CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Garrick's POV

I moved through the castle like a phantom, each step silent on the cold stone floors, ears straining for any sign of her. A whimper. A breath. Anything.

But the halls were still.

Too still.

The scent of food and dried mest still lingered near the kitchens, mixing with something softer—lavender and honey. Her scent.

I should’ve followed her immediately. I shouldn’t have wasted time arguing with Ronan, but I’d never seen him like that before. His words, his claim over Lyra it shook something loose in me.

The truth?

I didn’t understand what the hell was going on anymore.

As I walked past the servants’ quarters and down the corridor leading toward the east wing, I replayed the scene in the kitchen over and over. Lyra’s eyes—wide, afraid, yet somehow still so proud. The slight tremble in her hands. The blood.

And Ronan… that look in his eyes. Possessive. Guttural. Like a man starved.

But starved of what?

Touch? Warmth?

Her?

Was she his mate?

The question had plagued me from the second Alaric snapped and declared her as his. The only time a wolf speaks in absolutes like that—mine—it’s usually the mate bond speaking.

But if she was Ronan’s mate… why the hell was he treating her like she was poison?

It didn’t make sense.

Unless… he was scared.

Ronan had always been a fortress covered in ice. Cold. Hard. Silent. He’d never been one to speak of emotions—hell, he barely acknowledged his own humanity most days. And no one, not even me, had been able to crack that shell.

That used to be fine.

But now?

Now I was watching him destroy someone soft and breakable with that silence.

And it pissed me off.

The man I’d fought beside, bled beside—he was my brother, yes—but gods, sometimes I didn’t recognize him. His emotions came in flashes, like lightning: bright, violent, gone in an instant. And now they were directed at her, this girl he refused to admit was anything more than a prisoner in his castle.

And yet… he wouldn’t let anyone near her either.

I growled low in my throat, pushing open the back doors, the cold air biting against my skin. The night was thick with fog, the moon like a silver crown overhead, casting an eerie glow over the trees that bordered the courtyard.

My boots crunched softly on the gravel path as I moved toward the edge of the woods.

She wasn’t in the castle. That much was clear.

And there was only one place someone like her would go when the world closed in—the forest.

The same place I found her the first time.

I remembered it vividly. The Forbidden Forest, the sharp howling in my ears, the strange sense of wrongness crawling over my skin. And there she was. A girl with fire in her eyes and sorrow in her bones. She had looked so out of place, so fragile yet powerful, as if nature itself bent to her emotions.

And even then… I felt it.

That pull.

Like an invisible string wrapped around my chest, tugging me toward her.

Was it a mate bond?

I didn’t know.

It didn’t feel like what I was taught growing up. The bond was supposed to be overwhelming. Obvious. A tidal wave. This… this was slower. Quieter. But deeper, somehow. It wasn’t desire, it was duty. This aching urge to protect her, keep her safe, like something ancient and sacred was whispering in my blood.

I didn’t understand it.

But I couldn’t ignore it either.

I moved through the trees with trained steps, senses wide open. Her scent drifted on the wind, fainter now, carried through the leaves like a song half-remembered.

Then I heard it.

Water.

The sound of a gentle stream flowing not far ahead.

And then… I saw her.

Lyra.

Curled at the base of a tree, limbs folded beneath her like a child, face turned toward the sky. Her hair was tangled, her clothes dirty, but she looked almost peaceful in the moonlight.

Almost.

My breath caught.

Because there—hovering just above her cheek—was a hand.

Silver light. Pale, delicate, almost translucent.

It shimmered like moon mist, like stardust, like something not meant for this world.

A woman’s hand.

I froze.

Every instinct screamed at me to move, to get between Lyra and whatever the hell that was. But my legs wouldn’t budge. I blinked once—twice—and the hand was gone. Like it had never been there.

A trick of the moonlight?

Or something more?

I didn’t know.

But I suddenly had the sickening feeling I was trespassing in something sacred. That I’d just caught a glimpse of a secret not meant for me.

I took a step forward—

And she gasped.

Jerking awake, eyes wild, body tensing as she scrambled upright like a hunted doe.

“Lyra,” I called out, voice low and urgent.

She stumbled back, disoriented. Her chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, eyes darting until they landed on me.

And in that moment, I saw it.

Terror.

Confusion.

Pain.

I rushed toward her without thinking.

“Hey—hey, it’s me,” I said, hands raised, trying to calm her. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

I didn’t know if I was lying.

Because as I knelt beside her, as I took in the tear streaks on her cheeks and the bruise blooming at her wrist, I knew that nothing about this was okay.

But one thing was certain.

I was going to find out what Ronan was hiding.

And I was going to protect this girl.

No matter what it cost me.