POV: Kyran
Kyran didn't sleep.
Not really.
He drifted in and out, fitful and half-awake, flashes of scent and sound slicing through him like knives. The sharp bite of lavender. The crackle of fire. And always… eyes; silver-gray, haunted, staring straight through him and then… the ache.
A deep throb just beneath his ribs, like a tether pulled taut and fraying.
He sat up before the sun rose, dragging a hand through his hair, jaw tight, breath shallow. Thorne snarled low and restless under his skin, pacing like a caged thing.
"She was nothing", he told himself. "She was wolfless. Broken. Not mine." The lie scratched its way down his throat like glass.
"Keep saying it," Thorne growled. "Maybe one day you'll believe it."
Kyran flinched and shoved the voice down. Again.
By midday, he found himself walking the training perimeter alone. Technically, he was supposed to be sparring. Instead, he'd dismissed the junior warriors and left the field, needing space to think or at least pretend to. In truth, he couldn't stop replaying the last few days in his mind.
Everly.
Her scent was different now. Fainter, but present like smoke on the wind, like something just out of reach. And yesterday… the look in her eyes. Like she wasn't afraid, but she had always looked afraid before.
But not then.
And his wolf had responded, not with hunger, not with rage, but recognition.
It scared the hell out of him.
Lyra cornered him in the western passage between the Luna's garden and the stables. As always, her timing was flawless. "Kyran," she purred, sliding her arm around his as if it had always belonged there.
He didn't pull away, but he didn't lean in, either.
Thorne snarled. "She reeks of lies. You know it."
"You've been avoiding me," she said sweetly.
He forced a smile. "Just busy."
"With what? Feeling guilty?"
His jaw tensed. "There's nothing to feel guilty about."
"Then why haven't you marked me?" Her voice was light, teasing, but her grip on his arm was sharp enough to leave bruises.
Kyran exhaled through his nose. "You know why. It's not time yet."
Lyra leaned up, her lips grazing his cheek. "The Seer said the Red Moon could sever the old bond. That's what we're waiting for, isn't it?"
He didn't answer, because…yes, that's exactly what they were waiting for.
Everly had never rejected him. And he…he had never fully rejected her. His father insisted the bond would fade with time. That mating with a powerful, ranked wolf like Lyra would override it and Lyra believed it too.
And he needed to believe it. Because otherwise…he'd have to accept that what he did…what he keeps doing…was wrong.
Later, he stood outside the Alpha's study, waiting to be summoned. It was quiet, until a soft laugh floated through the corridor.
He turned.
Everly.
She hadn't seen him. Her arms were full, scrolls tucked tight against her chest, sleeves slightly rumpled. Her face was drawn, lips set, dark hair pulled back in a knot. Still bruised. Still… different.
She moved like someone who wasn't expecting to survive but had stopped trying to disappear.
Thorne surged beneath Kyran's skin, claws scraping at the edges of his control. "She walks like she remembers," he growled. "Even if you don't."
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Just watched.
Watched as she passed the intersection, expression unreadable, and crossed the threshold at the end of the hall.
And for a single second, he felt the tether between them pull hard, like it remembered something he didn't. Vanishing around the bend and for a single second… the tether snapped taut inside him. Like it remembered something he didn't.
A voice, childlike, high, sweet, echoed from somewhere buried deep. "You don't have to be afraid. I'll sit with you until the dark goes away."
Kyran blinked.
Where had that come from?
The door opened behind him and the memory vanished.
He found himself staring into the fire that evening, the others murmuring around the table while Lyra recited some tale of warrior politics from her home pack.
He didn't hear her nor did he care.
Thorne was growling again, low, guttural, and this time… it wasn't at Everly.
It was at Lyra.
She smelled too sweet. Too controlled. And lately… she didn't smell like him at all.
He knew why.
She had rejected her Omega mate, but not completely; the bond hadn't snapped.
Kyran wondered, suddenly, how far she'd really gone to keep that secret buried. Whether his scent on her was real… or just strategically applied.
Thorne's snarl curled sharp behind his ribs. "You pretend for them," he hissed. "But even you can smell the lie."
Kyran stood abruptly, pushing back from the table. "I'm going for air."
Lyra didn't follow.
The moon was high when he walked the perimeter again; that's when he saw her.
Not Everly.
Not Lyra.
Someone else.
Standing near the edge of the northern pines; unmoving, cloaked, watching.
Kyran's steps slowed and his breath caught. "Who…?" but when the breeze shifted, there was no one there.
No scent.
No sound.
Not even a footprint in the dirt.
Thorne stilled inside him. "That one doesn't fear us," he murmured, not with challenge, but with something closer to caution.
Kyran's chest tightened, he took a slow step back, unsure why every instinct screamed not to follow. The feeling blooming inside him wasn't anger… nor was it desire
It was dread.
He found Lyra waiting in his quarters. She was lounging on the furs, dressed in sheer silver, her eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight. "You're not going to keep running forever," she said.
"I'm not running."
"Yes, you are. You think your wolf doesn't know? That it can't tell who you really want?"
He stared at her.
Lyra rose slowly and approached him, close enough to press her palm flat against his chest. "You want this bond broken," she said. "I do too." Her other hand slid up, into his hair. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me help you forget her."
Kyran's body didn't resist, but his soul did. When their lips met, he didn't feel fire; he felt guilt. And when they fell to the furs, his wolf howled…not in victory… in mourning.
Thorne was silent… then, "You let her in your bed, but you still taste the girl you threw away."
Later, after Lyra had fallen asleep, Kyran lay awake. The ache in his chest hadn't eased.
His wolf refused to speak and in the back of his mind, the voice returned.
Not Lyra's.
Not Everly's.
Not his own.
A girl... laughing?... crying?
A memory.
One he didn't understand but couldn't shake.
"You're not like them. I know it. Even if they don't."
Kyran stared at the ceiling, eyes burning. He had no idea who she was, but his heart already knew.
And that terrified him more than anything else.