Beneath the Cursed Moon

Pressure and Panic

As he ascended the stairs, Bran could feel the pressure mounting. He needed to keep Kestrel in the dark for just a little longer. But as he glanced back down toward the basement, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of dread that this time, they might be pushing their luck too far.

Bran emerged from the basement, his heart still pounding in his chest. The weight of the situation bore down on him like a heavy stone, pressing harder with every passing second. He made his way through the winding corridors, trying to focus. The alliance with Kestrel was his only way forward—losing it now would be catastrophic.

Rowan would handle the immediate task of getting her ready for the evening, but everything else depended on Bran’s ability to buy them time. Kestrel was sharp, too sharp to ignore if something didn’t add up. He had already pushed Bran hard with his demands, and the wolf inside him wasn’t the type to let things slide if he sensed deceit. Bran needed to make sure every detail of the pack house appeared normal, calm—there could be no room for suspicion.

Reaching his office, Bran sat heavily in the leather chair behind his desk, his fingers tapping anxiously on the dark wood. He had to strategize how to handle Alpha Kestrel this evening. Perhaps he could steer the conversation toward less pressing matters, distracting him with the nuances of the treaty. Keep him focused on the alliance and off of Lyra’s condition. Bran frowned. *No,* he thought. Alpha Kestrel wasn’t one to be easily swayed by small talk. He had seen too much, was too intelligent to miss any subtle signs.

A sharp knock on the door pulled Bran from his thoughts. He straightened, calling out, "Enter."

The door creaked open to reveal Nerys, her eyes scanning his face with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "I was told you were looking for me earlier, Alpha," she said, stepping into the room.

Bran nodded, though he felt a momentary pang of guilt. Nerys had been loyal for years, and she was capable of handling any task he threw her way. He had considered offering her to Kestrel earlier in place of Lyra, but he pushed that from his thoughts.

"Nerys, I need you to handle something discreetly," Bran said, his voice low. "Alpha Kestrel has requested a private meeting with Lyra before they leave in two days' time. But he’s leaving sooner than expected—too soon. I need everything to go smoothly. No loose ends, no questions."

Nerys raised an eyebrow but didn’t press for details. "And what exactly do you need from me?"

"I need you to keep Alpha Kestrel occupied for the next few hours. Make sure he’s comfortable, keep him engaged. Tell him we’re finalizing a few arrangements for Lyra, that she’ll be ready to meet him later tonight. We just need to buy some time." Bran’s fingers drummed on the desk as he spoke, his anxiety simmering beneath the surface.

Nerys studied him for a moment, clearly sensing the tension, but nodded. "I’ll make sure he’s kept busy."

"Good." Bran hesitated before adding, "And Nerys, if anything seems off—anything at all—you come straight to me."

She gave a curt nod before leaving, her footsteps fading down the hall. Bran leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He had a plan, but plans could unravel quickly if everything didn’t fall perfectly into place.

~*~

Down in the basement, Rowan worked with precise efficiency, his hands moving quickly over the machinery that had been draining Lyra’s blood. The room was filled with a sterile chill, the steady hum of equipment filling the silence. He adjusted the levels of the IV lines, pulling the remaining tubes free from Lyra’s arms. Her skin, pale and bruised, was starting to regain a bit of color as the healing serum worked its way through her system, knitting damaged tissue and restoring some semblance of strength.

Rowan glanced at Lyra’s face. Her eyelids fluttered slightly, a faint twitch in response to the serum. She was still deeply unconscious, but the signs of recovery were starting to show.

"She’ll be ready in time," Rowan muttered to himself, though doubt crept into his voice. He had seen what they had put her through, the toll it had taken on her body. The serum was powerful, but it wasn’t magic. Lyra would still be fragile—dangerously so.

He took a deep breath and injected another dose of the serum. The faint bruising on her arms faded a bit more, though it wasn’t enough to fully erase the damage. With a sigh, Rowan began preparing to move her. She needed to be back in her room, conscious enough to hold a conversation by the time Kestrel arrived.

As he worked, Lyra’s breathing became more even, and her fingers twitched slightly. Rowan knew she would wake soon, and though she wouldn’t be fully coherent, she had to be ready. He finished unhooking the final tube and gently lifted her frail body, carrying her from the cold, sterile room up toward her quarters.