Lyra
Veyron pulled away suddenly, leaving Lyra leaning against the wall,one hand propping her up on the dresser. Her strength drained and his body’s absence from hers felt like the snap of a taut rope breaking. His sharp, predatory eyes never left her, roaming over her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, and the way she struggled to compose herself. She watched him warily from under fluttering lashes.
Giving her no room to retreat and recover from the whirlwind of his kiss, he spoke. “Our bond will remain in my bed only. You’re a maid—nothing more in the eyes of my people. It would take too much to change that.”
Every brutal syllable sank into her as confusion and humiliation stung her heart. How could he say he was claiming her and then reduce he
VeyronHer past was irrelevant. None had marked her, none had mated her. He knew why. She was destined for him, created for him.The primal need roaring in Veyron’s mind drowned out any shred of rational thought, his wolf howling for action. He didn’t understand why she kept denying it, couldn’t fathom her resistance when every response of her body told him she felt it too. He had tasted her desire on her lips.Her protests were meaningless. Once he claimed her, she would see. He would break through her walls, show her that she had no choice but to submit to him. And then the bond
LyraLyra curled in on herself, knees drawn tight to her chest as she lay on his bed. Her skin crackled with the memory of Veyron’s uninvited touch, imprinted on her skin. It was too quiet, his presence clinging to every shadow, every breath she pulled in. His untamed dark spice scent coiled around her like invisible chains.He was gone. She should feel safe now. But safety had never been an option. Not once in her life. And not with him.Veyron caged her spirit with his words and body beneath his. He took what he wanted without hesitation. He hadn’t needed her permission. Hadn’t cared. And yet, she had wanted him. That undeniable, treacherous pull still burned through her veins, making her crave what she should fear.
LyraLyra blinked. “What?”Kyline spoke slowly. “Your aunt Maris had visions, though not as complete or clear as your mother’s.”Lyra froze, her breath catching in her throat. “My mother?”Kyline nodded, her face grave. “Yes, your mother saw that you would play an important role in the prophecy to help bring back the Moon Goddess. That’s why we were sent there.”Lyra’s pulse thundered in her ears. She had spent so long mourning a mother she barely remembered, never knowing what secrets had died with her. What else was her aunt hiding?“Why?” she rasped. “Why me?”
VeyronThe battlefield was silent now, save for the wind dragging the scent of blood through the air. The dead lay where they had fallen, crimson staining the earth, bodies broken beneath the carnage of war. Veyron exhaled slowly, surveying the ruin before him. Another victory. Another graveyard.Will you destroy me too?Her voice cut through the quiet, unbidden. The words did not belong here among the corpses, yet they were louder than the dying gasps of the fallen.Veyron’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Destroy? The idea was absurd. She was his mate. He would claim, subdue, possess—never destroy. And
LyraLyra rocked the baby, her arms curled around the tiny, warm body.A faint breeze stirred the sheer curtains, carrying the scent of moonflower. She hummed a low, soothing lullaby full of love. The baby cooed soft, and contented.Lyra stroked delicate curls away from her face, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Her heart swelled with adoration so fierce, and unbreakable, it stung her eyes. She would do anything for her. Would tear the world apart to keep her safe.I will die for her.Something is wrong.Lyra glanced down at the baby once more. Lifting her head, Lyra looked ar
LyraAfter Veyron left with the Mistress of Shadows, a quiet routine replaced the tension. The maids had warmed to her, their smiles becoming more genuine with each passing day. They shared whispered laughter and exchanged stories while they worked. The camaraderie, unlike anything she had ever experienced, eased Lyra’s nerves and she found herself slowly becoming part of their rhythm.Each task gently reassured her that she belonged. The sound of soft chatter, the warmth of the kitchen fire, and the fresh scent of linen brought joy to the simple life she was living.As gentle rain pattered on the roof, a relaxing rhythm filled the kitchen. The maids chopped vegetables and stirred pots, voices rising in light chatter. The scent of fresh bread and simm
LyraLyra sprawled on the ground, her hands scrambling against the damp earth. A sleek wild cat, the size of a german shepard, circled her. Its eyes glowed, an eerie mix of gold and green.The creature's fur blended seamlessly with local vegetation, a muted, tawny color that made it hard to see until it had been nearly on top of her. It shimmered unnaturally in the rain, shifting in ways that weren’t natural, jerking in and out of sync with reality. Scarlike markings marred its muscles, tracing pulsating, runic patterns through its fur.It eyed Lyra as if she were a bird with a clipped wing. It’s trill was contemplative, as if questioning her.Lyra’s stomach twisted with dread as the creature drew closer, lunging in
LyraLyra ran. Garrick close behind her, taking long, deliberate strides. Without stopping, Lyra dared to glance back. The cats chased them, claw swipes slowing them down as they barely missed Garrick’s back again and again.“Apparently, I should’ve brought more catnip.“ Garrick yelled to her and she glanced at his face to see that damnable smile had returned. “Gonna have to shift.”He skidded to a stop, turning to face the snarling creatures on their heels. The three cats fanned out in a semicircle. Their tails lashing as they prepared to strike.Lyra stumbled but forced herself forward, knowing she was only a hindrance if she stayed. She risked a glance over her shoulder j
LyraThe mistress's touch seared into Lyra and she was powerless to stop her. “Please, don’t. I can’t take anymore, Vespera…”Pleasure and pain comingled until they were indistinguishable, reducing her will to a gasping, quivering rapacity.Even as the dream faded, its effects did not. The need coiled tight. Her fingers twitched, drawn down to where the mistress had taught her would quench the terrible hunger. She squeezed her eyes shut, lips parting as her fingertips brushed over her clit.Slick sweat coated her body as hands she couldn’t see ghosted over her skin, breath she couldn’t feel whispering in her ear. It wasn’t real. And yet…The mistress was still here. A phantom presence. No… Someone was in the room with her. Ice flooded through the fire in her veins. Humiliation being caught like this flooded her senses, awakening every nerve, driving her closer to the edge.Her eyes snapped open.Veyron loomed over her, his massive frame shrouded in shadows, the hunger radiating fro
VeyronThe room was suffocating. The candle on the nightstand burned out, leaving the scent of melted wax and a faint wisp of smoke. Veyron sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clenched into fists so tight his nails left crescent shaped lacerations on his palms. Lyra’s laugh still bounced around his head. Rivenn had charmed her, teasing, touching, even stealing glances. And Veyron watched, as the people he trusted most toyed with her attention. And she had welcomed it.Eryx growled in his mind, a low, restless rumble. They covet what is ours.Ours.Veyron’s breath shuddered out, the tension in his shoulders growing until they ached. He wanted her. More than he wanted air. Why did he yearn for her so? Why did her refusal to accept him burn so hot and deep? He didn’t need some girl. Never had. And yet, he needed her.The Mistress’s voice was a whisper in his mind, silk over steel, winding through the cracks in his resolve.Break her…He squeezed his eyes shut, but it was useless. Her
Lyra“He’s got a habit of picking up strays,” Brann remarked, tipping back his ale and nodding toward Veyron. “Over half the bastards here wouldn’t have a place if he didn’t take ‘em in.”Eryssa smirked. “Or a purpose. We’re all misfits in one way or another, but Veyron—he finds a use for the discarded.”Lyra listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her tankard. She had seen Veyron’s leadership firsthand—the way these warriors, dangerous and unruly as they seemed, deferred to him without a command ever needing to be spoken. “And yet, he doesn’t unwillingly bind anyone to him as their Alpha.” Rivenn admired. “Veyron doesn’t demand it. He never has.”Most packs didn’t work that way. The pack bond was everything. The unshakable link that demanded loyalty, submission, belonging. It kept betrayal and fights out. Veyron did that all through sheer might.She glanced at him, half-hidden in the shadows now, nursing his drink as he listened but didn’t engage. His eyes distant.“It’s be
Veyron The tavern buzzed with life, its warmth at odds with the cold void inside him. His enforcers reveled in their drinks, their camaraderie unshaken despite the serious mission ahead. They nudged him, coaxed him, trying to pull him into their merriment. “Come on, Veyron,” Brann called, already three drinks deep. “I haven’t seen you smile in years. Are your teeth still intact, or did you grind them all to dust?” Veyron exhaled through his nose, arms folded across his chest. “I’ll smile when I see something worth smiling about.” Delvin smirked. “Gods help us all when that day comes.” Eryssa shook her head. “Lost cause,” she muttered, clinking her tankard against Rivenn’s. “Might as well try getting Aeron drunk.” Veyron barely heard them. His attention was elsewhere. On her. Lyra sat among them, relaxed in a way she never was around him. Her lips curved in amusement as she sipped her drink, a strand of raven hair slipping over her shoulder. The firelight softened her edges… w
Lyra“We’re after an artifact,” Veyron explained, setting his tankard down with a dull thud. “The Eglantine.”Silence fell over the table.Brann exhaled. “Shit.”Rivenn let out a low whistle. “She really has you chasing that?”Eryssa threw back a swallow of her drink before asking, “I knew it had to be bad, but… that bad?”“Alright,” Daphne glanced between them. ”someone want to explain? What’s the Eglantine?”Delvin drummed his fingers on the table. “Ancient. Dangerous. Powerful. One of a kind.”Brann chuckled, but it lacked his usual warmth. “Sounds like my type.”Eryssa rolled her eyes. “It’s not something to joke about, Brann.”“So we’re retrieving it…” Lyra frowned. “for what purpose?”Veyron’s jaw flexed before he answered. “The Mistress wants it. She says it’ll protect the pack from what’s coming.”That sent a ripple of unease through the group.Eryssa spoke, “It’s really happening, then.”Aeron merely nodded.Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is ‘it’?”No one answered i
LyraFollowing the group to the table, Lyra watched Veyron warily. Rivenn had been testing and teasing him but she had seen the moment where he almost didn’t stop. He had wanted to see blood and the echoes of anger hadn’t fully faded.Rivenn leaned back in his chair, lazily scanning the room as he took a deep swig of ale—then nearly choked on it. He set his tankard down with a thunk, eyes locking onto Lyra and Daphne.“Well, well,” he drawled, a slow grin spreading across his face. “No one told me we’d have company.”At that, the rest of the group turned, as if finally registering the two women who had ridden in with Veyron.Brann’s grin widened. “And no one told me the company would be this pretty.”Veyron’s fingers curled around the handle of his drink, his knuckles tightening as Brann leaned forward, all easy charm and reckless grins. A low growl hummed in the back of Veyron’s throat, too soft for anyone but Lyra to catch.She tried to ignore him.Eryssa groaned. “Gods save us, her
VeyronLyra, Daphne, Veyron, and Delvin rode toward the inn, its warm golden light spilling from shuttered windows onto the mud-slick road. It was a welcome sight after a long day’s ride, promising food, rest, and reacquaintance with old friends.The inn was bustling, the scent of roasting meat and ale mingling with the perfume of courtesans who prowled between tables like well-fed cats. Laughter and the clink of tankards filled the barroom.When they stepped inside, the world stilled. People recognized Veyron. A few stiffened, others averted their eyes. He was their leader, if not their Alpha, and he had long since stopped caring about being the center of attention.Then, cold steel pressed against his throat.Lyra sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step back. The firelight caught the glint of the blade, its edge whispering against his skin. His body went taut, but he didn’t flinch.Rip. Tear. Make him bleed. Eryx’s voice rumbled inside him, low and eager, his wolf’s instincts coiled
LyraThey traveled for the better part of the day through the vast, wind-swept grasslands, where golden fields rippled like an endless sea. Daphne kept the mood light, chatting idly with Lyra about whatever she saw around them; the color of the sky, the crispness of the air, idle musings about the villages they passed. Lyra responded when she could, but she was exhausted. Yet with every lapse of the conversation, her blood burned with a secret intimate need. The mistress of shadows’ torment never far, lurking behind every breath. The vibrations of riding thrumming along her ever sensitive womanhood.Veyron rode ahead. The tension in his shoulders and the sharp set of his jaw made it clear that his thoughts were not something he intended to share. The warrior who had fetched them from the quarters rode alongside them. He was middle-aged, with graying temples and a face lined by years of battle, yet his demeanor was easygoing. He joined in Daphne’s chatter with an amused tone, though w
LyraThe morning light spilled into the maids’ quarters, casting long golden streaks across the worn wooden floors. Veyron had told her to ready herself, but for what? He hadn’t said where they were going or what she would need. The others were dressing and debating the order of tasks for the day ahead.Daphne turned toward Lyra as she entered the room and beamed. “We were worried about you last night,” she said. “You came back unconscious. Are you alright?”Lyra opened her mouth to answer but she had none. Was she alright? The exhaustion, the pressure of everything smothered her. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.Before Daphne could respond, a sharp knock at the door drew every gaze. A warrior stepped inside, broad-shouldered and solid, his face weathered with years of battle. His graying hair was cropped short, a jagged scar cutting across his brow. He wore dark leathers reinforced with iron plating, his sword strapped to his hip. The scent of damp sto