Chapter Thirteen
1135 Words
The chambers were quiet except for the soft, uneven rhythm of Lyra’s breathing. Tears had dried against her cheeks, leaving faint salt trails she angrily wiped away. She sat at the edge of the bed, necklace tossed on the floor, gown still clinging to her from the party she fled.
Why do I care? Why does it hurt? I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t feel anything.
Her chest burned anyway.
The door opened.
Kael.
He stepped inside with that unreadable expression carved into his face — cold, firm, Alpha composed. His footsteps echoed, slow and controlled, like he owned every breath in the room. Because he did. He always did.
Lyra’s spine straightened instinctively.
His eyes swept over her, lingering for a fraction of a moment on her red eyes — then shifting away like it didn’t matter.
She rose immediately, lowering her gaze.
“Alpha.”
He stopped before her. “Why did you leave the gathering without my permission?”
His voice was controlled, but edged like a blade. Lyra clasped her hands in front of her, forcing calm into her tone.
“I… I meant no disrespect, Alpha,” she murmured. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
His eyes narrowed. “That is not an excuse to walk away from me.”
Her throat tightened. “I… didn’t think my presence mattered,” she admitted softly. “You had company.”
A flicker — sharp, brief — went through his eyes.
“You think I did not notice you leave?”
Lyra looked down. “You didn’t look my way, Alpha.”
For the first time, something cold, unfamiliar stirred in Kael’s chest — irritation, or something dangerously close to guilt. He stepped closer, fingers closing around her wrist — firm, not cruel, but unignorable.
“I chose you to stand beside me,” he said quietly. “Not to vanish when it pleases you.”
Lyra didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. His touch commanded stillness. But her voice trembled with honesty, not rebellion.
“I meant no disobedience,” she whispered. “It only seemed… you had more important company.”
Her voice cracked despite her effort. “Lady Selene appeared to bring you more ease than I ever have.”
His jaw clenched. His wolf bristled at her pain — possessive, uneasy, restless beneath his skin. Kael released her wrist slowly, as though forcing himself.
“You misunderstand,” he said, colder than he intended, “and misunderstanding is not permission to stray.”
Lyra bowed her head.
“Yes, Alpha.”
But the hurt remained in her eyes, quiet and deep.
Kael opened his mouth — not to comfort her, but to regain control of the situation — when—
knock.
“Kael?”
Selene’s voice.
Lyra immediately stepped back. Kael’s eyes shifted toward the door, and Lyra forced herself to swallow her emotions, spine straightening in submission.
Selene entered the room without waiting to be invited, smiling like she belonged there.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said sweetly.
Lyra dropped her gaze again, obedient, hurting quietly.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” she purred. “But I need a word with Kael. Privately.”
Lyra’s heart thudded. Kael hesitated — just a second — then stepped back.
“Wait outside,” he told Lyra.
Her lips parted. Command tone. No room for argument.
Of course. Always second place. Always dismissed.
Lyra nodded stiffly and walked out past Selene, shoulders straight even though her chest felt like it was collapsing.
As she passed, Selene leaned in, whispering so only Lyra heard:
“He’ll grow tired of you soon.”
Lyra didn’t respond. If she opened her mouth, she might break. She shut the door softly behind her and stood in the hall, swallowing the ache.
Inside, Selene dropped the sweetness.
“You truly surprise me,” she said, crossing her arms. “Accepting a low-born human? Kael, she isn’t worthy to stand anywhere near you.”
Kael didn’t look at her at first. He removed his cuff links with slow precision, controlled, deliberate.
“When my mate walks away from me without permission,” he murmured, “it reflects on me. I will deal with it.”
Selene smiled — cruel approval. “So punish her. Or reject her. Why keep her? You owe her nothing.”
Kael finally lifted his gaze.
His voice was like carved iron.
“I didn’t accept her because of worth.”
Selene blinked, momentarily thrown off.
“Then why?” she demanded, impatience bleeding through her perfect composure. “What could you possibly gain from her?”
He stepped closer, expression smooth and cold as winter stone.
“You want truth?” he asked softly.
Selene nodded.
“I chose her because surviving me is impossible.”
Selene blinked. “What?”
“My curse,” Kael said calmly. “My mates die. Every one of them. Fate binds them to me and fate kills them for it.”
Selene swallowed. “You believe this one will break it?”
“She might,” Kael said, voice low, unreadable. “And if she dies… then nothing changes. I lose nothing.”
Selene’s lips curled in satisfaction. “So she’s a test.”
“A tool,” Kael corrected. “And politically necessary. A mated Alpha cannot be challenged easily.”
“So she’s a shield,” Selene breathed. “And a sacrifice.”
Kael’s jaw flexed once.
“She serves a purpose,” he said simply. “Nothing more.”
“But she thinks you care for her,” Selene smirked.
Kael’s eyes shuttered cold. “What she thinks is irrelevant.”
Selene laughed softly and touched his arm — bold, familiar.
“I knew it. You haven’t gone soft. I thought for a moment you were… feeling something.”
Kael’s gaze hardened. “Do not question my motives.”
“Then keep her in her place,” Selene whispered. “Humans are fragile creatures. Don’t let her forget she’s temporary.”
Kael didn’t answer.
Selene moved toward the door. “Good. I’ll see you soon.”
She paused, gave a slow smirk, and left — satisfaction glittering in her eyes as she passed Lyra outside.
Inside the room, Kael stood silent, jaw clenched, hands tightening once before relaxing. His wolf snarled under his skin — angry, restless, unsettled.
Not about Selene.
Not about the curse.
About Lyra walking away.
He hated that.
Hated the pull.
Hated the instinct.
Hated the weakness of caring enough to notice.
He inhaled, sharp and controlled.
She was a tool. A strategy. A shield. A test against fate.
Nothing more.
He would not care.
And if fate tried to rip her from him like the others?
He would win this time — one way or another.
- Writer
