Cursed, Bound and Marked by Midnight

CHAPTER FOUR

Lyra’s breath hitched as the realization struck her with the force of a tidal wave, her trembling fingers clutching the sheets while her pulse hammered so loudly she was certain Ronan could hear every frantic beat of it. He stood in front of her, tall and carved from stone, silver eyes glowing faintly like a silent winter storm, and she could barely breathe beneath the crushing weight of his presence.

This was him, the ruthless Lycan warrior who as a boy had murdered her parents, the legend, the nightmare, and the truth tightened painfully in her chest until it almost hurt to inhale.

“I know that look,” Ronan muttered as he tilted his head, his eerie calm twisting her stomach into knots, “recognition and fear, smart instincts for once.”

Lyra swallowed hard and forced air into her lungs as she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible, “You killed my parents.”

Silence followed, heavy and unmoving, as Ronan simply stared at her without a word, then blinked once, slowly, offering no denial, no shame, not even surprise.

“I’ve killed many,” he replied with a shrug, “you’ll have to be more specific.”

Something inside her cracked and her voice rose as grief and fury broke through, “YOU MURDERED THEM, you slaughtered them during the war and they didn’t even fight back.”

Ronan stepped closer, one step and then another, and the room seemed to shrink around her as he said coldly, “Your parents defied the goddess, betrayed their packs, triggered a war that cost thousands of lives, and tore the balance of Greyspire apart for love,” spitting the word like poison, “they were not martyrs, they were catalysts.”

Tears burned in Lyra’s eyes as she whispered, “They were my parents.”

“And I was a soldier,” Ronan growled, “a child given a sword and ordered not to hesitate.”

His gaze hardened and beneath the brutality something flickered, a shadow that surfaced for only a moment before he buried it again. Lyra’s heart pounded as she inched backward toward the headboard, but Ronan was already there, towering, suffocating, and dangerous.

“Kill me then,” she said shakily, “finish what you started.”

Ronan’s jaw clenched, his silver eyes flashed, and his chest rose and fell once before he leaned down until his lips hovered near her ear.

“If I wanted you dead,” he whispered, his voice low, “you would not have woken up in my bed.”

Lyra froze as the realization hit her too late, his bed, and her cheeks burned with humiliation and fear as she stammered, “Why am I here, why your room, why not a cell.”

Ronan straightened and studied her for a long unreadable moment before saying, “You possess something I want, something dangerous, something powerful,” his eyes flicking to the Wolfheart Talisman swinging lazily from his fingers. “That relic does not belong to Raven’s Claw, it was stolen centuries ago and it belongs to the Lycans, to Silverglade, to me.”

Lyra’s eyes widened as Ronan continued,“It burned you,” Ronan said, his eyes moving from the talisman to her hand.

Lyra took a shaky breath as heat stirred under her skin, fast and sharp. She remembered grabbing the Wolfheart while running from Raven's Claw, the blinding pain that tore through her hand and disappeared just as quickly, leaving a dark mark under her palm that thumped like a second pulse.

She curled her fingers, trying to hide it.

Ronan noticed.

“That relic doesn’t burn omegas,” he said. “It reacts to blood.” He halted, stared, and his expression shifted into something darker, “unless you’re hiding more than you think.”

Her heart stopped. “What are you talking about?”

Ronan stepped forward again and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as Lyra flinched violently.

“Stop acting like a frightened rabbit,” he muttered, “I don’t eat prey, I devour equals,” his voice dropping lower, “and something tells me you’re not as omega as you think.”

Lyra’s breath caught as she whispered, “What do you mean.”

“I smelled it the moment I carried you,” Ronan said, his silver eyes scanning her face as though searching beneath her skin, “beneath the weakness, beneath the fear,” and then softly and lethally, “old blood, forbidden blood, Lycan blood.”

Cold flooded her veins. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t be, my parents were—”

“Your mother,” Ronan cut in, “was not entirely Ashfang,” his gaze darkening, “and your father definitely wasn’t just Silverglade.”

Her throat tightened painfully. “That can’t be true, I’m wolfless, weak, I can’t shift, Elena disappeared.”

At the name Ronan’s brows lifted slightly. “Elena,” he repeated quietly, “your wolf.”

Shame struck her hard. “She abandoned me,” Lyra muttered, “everyone does.”

Ronan’s voice sharpened. “Wolves don’t disappear unless something sealed them away.”

Her heart skipped. “Sealed.”

Ronan exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “You stole the Wolfheart because you thought it would bring her back, which tells me you’ve felt the block,” and when Lyra nodded he added, “and that talisman reacts only to two things, Lycans and curses.

Raven’s Claw thinks it’s a weapon. It isn’t. The pain only happens when the relic rejects a cursed Lycan.”

Her blood turned to ice.

Before she could speak, the door slammed open and a man strode in who looked like Ronan but younger and sharper, silver eyes stormy and amused, his lips curved in a mischievous smirk.

Alpha Jarek Thorne.

“Brother,” Jarek drawled as he eyed Lyra on the bed, “you didn’t tell me the little thief was awake, and adorable.”

Lyra shrank back instinctively as Ronan growled, “Leave.”

“Oh come on,” Jarek said, stepping further inside, “Father wants to know why the Raven’s Claw scouting force is missing and why there’s a pregnant girl in your bed.”

Lyra’s face burned as Ronan snapped, “She is not anyone’s concern but mine.”

Jarek blinked and grinned. “Oh, so it’s like that.”

“It’s not like anything.”

Jarek only smiled wider. “Well then, I guess she doesn’t need to know she wasn’t sold alone.”

Lyra froze as Ronan stiffened and Jarek tilted his head, studying her. “You didn’t tell her about the second deal, the other bargain Aunt Rhea made.”

“There’s another bargain,” Lyra whispered.

Ronan glared at his brother but Jarek smiled slowly. “Oh yes, you and your unborn child weren’t the only thing she sold,” he paused, eyes gleaming, “she also sold your future.”

Lyra’s heart slammed violently. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Jarek whispered, “that you aren’t just Ronan’s captive.”

Ronan’s jaw tightened.

“You’re his fated responsibility.”

The world spun as Ronan finally spoke, his voice calm and deadly. “Jarek, get out.”

The door shut and Lyra trembled as Ronan turned back to her, silver eyes burning with something dark and final.

“You belong to me now,” he said quietly, “and not even the goddess can undo what your aunt has done.”

The walls closed in as Lyra realized she was pregnant, trapped, marked by a relic she didn’t understand, carrying blood she was never meant to have, owned by the man who killed her parents, and bound by a bargain she never agreed to.

Her voice broke. “What are you going to do to me?”

Ronan leaned closer, his gaze unreadable. “First, I’m going to find out why your wolf disappeared,” his fingers lifting toward her cheek, “and then,” his touch igniting every nerve in her body, “I’m going to uncover what you really are.”