To Yearn & Burn For Him

3.

Chapter Three: The Fire Within

The woman’s golden eyes pierce through the chaos of the pack hall, locking onto mine like she’s peeling back my soul. My rune blazes, a white-hot scream against my collarbone, and the flames in my hands flare wild, licking the air. The wraith with the matching rune hisses, its void-eyes glinting, but it doesn’t move. It’s waiting—for her. The woman in the moonlight, who looks like me but wrong, her dark hair shimmering with silver, her presence heavy with something ancient. My heart thunders, and I can’t breathe. She’s not just a stranger. She’s a mirror I don’t want to see.

“Lyra, get back!” Ronan roars, his wolf form massive, black veins glowing like cracks in stone. He’s between me and the wraith, claws bared, but his eyes keep flicking to the woman outside. He knows something. He always knows something.

“Who is she?” I shout, my voice shaking as the flames in my hands sputter. The pack’s frozen, weapons raised, but nobody moves. Magnus grips his sword, his blue eyes darting between me and the woman. Elira’s beside me, her blade steady, but her face is pale, like she’s seen a ghost.

“Lyra, stay calm,” Elira says, her voice low, urgent. “Don’t let the fire take over.”

“Calm?” I snap, my chest heaving. “That thing called me Daughter of Ashes! And she—” I point at the woman, my hand trembling. “She’s got my face!”

Kael steps forward, his green eyes sharp, his dagger glinting. “Enough,” he says, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We need to kill that wraith and get answers. Ronan, you with us or not?”

Ronan growls, his wolf form shuddering as he fights to stay in control. “I’m here,” he says, but his voice is strained, like he’s choking on it. He glances at me, and for a second, I see the old Ronan—the one who’d sneak me out to watch the stars, who called me his gravity. But then his eyes flicker black, and he’s gone again, buried under whatever the Lycan High Court did to him.

The wraith moves, faster than I expect, its claws slashing toward me. I dive, my flames erupting in a burst that singes the hall’s wooden beams. The pack scatters, shouting, and Magnus roars, “Lyra, control it!”

“I’m trying!” I yell, but the fire’s alive, curling around my arms like it’s got a mind of its own. The wraith laughs, its rune glowing in sync with mine, and that voice in my head whispers again: Daughter of Ashes, claim your fire.

“Shut up!” I scream, hurling a fireball at the wraith. It dodges, but the flames catch its arm, and it screeches, dissolving into smoke. The hall falls silent, except for the crackle of my fire and the pounding of my heart.

The woman outside doesn’t flinch. She steps closer, her rune—on her throat, brighter than mine—pulsing like a heartbeat. “Lyra,” she says, her voice smooth, cold, like a blade wrapped in silk. “You’re waking up.”

My stomach twists. “Who are you?” I demand, my flames flickering out, leaving my hands shaking. “Why do you look like me?”

She smiles, and it’s wrong, predatory. “Because I made you,” she says, and my blood runs cold. “You’re mine, Daughter of Ashes.”

Ronan snarls, his wolf form lunging toward her, but she raises a hand, and a wall of shadow slams him back. He hits the ground hard, his veins pulsing, and I scream, “Ronan!”

“Stay back, Lyra!” Magnus shouts, stepping in front of me, his sword raised. “She’s not what she seems.”

“Not what she seems?” the woman laughs, her eyes glinting. “Oh, Magnus, you’ve kept so many secrets from her. Didn’t you think she’d find out?”

“Find out what?” I snap, my rune burning so hot I’m dizzy. I shove past Magnus, ignoring Elira’s hand on my arm. “Tell me!”

The woman tilts her head, her smile softening, almost maternal, but it makes my skin crawl. “You’re not their daughter,” she says. “You’re mine. Forged in fire, born for the Emberheart.”

My knees buckle, and Elira catches me, her grip tight. “She’s lying,” Elira says, her voice fierce. “You’re ours, Lyra. Always.”

But the woman’s words sink into me, sharp as claws. Not their daughter. My whole life—Magnus’s gruff hugs, Elira’s late-night stories, the pack’s wary glances—it feels like a lie unraveling. My rune pulses, and that heat in my chest surges, begging to burn.

“Enough!” Kael snaps, striding toward the woman, his dagger raised. “You’re not taking her.”

The woman’s eyes flicker to him, amused. “Oh, beta,” she says, “you’re already too late.” She snaps her fingers, and the shadows around her twist, forming more wraiths—dozens, their eyes glowing, runes like mine etched into their forms.

“Run!” Ronan shouts, back on his feet, his wolf form shaking but fierce. He grabs my arm, pulling me toward the back of the hall. “We need to get to the woods!”

“The woods?” I yell, stumbling after him. “That’s where they’re coming from!”

“It’s the only way,” he says, his voice raw. “Trust me, Lyra.”

Trust him. After he rejected me, after he left me, after he came back broken and full of secrets. But his hand’s warm, even with those black veins, and I feel that pull, that bond we’re not supposed to have. I hate it. I need it.

Magnus and Elira cover us, their blades flashing as they hold off the wraiths. Kael’s fighting too, but his eyes keep darting to me, like he’s weighing something. I don’t trust him, not after that look in the woods, but there’s no time to think.

We burst out the back door, the Crimson Woods swallowing us. The trees whisper, louder now, and my rune’s a furnace, guiding me like a compass. Ronan’s still holding my hand, his wolf form gone but his veins stark against his skin. “Where are we going?” I ask, my breath ragged.

“There’s a temple,” he says, his voice tight. “In the woods. It’s where your rune came from.”

“How do you know that?” I pull free, my flames sparking again. “What aren’t you telling me, Ronan?”

He stops, his gray eyes meeting mine, full of guilt and something deeper—fear, maybe, or love. “The High Court… they branded me, Lyra. To stop what’s coming. To stop you.”

My heart stops. “Stop me?” I whisper, the words cutting deeper than any wraith’s claw. “You think I’m the monster?”

“No,” he says, his voice breaking. “I think you’re the key. And they’ll kill you for it.”

A howl rips through the trees, and I spin, my flames flaring. Wraiths are closing in, their runes glowing like mine. The woman’s voice echoes, not in my head this time but from the shadows. “You can’t run, Lyra. The Emberheart knows your name.”

Ronan grabs me, pulling me deeper into the woods. “We need to find the temple,” he says. “It’s the only way to stop this.”

“Stop what?” I yell, my flames licking the trees, setting leaves ablaze. “You’re not making sense!”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps running, his hand tight around mine. My rune burns, the whispers in my head growing louder—Daughter of Ashes, claim your fire. And then I see it, through the trees: a stone structure, ancient and crumbling, its walls etched with runes that match mine. The temple.

But the woman’s there, waiting, her golden eyes glowing in the dark. She raises a hand, and the wraiths part like a sea, their runes pulsing in time with hers. “Welcome home, Lyra,” she says, her smile sharp. “It’s time to burn.”

And then my flames erupt, not from my hands but from my chest, a wildfire I can’t control, and the world turns to ash.

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