The bond mark throbbed like a living brand beneath her skin.
Lyra stumbled through the cold stone hallway of Nightfang Keep, clutching the wall for balance. Her breath came in short gasps, her body flushed and burning in a way that made no sense. Heat pulsed low in her belly — unfamiliar, unwanted — and the sensation made her feel like she was coming undone from the inside out.
She hated it.
She hated him.
Kael had marked her. Without consent. Without warning. And now her body betrayed her every time he was near — the bond singing between them like a tether on fire.
She made it to the garden edge behind the fortress and collapsed onto a stone bench, biting back a cry. Cool moonlight brushed her skin, but it wasn't enough to cool the fever burning inside her.
Her thoughts spiraled.
This isn't me. This isn't my choice. I'm not his.
Then she heard it — footsteps. Heavy. Measured.
She didn't have to look to know it was him.
Kael stepped from the shadows like he belonged to them. His dark cloak swirled behind him, his silver eyes locked on her, glowing faintly with his wolf. The air around him seemed to ripple with restrained power.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, voice low.
"Escaping," she snapped, not looking at him.
His jaw tensed. "From what?"
"You," she whispered.
The word hung between them like shattered glass.
He stepped closer, and her body went rigid. The bond roared to life. Her skin tingled. Her heartbeat surged. His scent — smoky pine and danger — invaded her lungs, and the mark on her neck flared with searing heat.
She gasped and gripped the edge of the bench.
"I can feel it," he said softly. "The bond... it's affecting you."
"No," she hissed. "You're affecting me. This is your doing."
Kael knelt in front of her, not touching, but too close. "If I hadn't marked you, you'd be dead."
"Then maybe I should've died."
His eyes flashed with fury, but beneath it — pain. "Don't say that."
"Why not? You think I'm weak. Your people mock me. I'm just some... broken thing you dragged from the woods and stamped your name on."
Kael didn't speak.
But then, with aching slowness, he reached out — not to touch her, but to hover his fingers over the bond mark. Close enough for the heat to spike. Close enough for her breath to catch.
"You don't understand what this bond means," he murmured.
"Then explain it."
He didn't.
Instead, he stood abruptly and turned away, muscles taut under his cloak. "I shouldn't have come."
"Then go," she said bitterly.
He took one step — then stopped.
"I can't, Lyra." His voice cracked, raw and low. "Every time you run, I feel it. Every time you hurt, I feel it. Do you think I wanted this? To be chained to a girl who can't shift, who glares at me like I'm her captor?"
She stood too, shaking, fire blazing in her blood. "Then unbind it. Break the mark."
Silence.
"You can't, can you?" she whispered.
His back was still to her.
"No," he said finally. "I can't."
Suddenly, Lyra moved — acting before she could think.
She grabbed his wrist, spun him to face her, and stared into those storm-silver eyes. Her fingers trembled where they touched his skin, but she didn't let go.
"Then stop acting like I'm some burden. I didn't choose this, but I'm still here. Still breathing. Still fighting."
Kael's eyes darkened.
The bond pulsed like thunder between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, then to the pulse pounding in her throat.
He leaned in — so close his breath brushed her cheek.
"I almost kissed you the night I found you," he said, voice like velvet wrapped in steel. "But I didn't. Because if I lose control... I won't be able to stop."
Lyra's lips parted, heart hammering.
"And now?" she whispered.
He was silent. The tension was unbearable — lust and anger and something deeper, unspoken.
Then... he stepped back.
"I still won't," he said coldly. "Not until you can meet me as an equal."
Lyra's breath caught.
She watched him walk away — the bond buzzing in protest — and though part of her wanted to scream, another part whispered:
He didn't reject you this time.
And for the first time since the Moonblood Trials... she didn't feel broken.
She felt burning.
Lyra stood alone in the moonlit garden long after Kael disappeared into the shadows.
Her fingers still tingled from touching him. Her skin still burned from the bond. And her thoughts—her traitorous thoughts—refused to fall silent.
He didn't kiss me.
He could have… but he didn't.
Why did that ache like rejection and relief all at once?
She clenched her fists. The warmth between them wasn't real. It was the bond manipulating her emotions, tethering her soul to someone she should despise. And yet… his voice still echoed in her chest.
> "Every time you hurt, I feel it."
No one had ever said that to her before.
She wrapped her arms around herself and tilted her head to the stars above. They glittered like indifferent gods, far removed from the chaos brewing inside her.
A howl pierced the air — distant but chilling. Not a friendly call. Not pack-song.
A warning.
She tensed, senses sharpening.
That was no academy training howl. That was a rogue.
Heavy doors slammed open behind her. She spun, expecting a guard.
But it was Kael again — his coat swirling like smoke, his eyes narrowed.
"You're still out here," he said sharply.
"I heard something."
"So did I."
Their gazes locked, mutual wariness shifting into something else — shared instinct. Even if they weren't allies, they were bound. And right now, that bond thrummed with alarm.
"Inside," he ordered, grabbing her arm. "Now."
Lyra yanked away. "I'm not your pet."
His jaw flexed. "Fine. Stay here and die."
He turned, and she followed — not out of obedience, but because her gut whispered this was no bluff. Something was wrong. Something was coming.
Back inside, Kael barked orders to guards, his voice ice-edged and commanding.
Lyra was ushered into a side corridor by a female guard — younger, unfamiliar — who didn't speak. She led Lyra down a winding hall she didn't recognize.
"This isn't the way to the dorms," Lyra said.
The girl said nothing.
"Stop," Lyra commanded.
Still silence.
Then the girl's head jerked violently — like something inside her broke free.
She turned, and her eyes flashed red.
Not wolf. Not natural.
Lyra froze. "You're not—"
The girl lunged.
Lyra barely dodged the knife slash that followed.
Panic surged. She stumbled backward into stone, heart hammering. She had no weapon. No wolf. No help.
But she wasn't going to die.
She ducked the next swipe and slammed her shoulder into the girl's side, knocking her off-balance. They fell together — scrabbling, kicking — Lyra's fingers closing around the blade's hilt in the scuffle.
One desperate strike.
The girl choked, gurgled — then slumped.
Lyra rolled away, gasping, covered in blood.
Then—footsteps. Again.
Kael burst into the corridor, sword in hand, eyes scanning and wild.
He saw the body. He saw her.
And something inside him snapped.
He rushed to her, kneeling, grabbing her face with trembling hands. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she whispered.
His thumb smeared blood from her cheek, eyes full of something she didn't have a name for.
"You killed her."
"She tried to kill me."
Kael's breath trembled. He pulled her into his arms without thinking — tight, fierce, like he needed to feel her pulse to believe she was alive.
Lyra didn't pull away.
Not this time.
They stood there — tangled in silence and blood and the bond that refused to break.
Finally, he whispered against her hair:
"They're coming for you, Lyra."
She looked up. "Who?"
Kael's expression turned grim. "And I don't think it's just about the mark anymore."