A Power That Shouldn’t Exist
1026 Words
Lyra didn’t move her hand right away.
Not because she didn’t realize something was wrong—but because the moment she tried to pull back, her instincts told her to wait, to hold steady, as if whatever had just happened required stillness more than reaction.
The bleeding had stopped.
She stared at the wound beneath her palm, her fingers still lightly pressed against Kael’s side, her breath slowing as her mind struggled to catch up with what her eyes were clearly seeing. The torn flesh had not fully healed, but the edges had tightened in a way that made no sense—not for an Omega, not for any wolf she had ever known.
“That… doesn’t happen,” she said quietly, her voice carrying more certainty than confusion, as if stating a rule she had believed her entire life.
Kael’s gaze dropped briefly to where her hand rested, then lifted again, sharper now, more focused.
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Lyra frowned, finally pulling her hand away, though the absence of contact left behind an odd sensation—like something unfinished rather than something resolved.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said, though even as she spoke, she knew that wasn’t entirely true.
She had felt it.
That heat.
That pull.
It hadn’t been random.
Kael watched her closely, his posture still controlled despite the strain in his breathing, as though whatever pain he was in had already been pushed to the background.
“You reacted,” he said. “And so did I.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s a starting point.”
Lyra crossed her arms, grounding herself in something familiar.
“For what?”
“For figuring out what you are.”
The words landed harder than she expected.
Lyra held his gaze, her jaw tightening slightly.
“I already know what I am.”
Kael didn’t respond immediately.
He simply studied her, the silence stretching just long enough to make her question whether she believed that statement as much as she wanted to.
“Do you?” he asked at last.
It wasn’t mocking.
That made it worse.
Lyra looked away for a moment, her thoughts shifting faster than she liked.
All her life, the answer had been simple.
Omega.
Weak.
Unremarkable.
But none of those words explained what had just happened.
“If this is some kind of rare ability,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “then it doesn’t change anything. It just means I didn’t know about it.”
Kael’s expression shifted slightly.
“That’s one possibility.”
“And the other?”
He leaned back against the rock, the movement controlled, though she could see the effort it cost him.
“The other is that you’ve been misidentified your entire life.”
Lyra let out a short breath, almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it.
“That’s not possible.”
“It is if someone wanted it to be.”
The sentence settled between them, heavier than anything else he had said.
Lyra’s chest tightened.
“You’re assuming a lot.”
“I’m following evidence,” he replied evenly.
She shook her head.
“One incident isn’t evidence.”
“Then test it.”
The suggestion came without hesitation.
Lyra paused.
“You think I can just… do that again?”
Kael’s gaze dropped briefly to his side, then returned to her.
“You already did it once without trying,” he said. “Doing it again intentionally will tell us more.”
She hesitated, not because the idea didn’t make sense, but because it did—and that made it harder to ignore.
Slowly, she stepped closer again.
Her hand hovered over the wound, her fingers curling slightly as she tried to recall the sensation from before—not the panic, not the confusion, but the moment underneath it, the brief clarity where something inside her had responded without hesitation.
“Focus,” Kael said quietly.
Lyra closed her eyes for a second, steadying her breath.
Then she reached out—
And pressed her hand against his side again.
At first, nothing happened.
Doubt crept in almost immediately.
“I told you—”
“Wait.”
His voice was low, but firm.
So she did.
And then—
It returned.
Not as sudden as before, but clearer.
Controlled.
The warmth spread from her palm outward, not overwhelming, but deliberate, as if it had direction this time.
Kael went still.
His breath shifted.
The wound reacted again.
This time, the change was more obvious.
The tension in the torn flesh eased, the bleeding completely stopped, and the shallow edges began to draw together in a way that no normal healing process could explain.
Lyra pulled her hand back sharply.
Her heart was racing now.
“That’s not normal,” she said.
“No,” Kael replied, his gaze locked onto her, sharper than before. “It isn’t.”
Silence settled between them.
Not confused.
Not uncertain.
Confirmed.
Lyra swallowed.
“So what does that mean?”
Kael didn’t hesitate this time.
“It means you’re not what they said you were.”
Her chest tightened.
“And what am I, then?”
For the first time—
He didn’t answer immediately.
But when he did—
His voice was quieter.
“Healing like that,” he said slowly, “isn’t a trait of weakness. It’s a trait of control.”
Lyra frowned.
“Control over what?”
Kael held her gaze.
“Over other wolves.”
The implication hit instantly.
Lyra took a step back.
“That’s not possible.”
“Neither is what you just did.”
She had no answer for that.
Her mind moved quickly, trying to reject the idea, trying to fit what had just happened into something familiar—but there was nothing familiar about it.
Nothing safe.
“Someone would have noticed,” she said, though the words felt weaker now.
“Not if you were never given the chance to use it,” Kael replied.
Lyra went quiet.
Because that—
That made sense.
Too much sense.
- Writer
