.

My heart started pounding.

Kael didn’t look at me this time.

He was already looking toward the ridge.

Toward whatever had just changed our morning forever.

“Go home,” he said, voice steady.

I grabbed his wrist before he could step away.

“Tell me what that means.”

His eyes dropped to where I held him.

For a moment, I thought he might pull free.

Instead, he covered my hand with his.

“It means,” he said softly, “that things are about to be different.”

The horn sounded again in the distance

Longer this time.

Colder.

And for the first time since I’d known him, I saw something flicker in Kael’s eyes that wasn’t confidence.

It was anticipation.

And I didn’t know why that frightened me more than the sound of war calling his name.