Lyra
When the fever broke, it didn't feel like relief.
It felt like death.
The kind that doesn't end in silence, but in awakening.
Lyra opened her eyes to dim morning light spilling across the stone floor. Her body no longer burned. But it didn't feel like her body anymore, either. Everything was… sharper. Louder. The rustle of wind against the windows. The heartbeat of someone pacing outside her room. Her own breath, slow and primal like it belonged to something older.
She sat up. Her shirt clung to her like a second skin, dried sweat streaking her throat and chest. The sheets were twisted, clawed. She blinked, trying to remember when she'd done that — when she'd gripped the bed like she was trying to survive it.
You weren't surviving it, something whispered. You were changing.
She swung her leg over the edge, every muscle sore, heavy… but thrusting with something else. Something new.
Lyra rose slowly and staggered toward the mirror above the dresser. She hadn't looked at herself since the bite. She didn't want to. But now — she needed to.
She stared.
Same face. Same eyes. But not.
Her skin had a flush to it now — rosy and golden and wrong. Her irises were still hazel… but around the edges, a strange fold shimmer burned faintly like wildfire.
This isn't happening.
She gripped the edge of the dresser, trying to breathe. But the scent of cedar and smoke clung to everything in this damn place. And beneath it… his scent. Kael. Alpha. Wolf. Claimed.
Her skin still remembered his voice. Her ties still ached with heat that hadn't gone away.
I hate him.
She wished the words meant something. But what she could think about was how close he'd been. The rasp of his voice in the dark. The hunger in his eyes.
And that fucking mine.
The door creaked open, and instinct — faster than thought — made her whip around and bare her teeth.
The boy standing there froze mid-step, wide-eyed, barely nineteen, if that. Blond hair, armful of folded linens, and a scent like fear.
"S-sorry, miss," he stammered. "Didn't know you were here—"
"Get out."
He dropped the towels and ran.
She stood there breathing hard, body trembling, nails digging into her palms. What the hell had just happened?
You growled at him, her mind whispered. Like a wolf.
She didn't even remember doing it. But the low, guttural sound still echoed in her bones.
Lyra moved away from the door and opened the balcony, stepping barefoot into the cold. The wind bit into her wet-soaked skin. It didn't matter. She needed air. Needed space.
The world outside was stunning — mountains that touched the sky, forests dark and endless. L of it wrapped in Kael's rule. His territory.
And now, yours.
She gritted her teeth. The thought wasn't hers. It couldn't be.
Footsteps approached behind her. Heavy. Measured. Male.
She didn't turn. "You keep creeping into my space like a ghost. Is it an aloha thing or just a Kael thing?"
He didn't answer right away. She felt hin watching her, heat coiling between them like a second fever.
"I don't creep," Kael said. "I hunt."
"Same difference," she muttered, still not turning.
The wind pulled at her damp hair. She imagined him behind her — tall, shirtless, dark-eyed and dangerous. The image alone made her thigh clench.
"You're awake," he said quietly
"No thanks to you."
"I didn't know you'd survive the fever."
"And if I didn't?"
"I would've buried you myself." His voice was low. Flat. "Then burned whoever was responsible for your bloodline."
She turned slowly. "You mean you."
His expression didn't change. But there was something in his eyes — something older than rage. Regret? No. He didn't seem like the kind of man who allowed himself that weakness.
Kael stepped onto the balcony with her, his presence enormous and unsettling. "How do you feel?"
"Like I want to rip someone's throat out. Yours, preferably."
He nodded once. "Then the change is complete."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does."
She moved closer before she could think better of it. "Why me, Kael? You could've intended anyone. Why me?"
Hjs jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
"I'm not a shifter," she said. "I'm not a pack batch you can collar and keep warm at night. I'm human."
"Not anymore."
She hated how calm he sounded. Like this was just fate, written in some blood-stained prophecy.
She shoved him hard. "You stole my life."
Kael didn't move. Didn't flinch. He just stood there and let her push him. Let her rage.
"You should've left me to die." She whispered.
He leaned in, slow, deliberate, his mouth close to her ear.
"I tried," he said. "But you lived. That makes you mine now."
Her breath hitched. She hated him — truly, deeply. But her body wanted him in ways that defied logic. The bite hadn't just tethered them. It had bound her instincts to his. Claimed her skin, her scent, her soul.
And gods help her, part of her didn't want to fight it.
Her fingers curled in the fabric of his trousers before she realized what she was doing. He didn't stop her. Just stared down at her, dark and hungry.
"Do it," she said. "Finish what you started."
His eyes burned gold.
"Say please."
She yanked her hand back like she had touched fire. "Fuck you."
Kael's voice dropped to a growl. "You will."
He stepped back, leaving her trembling.
"We leave at dusk," he said. "The elders want to see the mate for themselves."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Yes," he said. "You are. Or they'll come here, and trust me — what I've done to you will be nothing compared to what they'll do."
And with that Kael vanished into the stone halls, leaving Lyra breathless, shaking…
And wanting.