To Yearn & Burn For Him

2.

Chapter Two: Shadows and Sparks

The wraiths’ screeches slice through the night, sharp as broken glass, and my rune burns so hot I’m sure it’ll sear through my skin. Ronan’s half-shifted, his eyes glowing black, claws lengthening as he snarls at the shadows circling us. My hands are still sparking, tiny flames licking my fingers, and I can’t tell if I’m terrified or alive. Maybe both. The Crimson Woods loom behind us, their whispers louder now, like they’re cheering for blood.

“Lyra, get inside!” Ronan barks, his voice rough, half-human, half-beast. He’s bigger now, his shoulders hunching, black veins pulsing under his skin like a map of something cursed.

“No way!” I shout, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’m not leaving you!” The flames in my hands flare brighter, and I don’t know how to control them, but I’m not running. Not from him. Not from this.

A wraith lunges, its smoky form solidifying into claws and teeth. Ronan meets it mid-air, his claws ripping through its side. It shrieks, dissolving into ash, but more come—five, maybe six, their ember-eyes locked on me. My rune pulses in time with their hisses, and my chest tightens. They’re not just hunting. They want me.

“Lyra, your mark!” Ronan yells, dodging another wraith. His gaze flicks to my collarbone, where the rune’s glowing like a beacon. “It’s drawing them!”

“What?!” I clutch the mark, the heat scorching my palm. “How do you know that?”

“No time!” He grabs my wrist, yanking me toward the house. His touch sends a jolt through me, like our old bond is still there, humming beneath his rejection. But his hand’s cold, too cold, and those black veins make my stomach twist.

We stumble onto the porch, the wraiths’ screeches closing in. I slam the door shut, bolting it, my breath ragged. “Ronan, talk to me,” I demand, spinning to face him. He’s leaning against the wall, his chest heaving, his wolf form receding but not gone. His eyes are still black, and he won’t meet mine. “What’s happening? Why are they after me?”

He runs a hand through his cropped hair, the veins on his arm pulsing. “It’s the rune,” he says, his voice low, like he’s afraid the walls are listening. “It’s not just a mark, Lyra. It’s a key.”

“A key to what?” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate how small I feel, how much I want him to look at me like he used to—before he left, before he broke us.

Before he can answer, a crash shakes the house. The windows rattle, and Elira’s voice calls from upstairs. “Lyra! What’s going on?”

“Stay up there!” I shout, my heart pounding. I turn to Ronan, my flames flickering out, leaving my hands trembling. “Tell me now, Ronan. What do you know?”

He finally looks at me, and his eyes aren’t black anymore—they’re gray, stormy, and full of pain. “The Lycan High Court… they told me things. About you. About the Emberheart.”

“The what?” I step closer, my rune still burning. “What’s the Emberheart?”

“It’s—” He stops, his head snapping toward the door as another crash echoes, wood splintering. The wraiths are trying to get in. “We can’t stay here,” he says, grabbing my arm again. “We need to get to the pack hall. Now.”

I pull free, my anger flaring as hot as my rune. “No! You don’t get to show up after four years, act like you know me, and drag me around without answers! You rejected me, Ronan. In front of everyone. And now you’re back, talking about some Emberheart like I’m supposed to just trust you?”

His face twists, like I’ve stabbed him. “I didn’t want to,” he says, his voice breaking. “Lyra, I—”

The door explodes inward, shards flying. A wraith surges through, its claws slashing toward me. I dive, my flames sparking back to life, and throw my hands up. Fire erupts, a wild burst that slams into the wraith, turning it to ash. I stagger, my vision swimming. The heat in my chest is alive, hungry, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“Lyra!” Ronan’s at my side, his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. “Breathe. You can control it.”

“Control it?” I laugh, a sharp, bitter sound. “I don’t even know what it is!”

Elira’s footsteps pound down the stairs, and she freezes at the sight of us—me, glowing with fading flames, and Ronan, half-monster, his veins blacker than before. “Ronan?” she gasps, her amber eyes wide. “You’re… what’s happened to you?”

“Later, Mom,” he says, his voice tight. “We need to move.”

She doesn’t argue, just grabs a blade from the wall and nods. “Pack hall. Magnus is there.”

We sprint through the settlement, the night alive with howls and screams. The pack’s fighting—wolves and humans, claws and blades against wraiths. My rune pulses with every step, and I feel their eyes on me, like I’m a beacon they can’t resist. Ronan stays close, his body shielding mine, but I can see the strain in him, the way his hands twitch, like he’s fighting to stay human.

“Lyra, keep moving!” he shouts as a wraith dives from a rooftop. He tackles it, his claws tearing through its form, but another grazes his arm, drawing blood. He grunts, his veins pulsing darker, and I swear I see his eyes flicker black again.

“Ronan, you’re hurt!” I yell, my flames sparking as I blast another wraith. The fire’s easier now, like it’s part of me, but it scares me. It’s too much, too fast.

“I’m fine,” he growls, but he’s not. He’s shaking, his wolf form pushing through, and I don’t know if he’s fighting the wraiths or himself.

We reach the pack hall, a stone fortress lit by torches. Magnus is outside, his massive frame towering as he slashes through a wraith with a sword. His silver-streaked hair is wild, his blue eyes fierce. “Lyra! Ronan!” he roars, spotting us. “Inside, now!”

We stumble in, Elira bolting the heavy doors behind us. The hall’s chaos—pack members shouting, wounded wolves whimpering. Kael’s there, barking orders, his blond hair streaked with blood. His eyes lock on me, then Ronan, and something dark flashes in his gaze.

“What’s he doing here?” Kael snaps, striding toward us. “You were supposed to be at the High Court, Drayce.”

“Plans changed,” Ronan says, his voice low, dangerous. He’s still shaking, his veins stark against his skin. “The wraiths are after Lyra.”

Kael’s eyes narrow, flicking to my collarbone. I pull my shirt up, hiding the rune, but it’s too late. “Her mark,” he says, not a question. “It’s getting worse.”

“Enough, Kael,” Magnus cuts in, his voice like thunder. “We need a plan, not accusations.”

I’m shaking, my flames gone but my chest still burning. “Magnus, what’s happening to me?” I ask, my voice small. “The fire… the rune… why are they after me?”

He looks at me, his face softening, but there’s guilt in his eyes. “Lyra, I—”

A scream cuts him off, and the hall’s doors shudder under a massive blow. The pack freezes, weapons raised. Ronan steps in front of me, his body tense, and I feel that pull again, the bond we’re not supposed to have. My rune flares, and a voice—not mine—whispers in my head: Daughter of Ashes.

“What was that?” I gasp, clutching my head. The voice is cold, ancient, and it’s coming from the woods.

“Lyra?” Elira’s at my side, her hand on my arm. “What’s wrong?”

Before I can answer, the doors burst open, and a wraith bigger than the others stalks in. Its eyes aren’t embers—they’re voids, black as night, and its voice hisses, “The key… the Emberheart wakes.”

Ronan roars, his wolf form erupting fully, black veins glowing. He charges, but the wraith doesn’t flinch. It raises a claw, and I see it—a rune on its chest, identical to mine. My flames surge, unbidden, and the hall lights up with fire.

“Lyra, stop!” Kael shouts, but I can’t. The fire’s alive, and it wants out.

The wraith laughs, a sound that chills my blood, and points at me. “You cannot hide, Daughter of Ashes. She comes for you.”

And then, through the shattered doors, I see her—a woman in the moonlight, her hair dark like mine, her eyes glowing gold. My rune burns white-hot, and I know, somehow, I know.

She’s not just a stranger. She’s me.