Chapter 2

Lyra POV 

The first time Kael fought for me, he was ten and bleeding from the nose.

I remember because I’d been the reason.

The creek behind the western ridge was our place. It wasn’t claimed territory or sacred ground — just a narrow bend in the water where the trees dipped low and the rocks were warm from the sun. We used to say it belonged to us because no one else bothered climbing that far down the slope.

That day, I’d slipped.

The moss along the bank was slick, and I’d been trying to cross it without getting my sandals wet. One wrong step and I went tumbling into the shallow water with a splash loud enough to echo.

The boys heard.

Of course they did.

Three of them came crashing through the trees, older, louder, already laughing before they saw me struggling to stand. My braid had come loose. My dress clung to my skin. My knees stung where they’d scraped against stone.

“Well,” one of them drawled, folding his arms. “Future Luna can’t even walk.”

I hated that title back then. It felt like something they threw at me to see if I’d flinch.

“I didn’t ask to be Luna,” I shot back.

They stepped closer.

“You don’t have to ask,” another said. “You’re Alpha’s blood.”

“And Kael’s shadow,” the third added.

That one hit harder.

I pushed to my feet, water dripping down my calves. “Leave me alone.”

They didn’t.

The tallest reached out and flicked the end of my soaked braid. “You going to cry?”

“I don’t cry.”

“Maybe you should. Might make Kael come running.”

They laughed.

And then the laughter stopped.

Not because I said anything clever.

Because the forest went quiet.

I felt it before I saw him.

That shift in the air. That stillness.

Kael stepped out from behind the trees with mud on his boots and something dark in his eyes that didn’t belong on a ten-year-old’s face.

“What did you say?”

His voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

The tallest boy straightened. “Nothing.”

Kael’s gaze moved to me.

Took in the wet dress. The scraped knees. The trembling I was trying to hide.

Then it went back to them.

“You made her fall?”

“She fell on her own,” one muttered.

Kael didn’t look convinced.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “You touched her?”

There was something in the way he asked that made my stomach flip.

“She’s not yours,” the tallest snapped. “She’s pack property.”

The words barely left his mouth before Kael moved.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t trained.

It was instinct.

He lunged.

They collided in a mess of limbs and dirt. The other two jumped in immediately. I shouted his name, but he didn’t stop. He fought like he was trying to prove something — not to them, not even to me.

To himself.

A fist caught him across the face. Blood spurted from his nose.

He didn’t slow down.

He tackled the tallest boy to the ground and pinned him there, knuckles clenched in the front of his shirt.

“She’s not property,” Kael hissed. “She’s mine.”

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

One of the others yanked him off. The fight dissolved into chaos until a familiar bark split the air.

“Enough!”

Beta Roran stormed down the slope, fury radiating off him. The boys scrambled apart instantly.

Kael stood in the center of the mess, chest heaving, blood streaking down his lip and chin.

I ran to him.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, as if that wasn’t obvious.

He didn’t take his eyes off the boys retreating toward the trees.

“I don’t care.”

Beta Roran grabbed him by the shoulder. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“They were bothering her.”

“And you think breaking bones fixes that?”

“Yes.”

The Beta’s grip tightened. “You’re not Alpha yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Roran snapped. “You don’t get to claim people.”

Kael’s jaw flexed.

“I wasn’t claiming,” he muttered.

But he didn’t look at me when he said it.

The boys were dismissed with threats of punishment. Kael wasn’t spared one either, but he barely seemed to hear it.

When the Beta finally stalked off, silence settled between us.

I reached up and wiped blood from beneath Kael’s nose with the edge of my sleeve.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said softly.

“Yes, I did.”

“They weren’t going to hurt me.”

His eyes flashed. “They already did.”

The intensity in his voice made my pulse race.

“I can handle them,” I insisted.

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because they don’t get to talk about you like that.”

I blinked.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “They don’t get to look at you like that either.”

My stomach fluttered again — that strange feeling I didn’t have words for yet.

“You’re not my guard,” I said lightly.

“Maybe I want to be.”

It wasn’t said like a joke.

We stood there by the creek, the water rushing softly beside us, and something shifted. Not loud. Not dramatic.

But permanent.

He reached out hesitantly, brushing his thumb against the scrape on my knee. His touch was careful now. Gentle.

“They shouldn’t call you property,” he added, quieter.

“I’m not,” I said.

His gaze lifted to mine.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not.”

The wind stirred through the trees, carrying the scent of river and earth and something faintly metallic from the blood on his lip.

“You scared me,” I admitted.

A flicker of regret crossed his face. “Good.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and grimaced. “Did I win?”

I huffed a small laugh despite myself. “Barely.”

“Still counts.”

We started back up the slope together. Halfway to the ridge, I slowed.

“Kael.”

He glanced back.

“When you said I was yours…”

He didn’t answer immediately.

The boy I’d known all my life looked suddenly uncertain.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said finally.

But his voice wasn’t steady.

“Like what?” I pressed.

“Like ownership.” He swallowed. “I just meant… they don’t get to decide who you are.”

The answer should have satisfied me.

It didn’t.

Because when he’d pinned that boy to the ground, when he’d said the words through blood and fury, it hadn’t sounded like protection alone.

It had sounded like promise.

We reached the top of the ridge where the pack houses came into view below us.

Kael walked slightly ahead now, shoulders squared, as if daring the world to challenge him again.

I watched him differently after that.

Not just as the Alpha’sstrongest son.

Not just as my childhood companion.

But as something else.

Something that felt like a line being drawn around me — invisible, unspoken.

And I didn’t yet know whether that line was meant to keep danger out.

Or keep me in.