CHAPTER 10 — One Bed, Two Wolves
813 Words
The storm outside had mellowed into a low hum, but inside the cabin, tension crackled louder than thunder.
Kael paced the length of the small living room like a caged beast, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Lyra sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, Elior asleep in the small room down the hall, unaware of the silent war about to erupt in the next room.
“He shouldn’t have that mark,” Kael said at last, breaking the silence.
Lyra’s fingers tightened around the cup of tea in her hands. “But he does. The Moon Goddess doesn’t make mistakes.”
Kael stopped pacing. “He’s just a boy. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what he carries.”
Lyra’s gaze lifted to his, sharp as the bite of winter. “Neither did I when I was chosen.”
Their eyes held, and in that moment, the years between them collapsed. Kael’s jaw clenched. “I would’ve protected you. If you had stayed.”
“If I had stayed, I wouldn’t have survived,” she shot back, her voice low. “You made sure of that when you turned your back on me.”
Kael flinched as if struck. Silence blanketed them again, heavy and suffocating.
A knock rattled the door.
Both turned sharply. Kael’s wolf bristled under his skin. Lyra stood, instincts flaring. He motioned for her to stay back as he approached the door.
It creaked open, revealing a scout, drenched and pale. “Alpha. Rogues. Three miles north. They’re circling.”
Kael’s eyes darkened. “Secure the perimeter. I’ll be out shortly.”
The scout nodded and vanished into the night.
Kael shut the door and turned to Lyra, his voice gruff. “We’re not safe here.”
Lyra didn’t argue. “There’s only one room.”
“I’ll take the floor.”
“No,” she said, surprising them both. “We don’t know what the rogues are after. If they breach… we’re stronger together.”
Kael stared at her, searching her expression for hesitation. “Together,” he echoed, the word foreign on his tongue.
The bedroom was small. Barely enough space for the bed, a dresser, and the weight of their history.
Lyra pulled off her boots and slid under the covers, facing the wall. Kael stood for a moment, debating. Then, slowly, he climbed in beside her, keeping his distance. He laid on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The silence was deafening.
She broke it first. “He looks like you when he’s angry.”
Kael’s chest tightened. “Does he?”
“You would’ve known,” she whispered, “if you’d come after us.”
His body turned instinctively toward her. “You didn’t give me the chance.”
“I couldn’t. You were already halfway to mating someone else.”
Pain flickered in his eyes. “It wasn’t real. None of it was real after you left.”
A pause.
Then Lyra whispered, barely audible, “I was pregnant when I ran.”
Kael froze.
The words sank in like claws dragging down his chest. “You were…”
She nodded against the pillow. “I found out the day I left.”
Silence hung, heavy and final.
“I would’ve protected you,” Kael said again, this time broken. “I would’ve—”
“You would’ve chosen the pack. Just like before.”
Kael turned to face her fully now, his voice low and raw. “I made mistakes, Lyra. But I never stopped loving you.”
Her breath caught, and the room seemed to be still with her heartbeat.
“You don’t get to say that now,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond. Instead, the space between them—just inches—felt charged.
A howl tore through the night, jarring them both. Lyra’s heart jumped. Kael bolted upright, tense and alert.
“They’re closer,” he muttered. “We may not have much time.”
She sat up beside him. “What do they want?”
Kael’s eyes flicked to the door. “You. Him. Or both. If they know he’s marked, he’s a threat.”
Lyra’s blood ran cold.
“Then we fight,” she said, her voice steel.
Kael looked at her then, truly looked. The woman she’d become was fiercer, stronger—and heartbreakingly familiar.
“I’m not letting anything happen to either of you,” he said, a promise laced with something deeper.
The air between them shifted again. Unspoken truths hovered, their closeness undeniable now. But the storm outside wasn’t over—and neither was the one between them.
For now, they lay back down. Closer than before. Not touching—but no longer on opposite sides of a war.
And in the quiet darkness, two wolves rested, knowing dawn would bring more than just a fight.
- Writer
