Luna’s Lost Bond

~Chapter Thirteen~

"Who did this to you?"

The question struck harder than the bucket had.

Nyara's fingers tightened around the damp strands of hair she'd been trying to twist into a knot. For one brief, dangerous second, she considered turning around and walking straight back into the changing room.

Darian stood only a few steps away, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough to see the faint crease forming between his brows as he stared at the cut near her temple. He looked exactly as he always did — impossibly composed, broad shoulders filling the space around him, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, black training clothes fitted across a body built by years of war and discipline. Cold. Untouchable. Ruthless when necessary. His reputation moved ahead of him wherever he went.

Yet his eyes were fixed on her injury. Not her face. Not the borrowed training uniform. The injury.

Nyara brushed her fingers over the swollen cut. "This?"

Darian's jaw tightened. "Yes. This."

"It was nothing."

"Nothing doesn't bleed down someone's face."

"It stopped bleeding."

"That wasn't my question."

She looked up at him. He was taller than her by enough that she had to tilt her head back, but she refused to let herself feel intimidated. She had once stood before this man with a crown of power around her and a bond tying their souls together. Now she stood in a borrowed uniform with dirt still caught beneath her nails. The irony was almost laughable.

Almost.

"I fell," she said.

"You fell."

"Yes. From the bed."

Darian stared at her. "You fell off the bed and split your temple open."

"Apparently."

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. He didn't believe her. Nyara could feel it — the bond between them was still there, buried beneath the strange distance that had existed since she woke inside Elair's body. Faint. Twisted. Almost impossible to understand. But when Darian looked at her like this, something old inside her stirred, something that remembered being watched by those same eyes.

She hated it. She hated the way her heart stumbled whenever he stood too close, the way her body remembered things her mind couldn't fully reach. Most of all, she hated that some foolish part of her still wanted to tell him the truth.

Liora did this. Liora sent me to work with a bleeding head. Liora watched a bucket strike me and laughed.

But Nyara swallowed every word. Not yet. She had no position here, no allies powerful enough to protect her, no proof of anything. She was Elair to everyone in this pack — a strange, wolfless woman who had suddenly begun behaving differently. If she accused Liora now, Darian would dismiss it as jealousy, or worse, manipulation. She knew the pattern too well: Liora would lower her eyes, let her voice tremble, perhaps shed a tear — and Darian would look at Nyara the way he'd once looked at her when she tried to explain herself. Suspicious. Cold. Already convinced.

"I slipped," Nyara said. "That's all."

Darian's gaze dropped to her hands, and his expression darkened. "And your fingers?"

The skin across her knuckles was torn, her palms red from pulling weeds. The uniform Anaya had given her covered most of the dirt, but not all of it.

"Work."

"Who told you to work?"

She almost laughed. "What is this, an interrogation?"

"Answer me." His voice was low. Not loud. It didn't need to be.

Something inside her bristled at the command. "Why? Do you intend to punish whoever gave me work?"

"Who gave you work?"

That irritating, dangerous concern again. Nyara stepped around him. "I have things to do."

His hand moved — not fast enough to grab her, but fast enough that she saw the intention. She stopped.

Darian looked at the cut again. "Did Liora do this?"

The question froze the air between them. Nyara's pulse kicked hard. For a second she could hear nothing except the faint sounds of warriors training beyond the changing room — the clash of wooden swords, shouts, footsteps pounding against packed earth.

Then she smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I asked."

"That isn't an answer."

"Did she?"

Nyara studied him. The man in front of her was not the Darian she remembered. Or perhaps he was exactly the same — that was the problem. She didn't know which version was real anymore.

"No," she said. "I fell off the bed."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't particularly care what you believe."

Something flashed across his face and was gone almost instantly. Nyara walked past him before he could say anything else. Behind her, Darian remained motionless — and for the first time in a very long time, Alpha Darian found himself unable to decide whether a woman was lying to him because she wanted something from him, or because she was afraid of what would happen if he knew the truth.

Outside, Anaya had already seen enough.

Liora stood near the edge of the training ground with two women beside her. The first, Maris, was tall and thin, with sharp cheekbones and a face permanently twisted into a sneer — she'd spent years attaching herself to Liora's side like a shadow. The second, Tessa, was shorter and broader, with a thick braid over one shoulder and a smile that made Anaya want to hit something. Both were laughing.

Anaya's eyes dropped to the abandoned patch of ground where Elair had been forced to work. The dirt was still disturbed. The weeds had been pulled. Blood had stained the soil.

Her jaw tightened. She crossed the training ground toward them.

"Liora."

The laughter stopped. Liora turned slowly, golden hair falling over one shoulder, perfectly arranged despite the morning's training, her fitted black combat outfit stitched through with silver — the kind of clothing that announced her status before she ever opened her mouth. Future Luna. The title had become her favorite weapon.

"What do you want?" Liora asked.

"What did you do to Elair?"

Maris snorted. Liora's brows lifted. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I heard an accusation."

"Good. Then answer it."

"Careful, Anaya," Tessa said, crossing her arms.

Anaya didn't look at her. "Did I ask you?"

Tessa's smile disappeared. Liora sighed as if Anaya were an irritating child. "Elair came here on her own."

"She was ordered to pull weeds until her hands bled."

"Non-combat wolves aren't allowed in this section without permission," Anaya said.

"I'm the future Luna. I can be here."

"Then what was Elair doing here?"

Liora's smile thinned. "Perhaps you should ask her."

"You know exactly why she came. You and your lackeys sent her."

Maris stepped forward. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what?"

The air shifted. For one moment the training ground fell strangely quiet around them. Liora's smile vanished.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're speaking to."

"No," Anaya said. "I know exactly who I'm speaking to. A woman who thinks wearing expensive clothes makes her untouchable."

Tessa made a sound of outrage. Liora's face hardened. "Be careful."

"Or what? You'll have me removed by the Alpha? Go ahead."

Liora stepped closer, something calculating flickering behind her eyes — the look of a woman deciding exactly how much rope to give someone before pulling it tight. "You think because you're a warrior, you can speak to me however you want?"

"I think because I'm a warrior, I can recognize a bully when I see one."

"Say that again."

"Bully."

Liora reached for her. Anaya caught her wrist before she could make contact, the movement so fast Liora's eyes went wide.

"Don't touch me," Anaya said.

Liora's expression changed instantly — the anger gone, the hard edge vanished, her mouth parting, eyes widening in practiced alarm. When Beta Sanael entered the training ground a moment later, her voice broke exactly on cue.

"Sanael!"

He stopped, gaze moving from Liora's trapped wrist to Anaya's hand. Anaya released her. Liora immediately stumbled backward.

"She attacked me."

"What?"

"I only asked her to stop insulting me, and she grabbed me."

"That is not what happened."

Sanael's expression hardened. "Anaya. Enough."

"Enough?"

"She has been doing this for weeks," Liora said, moving closer to him. "Refusing to recognize my position."

Sanael looked between them. Liora placed a hand against his arm. "I am the future Luna."

"And?" Anaya's mouth twisted.

"You know the hierarchy."

"Of course I know the hierarchy."

"Then act like it."

The words landed harder than Anaya expected. Something flickered across her face — hurt, quickly buried under anger. "So that's it? She says one thing and you believe her?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Liora's fingers tightened around his arm. Anaya looked down at them, then back at him, a bitter laugh escaping her. "Of course."

"Anaya—"

"Don't." She turned away.

He caught her wrist. The instant his skin touched hers, sparks flashed between them. Anaya froze. Sanael did too. Something hot raced up her arm, and her wolf stirred — not with fear.

Recognition.

No.

Anaya yanked her hand free and refused to look at him.

"Anaya."

She shook her hand as though she could throw off the sensation. "Stay away from me."

Then she bolted. Sanael stood frozen for half a second before instinct urged him to follow — but Liora's hand was still on his arm, and behind them, someone else had entered the training ground.

Darian.

Liora saw him first. Her lips curved, victory warming her expression. She'd seen enough to know exactly where he was heading — and exactly what he'd find there.

She slipped away from Sanael before he could stop her.

"Liora—"

She ignored him, steps quickening toward the changing-room door. She pushed it open.

And stopped.

The smile vanished from her face.

Darian stood only inches from Elair, his broad body angled toward her, one hand lifted to the side of her face, fingers resting against the injured skin at her temple.

Too close. Far too close.

"Darian, honey, what are you doing?" The words came out sweet. The look in her eyes was anything but.

Nyara turned. Her gaze moved from Liora's face to the hand still resting against her temple. Darian removed it.

Too late.

Honey. Nyara stared at Liora. She wasn't even the Luna yet — how could she speak to him like that?

Liora walked forward and linked her arm through Darian's — deliberate, possessive. A claim.

Nyara scoffed.

Both of them looked at her.

"What?" Liora asked.

"Nothing."

"You laughed."

"I scoffed."

"Why?"

Nyara glanced at the arm wrapped around his. "Should I explain?"

Darian's eyes flickered downward. Liora noticed, her fingers tightening around him. "She's been strange all morning."

"Have I?"

"You have."

"Perhaps you should stop watching me."

"Perhaps you should stop behaving suspiciously."

"What does she mean?" Darian asked.

"Ask her," Nyara said.

Liora's expression changed — only slightly. But Nyara saw it. That tiny hesitation. The same one Liora always made just before inventing a lie.

"You went rushing back to the house in the middle of the night looking like you'd seen a ghost," Liora said, "and now you're standing here with a wound from the bucket I—"

She stopped.

Silence swallowed the room. Liora's face drained of color. Nyara did not move.

Darian slowly turned his head toward her. His eyes were no longer on Nyara. They were on Liora.

His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

"How exactly did you know she was struck with a bucket?"