07 The Door I Closed on Love

Nyra’s POV

A week passed, and I did not go to the cabin.

Not once.

I stayed inside our little house at the edge of the pack territory, where the walls were thin and the air always smelled faintly of damp wood and boiled herbs. My bruises were still dark, still tender. Every breath reminded me of Beverly’s boots. Every turn in bed reminded me that I healed like prey, not like a wolf.

But it wasn’t my ribs that kept me indoors.

It was my heart.

Because the cabin was ours.

And I couldn’t bear to sit in the place where Kieran had promised me sunlight, when all I’d ever been given was shadow.

My mother watched me in the quiet moments. Elaine didn’t press the way other mothers might have, because she knew what pressing did to wounded things. But her eyes followed me, sharp, tired, full of unsaid questions.

One evening, as she stirred soup over the fire, she asked without turning, “Are you alright?”

I was sitting at the table, my hands wrapped around a cup I wasn’t drinking from.

“I’m fine,” I said.

The lie slid out too smoothly. I’d had practice.

Elaine’s stirring slowed. “Fine doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’m just tired.”

A beat of silence.

Then she stirred again, as if she’d decided not to cut me open when I was already bleeding.

I should have been grateful.

Instead, guilt curled in my stomach, heavy and ugly.

Because my mother had been cast out for my existence. She had swallowed her own pride for years just to keep me alive. She didn’t deserve to watch me fall apart over a boy who only loved me when it was convenient.

But the pack didn’t let me forget him.

They never did.

Every time I heard footsteps outside, my body tensed, expecting laughter, expecting cruelty, expecting more proof that I had never been welcome here.

Every time I heard a girl’s voice rise bright and excited, my stomach turned, because I knew who they were talking about before they even said his name.

“Kieran escorted Beverly to the council hall today.”

“Kieran and Beverly were seen training together.”

“Kieran’s going to choose her. Of course he is.”

Each time I heard it, it felt like someone reached into my chest and twisted.

I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real.

That it was politics.

That it was duty.

That he had promised me soon.

But a promise that never moved closer wasn’t a promise.

It was a leash.

And by the end of the first week, I realised what I had been refusing to name.

It was rejection.

Not spoken. Not formal. Not sealed by the words a mate was supposed to say.

But rejection all the same.

Because he had already chosen what mattered more.

His reputation.

His future.

His throne.

And I, I was just the thing he kept hidden until it became too heavy to carry.

By the second week my bruises began to fade. My ribs still ached, but less. The swelling around my lip went down. My body healed the way it always did, slowly, painfully, without magic.

My heart didn’t heal at all.

One morning, my mother left early to trade herbs at the edge market, her cloak drawn tight, her shoulders stiff with the kind of courage people never applauded.

I was alone when the knock came.

Not at the front.

At the side door.

Three soft taps.

My pulse stuttered like it remembered a life I was trying to bury.

I didn’t move for a long moment.

Then I stood, slowly, my legs unsteady, not from weakness, but from the way grief made the body feel heavier than it should.

When I opened the door, Kieran stood there.

And for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.

He looked… hollow.

Not just worried.

Not just guilty.

Hollow, like something had been carved out of him and left behind a shape he didn’t know how to fill.

His eyes were shadowed, his jaw tight, his hair uncombed like he’d dragged his hands through it too many times. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

He looked like he’d been suffering.

And I hated him for it.

Because suffering looked beautiful on wolves like him, tragic, romantic, worthy of sympathy.

Suffering on girls like me just looked like weakness.

I stared at him, numb and quiet, and waited for my body to do what it always did when he was near, melt, soften, hope.

It didn’t.

It just… hurt.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

His throat bobbed. “Nyra.”

I let out a small laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all.

“If you’re here, aren’t you afraid someone will see you?” My voice stayed calm, even as something inside me shook. “Isn’t that your favourite fear?”

He flinched.

“I don’t care,” he said quickly. Then, softer, “Not right now.”

I stepped back, letting him inside, not because I wanted him here, because I didn’t want him standing outside my door like he still had the right to my life.

He entered, gaze sweeping the small room.

He took two steps in and stopped, his hands flexing as if he didn’t know where to put them.

“Are you still mad about… the party?” he asked.

Mad.

I almost laughed again.

As if anger was what lived in me now.

As if it was as simple as being upset.

I tilted my head. “I’m over it.”

His brows pulled together. “You’re over it?”

“Yes.” The word tasted like ash. “It’s done.”

Kieran stared at me like he didn’t recognise the girl in front of him.

“Then why haven’t you been to the cabin?” His voice roughened. “I waited. Every night. Nyra, I, ”

“We don’t have a place in this world,” I cut in quietly.

The sentence fell heavy between us.

Kieran’s mouth parted as if to argue, but no sound came out.

I continued before he could try to soften it with lies.

“It’s better you stop going there hoping I’ll come,” I said. “That cabin is just a reminder of what I am to you.”

His eyes flashed. “You’re not, ”

“Don’t.” I lifted a hand, palm out, the simple gesture stopping him like a wall. “Don’t do that. Don’t say the things you say at night and then live like they don’t exist in the morning.”

He stepped forward and reached for my hand.

His fingers were warm. Familiar. They curled around mine with a tenderness that used to undo me.

“Nyra,” he pleaded. “Please. Just… see reason.”

I pulled away.

The movement was small, but it felt like ripping off a piece of skin.

He looked at my hand like it had betrayed him.

“I’m done,” I said.

Something sharp crossed his face. “Done?”

“Yes.” My voice trembled, but I forced it steady. “I’m done waiting for you to become brave.”

Kieran’s chest rose and fell, fast. “I won’t reject you.”

I stared at him.

The words landed wrong.

Not romantic. Not reassuring.

Possessive.

Like he thought refusing to reject me was some sort of gift, when it was the very cage I’d been trapped in.

“Then what about Beverly?” I asked.

His body went still.

His silence was an answer before he spoke.

A bitter laugh tore out of me.

I couldn’t stop it.

Of course.

Of course he couldn’t answer.

“Leave,” I said quietly, even though my heart began to crack open again, bleeding fresh.

Kieran shook his head. “Nyra, ”

“Leave.”

He stepped closer, desperation in his eyes. “Try to understand. I need support. I need allies. Ronan is coming back soon and, ”

I blinked.

Slowly.

Because the words were sinking in.

Support.

Allies.

And there it was.

The real reason.

Not love.

Not fate.

Politics.