Lyra POV
The world dissolved into a haze, the village square’s bustle—children’s laughter, the blacksmith’s hammer, the hum of Silverthorn Pack life—fading to nothing as Darius’s lips pressed against mine, a storm of heat and longing that shattered my defenses. My she-wolf sighed, her claws stilling, her whine a soft hymn of surrender, and I couldn’t fight it—not the electric pull of our soul bond, not the fire in my veins that burned brighter than my will.
His kiss was a supernova, warm and insistent, tasting of pine and raw desire, each brush of his lips unraveling me, drawing me into a void where only he existed. My hands, trembling, found his chest, my fingers curling into his leather jacket, gripping the fabric as if it could anchor me, but it didn’t. My she-wolf purred, her hunger
