Chapter Ten
1066 Words
Karma
The packhouse felt different in daylight.
Sunlight poured through tall windows, warming the dark wood floors and illuminating the silver inlays worked into beams and banisters. Karma moved slowly, deliberately, as she explored — one hand trailing along carved railings, fingertips brushing stone warmed by the hearth.
It was beautiful.
And unsettling.
The house wasn’t just large — it was intentional. Every corridor flowed naturally into the next, open spaces balanced with privacy. It felt lived in. Guarded. A place built not just for shelter, but for command.
She stepped out onto the back grounds, breath catching as the land opened up before her. Rolling fields gave way to forest, the tree line thick and ancient. Paths wound through the grass, well-used but not worn down — as if the land healed itself.
Her head throbbed faintly.
Not pain.
Awareness.
She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, letting the scent of earth and pine settle her nerves. Somewhere deep inside, something shifted — not awake, not free — but stretching. Curious.
No, she thought firmly.
Not now.
She turned and nearly collided with him.
Xavier stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, posture relaxed but alert. In daylight, he looked even more solid — broad shoulders, sharp jaw, green eyes watching her with quiet intensity.
“You shouldn’t wander alone yet,” he said.
“I needed air,” she replied, lifting her chin. “I won’t break.”
His gaze lingered on her a second too long. “You’re stronger than you think.”
The pressure stirred again — subtle, dull — and she swallowed, forcing herself to ignore it. His presence made everything sharper. Louder. Like standing too close to a live wire.
“You built all this?” she asked, gesturing to the grounds.
“I inherited it,” he said. “I protect it.”
Something in his tone made her chest tighten.
They walked side by side in silence for a few moments. She could feel him — not touching, not crowding — but close enough that the ache in her head eased just slightly.
She noticed.
So did he.
He stopped abruptly. “We should head back.”
She nodded, relief and disappointment tangling together.
⸻
That night, Karma couldn’t sleep.
The house had quieted, the pack settling into rest, but her mind refused to follow. She lay staring at the ceiling, thoughts circling endlessly back to green eyes and controlled restraint.
Her wolf — the one she barely acknowledged — stirred faintly. Not rising. Just… listening.
A door closed somewhere down the hall.
Then another.
She rolled onto her side, forcing herself to breathe evenly.
This means nothing, she told herself.
⸻
Xavier
Xavier knew something was wrong the moment he entered his room.
The scent hit him first — sweet, warm, unmistakably female.
Lyra.
She sat on his bed like she belonged there, long brunette hair spilling over bare shoulders, her body wrapped in nothing but sheer black lingerie that left very little to the imagination. Candlelight flickered softly, casting shadows that turned her into something deliberately tempting.
“You didn’t answer my message,” she said smoothly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he replied, closing the door behind him without locking it.
Her brown eyes glittered. “The council wants certainty. I’m offering it.”
She rose slowly, confident, every movement designed to draw attention. “We’ve circled each other for years, Xavier. You can stop pretending you don’t feel it.”
He felt nothing.
That was the problem.
“The bond exists,” he said quietly.
Lyra froze. “With her.”
He didn’t deny it.
“She doesn’t even know,” Lyra snapped. “She’s broken, unstable—”
“Enough.”
His voice was calm. Deadly.
“I will not take you to my bed to satisfy politics,” he continued. “And I will not use you to distract myself from what’s real.”
Her expression hardened, hurt flashing briefly before anger replaced it. “You’d choose an unawakened wolf over me?”
“I didn’t choose,” he said. “The bond did.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Lyra laughed softly, bitter. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Leave,” he said.
The door clicked softly as Lyra reached for the handle.
“Lyra wait—“
The word left his mouth before he could stop it.
She turned slowly, hope flaring in her brown eyes as his control fractured. Xavier stared at her back, at the line of her spine, at the certainty she carried — the promise of something easy. Familiar. Expected.
“This is a mistake,” he said hoarsely.
She didn’t argue.
She crossed the room instead.
Her hands slid up his chest, palms warm, grounding in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. “Then let it be one you choose,” she murmured.
The pull — the real one — flared painfully in his chest. Not for Lyra.
For the woman down the hall who didn’t know she was unraveling him simply by existing.
Xavier closed his eyes.
He was tired of restraint. Of councils. Of waiting.
Of feeling something he couldn’t touch.
His hand caught Lyra’s wrist, not pushing her away this time — holding her there. The decision tasted bitter even as his wolf snarled low in protest.
“Just tonight,” he said.
Lyra smiled — slow, triumphant — and kissed him before he could rethink it.
It wasn’t love.
It was heat. Familiar rhythms. A practiced intimacy built over years of proximity and want. Lyra knew exactly how to move, how to distract him from the hollow ache beneath the surface.
Xavier let himself sink into it.
Let himself forget.
But even as her breath hitched against his neck, even as the room filled with shared warmth and whispered sounds, his mind betrayed him.
Silver hair.
Icy blue eyes.
The way Karma looked at the forest like it might swallow her whole.
When it was over, Lyra slept curled against him, satisfied and certain.
Xavier lay awake.
Guilt pressed heavy against his ribs, his wolf pacing restlessly beneath his skin. The bond didn’t weaken.
If anything, it burned sharper — unforgiving.
Somewhere down the hall, he felt it again.
A quiet pull.
And the certainty that tonight would cost him far more than he was ready to face.
- Writer
