Chapter Three: bound by blood

Lyra

She should have stayed in bed.

The moonlight bled across the forest floor, silver and sharp like a warning. The remnants of the creature Ronan had killed still stained the dirt, its black blood reeking of rot and magic twisted out of form.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ignore the pulse under her skin—the echo of the bond. It had quieted some, but not gone. Never gone.

The connection had sunk deep, a pressure behind her ribs, like a hand gripping her from the inside.

She didn’t ask for it.

Didn’t want it.

And yet… she felt him before she saw him. Again.

Of course he hadn’t left.

Ronan Thorne stood at the edge of the clearing, shirtless, arms crossed over his chest like he was carved from shadow and arrogance.

“You’re still here,” she said coldly.

He tilted his head, golden eyes unreadable. “You thought I’d let you wander around after that?”

“You don’t get to protect me. You’re not—”

“Don’t say it,” he warned, low and quiet. “We both know what I am now.”

“No,” she snapped, stepping back. “We don’t. I didn’t agree to this bond. I didn’t choose it. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Tell that to your magic.”

Her fingers twitched. She clenched her fists to stop the sparks from spilling. It was true—her magic had been wrong ever since the bond clicked into place. Feral. Hot. Drawn to him like he was a flame she was supposed to leap into.

She swallowed thickly. “I’ll find a way to sever it.”

He stepped closer. Just once. Slowly. But even that made her stomach twist.

His voice dropped, rough and intimate. “You sever this, Lyra… and it’ll rip you in half.”

⸻

Ronan

He should’ve left.

It would’ve been the smart thing. Cut ties before the bond wrapped any tighter, before his wolf started thinking in forever.

But then she’d looked at him. Eyes lit with fury and confusion and that gorgeous streak of fearless defiance.

And he was ruined.

Lyra Vale was going to be the end of him.

And he didn’t care.

“You don’t get to decide what this means,” she said, voice sharper than the cold wind curling through the trees.

He bit down on the growl rising in his throat. She was right. That was the problem.

But before he could say anything else—he felt them.

Power. Ancient. Cloaked in the scent of sage and silver.

The Council.

His head snapped toward the trees at the same time hers did.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Ronan moved fast, instincts on fire. He grabbed her wrist—not to hurt, not to control, but to hide.

She resisted. Of course she did. “Don’t touch me.”

“They followed me,” he growled, voice low. “If they see you like this—untethered, unclaimed, bonded without approval—they’ll destroy you, Lyra. I’m not exaggerating.”

She went still.

“You’re serious,” she said.

“Deadly.”

He tugged her behind a thick veil of trees and brush just as a shadow slipped into the clearing. Tall, robed, face hidden beneath a hood sewn with thread of silver.

A second followed. Then a third.

The Council.

Lyra’s breath hitched. Her heartbeat thudded against his wrist.

“I can’t run,” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “But we can lie.”

⸻

Lyra

Her stomach flipped. “Lie to the Council?”

“They’ll believe me.”

Her lips parted. “You want them to think you… forced the bond?”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“That’s—”

“Exactly the kind of monster they expect me to be,” he finished, eyes dark. “It’s believable. They won’t question it.”

“And what happens to me in that story?” she hissed.

“They think I’ve claimed you,” he said. “Not bonded. Claimed. That you’re under my protection. That you belong to me.”

She recoiled.

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

He leaned in. Not touching. But close. Too close. “Then pretend. Or die.”

The word hung heavy between them.

She wanted to slap him again. To run. To set the entire forest on fire.

But the Council would kill her without a blink.

Her fingers trembled. She let him pull her forward.

And just like that, she stepped into the clearing, at his side, wrapped in the lie of his arms.

⸻

Ronan

He expected her to tremble.

She didn’t.

Lyra stood tall, proud even in the curve of his grip, like a queen forced to kneel and determined to burn the throne from the inside.

He admired her for it.

The Council looked at her like a curiosity. Like a mistake.

Ronan stepped forward, voice flat. “She’s mine.”

A ripple of silence.

“You bonded to a witch,” one of the robed figures said.

“I claimed her,” Ronan corrected. “The bond followed.”

“Unapproved.”

“She shifted. She’s not just witch. She’s wolf.”

“She’s dangerous.”

He met their eyes without blinking. “So am I.”

⸻

Lyra

Every word made her stomach turn.

Claimed.

Mine.

She’s dangerous.

She wanted to scream. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

One of the figures tilted their head. “Lyra Vale. Daughter of Mara Vale, yes?”

Her spine stiffened. “Yes.”

“A bloodline tainted by both moon and magic. You should not exist.”

Heat pulsed under her skin.

“She exists,” Ronan said, stepping slightly in front of her. “And she’s not going anywhere.”

“She’ll be watched.”

“She’ll be protected.”

Silence again. Long. Cold.

Then the Council turned. One by one. Vanishing into shadow.

Gone.

Just like that.

⸻

Ronan

They didn’t speak again until the woods were still.

Lyra ripped away from him with a curse.

“You arrogant, reckless bastard.”

“You’re alive,” he said simply.

She whirled on him. “They think I belong to you.”

He stepped closer. “They think I protected you.”

“I didn’t need your protection.”

“No,” he said, voice dropping. “But I think you wanted it.”

She slapped him.

The sound cracked like lightning.

And the bond between them tightened.

She froze.

So did he.

That moment stretched—hot, tense, breathless.

He reached for her jaw, slow, deliberate. She didn’t stop him.

His thumb grazed her cheek. Her lashes fluttered.

“You feel it,” he whispered. “Same as I do.”

“I won’t be your possession,” she said, voice shaking.

“Then fight me.”

Her magic sparked. His wolf growled.

And for one second, they leaned in—like gravity wanted their mouths to crash together.

But she pulled back.

Barely.

Eyes wild.

Breath ragged.

“This isn’t over,” she whispered.

Ronan’s eyes glowed gold. “No. It’s just beginning.”