MOONBOUND

Rowan

I learned discipline before I learned desire.

It was drilled into me as deeply as shifting, as instinctive as breathing. Control your wolf. Control your temper. Control your heart. An Alpha’s blood does not get the luxury of mistakes.

So when Lyra awakened, when the bond stirred like a living thing beneath my ribs, I did what I had been taught to do all my life.

I locked it away.

I tell myself I’m protecting her. That denying the bond keeps her safe—from politics, from expectations, from being claimed before she understands what that would cost her.

Some days, I almost believe it.

Most days, I don’t.

I see her everywhere now. Not because she seeks attention, but because she draws it without trying. The way she walks through the courtyard with quiet confidence. The way moonlight clings to her skin like it recognizes her. The way she listens more than she speaks—and when she does speak, people hear her.

She used to move like she was afraid of taking up space.

She doesn’t anymore.

And that terrifies me.

Because I am the one thing standing between her and a future that would change her forever. If I accept the bond, the pack will never let her breathe freely again. They will watch her. Use her. Bind her to expectations she didn’t ask for.

And still… my wolf snarls every time someone stands too close to her.

Mine.

I hate that word. Hate how it settles in my chest like truth.

At night, when the stronghold is quiet and the moon is high, I feel it most. The pull. Not sharp or violent—just constant. A steady ache that reminds me I am only half-whole while pretending otherwise.

I think of the way she looked at me in the courtyard days ago. Not angry. Not accusing.

Just disappointed.

That was worse.

I don’t fear her power.

I fear how easily she sees through me.

She knows I want her. I see it in the way her eyes linger just a second longer now, not hopeful, not desperate—simply aware. Like she’s stopped asking for permission to exist in my orbit.

Good.

She should never need my permission.

Still, when her arm brushed mine earlier, accidental and brief, it nearly broke me. My body reacted before my mind could stop it. My wolf surged, desperate and furious, demanding what I refuse to give.

I stood still.

I always do.

Because if I let myself step closer—if I let myself reach for her—I don’t know if I would ever be strong enough to let go again.

And Lyra deserves more than a man at war with himself.

So I watch.

I wait.

I deny.

Even as the bond tightens with every passing moon.

Even as I know, deep down, that this silence between us is not peace.

It is only the calm before something inevitable.

And when that moment comes…

I don’t know if I will survive it unscarred.