CHAPTER TWO
1831 Words
The sheets still smelled like her. Like vanilla and earth and soft heat.
Ronan sat hunched on the edge of the motel bed, elbows on his knees, fists clenched. The memories of the night clawed through his thoughts—her lips, her breathless cries, the way her body opened to him like they had always belonged together.
She was his mate.
He didn’t need a prophecy or a mark to tell him.
He knew.
The second his eyes met hers.
And he hated it.
“Human,” he hissed through his teeth. “The Moon Goddess mated me with a human.”
“She is ours,” came the low growl inside his skull.
Ronan closed his eyes, jaw tightening. “Not now, Azerin.”
His wolf—Azerin—snarled back. “You felt the spark, Ronan. Don’t lie to yourself. She belongs to us.”
“She’s weak,” he whispered. “She doesn’t even know what we are.”
“But we know what she is. She soothed the beast. She let you take her without fear. Her scent calmed us. Her body fed our instincts. That is no normal woman.”
Ronan stood up abruptly, pacing the motel room in tight, angry circles.
“She’ll break. She couldn’t handle a heat. She’d never survive a turning. Hell, she probably thinks I’m just some guy who vanished after a one-night stand.”
Azerin growled louder. “And you did vanish.”
“I needed space!” Ronan shouted aloud. “You saw how close I was to marking her. I would’ve—”
“Claimed her,” Azerin said darkly. “As you should’ve.”
Ronan pressed his palms to his face.
His skin still tingled from where she’d touched him.
She had no idea who he was. What she’d done to him. That last night wasn’t just s*x—it was bonding. A mating begun. Unfinished, but real.
“I’ll be back before she wakes up,” he muttered, grabbing his coat. “Just a few hours. I need to clear my head.”
“You’re a fool.”
But Azerin’s growl faded as Ronan slammed the door behind him.
---
A Few Hours Later…
Ronan returned just after sunrise.
He opened the door, expecting to hear the rustle of sheets, the soft sound of her breath. Maybe even the warmth of her arms tangled in the pillows.
Instead—silence.
The room was cold.
The bed was empty.
He froze.
“Lyra?”
No answer.
His gaze darted around. Her bag was gone. Her coat. Her shoes. Even the glass of water she’d left by the bed was dry.
Gone.
His chest tightened.
Azerin let out a thunderous snarl. “You LEFT her!”
“No,” Ronan whispered. “She couldn’t have just walked out—”
“She did. And you let her go.”
He lunged for the door, storming into the hallway, sniffing for a trail—but her scent was faint. Fading fast. The trail ended at the curb. No cameras. No signs. Just… absence.
“I didn’t even get her last name,” he whispered.
“You rejected the mate the Goddess gave us.”
“I didn’t reject her,” Ronan said, voice sharp. “I protected her. From me. From us.”
But Azerin only growled low. “We waited so long to have our mate now, you let her go and now we are empty.”
---
Six Weeks Later – Another City
Lyra stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around her body, her stomach peeking out slightly from beneath.
It wasn’t a bump.
It was a curve now. Full. Round.
Too round for just a few weeks.
Her hands slid over her belly. The skin felt hot to the touch. Sensitive. The weight inside her felt like more than just cells dividing—it felt… alive.
And the cravings.
She used to hate red meat. But now, she craved it. Bloody. Raw. Seared rare. Nothing else tasted right.
At first, she blamed stress. Hormones. Maybe her body was reacting oddly to a shock pregnancy.
But the way her stomach grew wasn’t normal.
Neither was the occasional ache in her lower spine—or the strange chills that hit her at night, like someone—or something—was watching.
Still, the doctor hadn’t found anything wrong.
No signs of twins. No high-risk markers. Just one note at the end of the file:
> “Abnormal growth rate. Recommend further monitoring.”
Lyra had tossed the paper aside, too tired to deal with science when her own body was screaming that something was different.
Every now and then, she swore she felt a heartbeat—not just her own, but something strong and fast, like a drum echoing deep in her core.
She leaned her forehead against the mirror.
“I’m losing it,” she murmured.
---
Back in Ronan’s Territory…
“Still nothing?” Ronan asked, his voice cold and clipped.
His Beta, Caleb, shook his head. “No record. She paid in cash. No ID. No phone left behind.”
“She just… disappeared?”
Caleb hesitated. “We don’t even have her last name. All we’ve got is Lyra. That’s it.”
Ronan said nothing.
But inside, Azerin was silent—and that was worse than all the growling.
“Why are you so quiet?” Ronan asked inwardly.
No answer.
Just the weight of guilt and the hollow ache of a bond unfinished.
He still smelled her in his dreams. Still remembered the softness of her voice when she whispered his name in the dark.
She was out there.
And the bond—though faint—was still alive.
He could feel it.
But what he didn’t know was that the woman he touched was changing.
And soon… she would be far more than just a fragile human.
Lyra leaned her head against the cold train window, one hand resting on her swollen belly. Her reflection in the glass was pale, drawn, but her eyes still burned with something fierce.
She was five months pregnant, alone, broke, and terrified.
But she had to survive.
Not for herself.
For them.
The children growing inside her.
---
Three Weeks Earlier
“You can’t keep living in my building if you can’t pay the rent, Miss Callen.”
Lyra tightened her hand around her coat. “I just need two more weeks.”
The landlord snorted. “I’m not running a charity.”
“I’m carrying a child,” she said, voice trembling. “Two, maybe. I just need—”
He shook his head and slammed the door.
---
She hadn’t cried.
She never did.
Not when she was dropped at the orphanage at three days old. Not when she was never picked for adoption. Not when she aged out at sixteen and had to clean floors to afford night school.
So she didn’t cry now either.
She just packed her bag, bought a one-way plane ticket with the last of her money, and left the country.
---
Somewhere in Europe – Two Months Later
She hadn’t planned to land in Belgium. It was the cheapest flight. A small town near the woods, quiet, gray skies, misty streets.
She didn’t speak the language.
But her body was tired, her feet swollen, her back aching.
Then she met Emile.
He was the shopkeeper’s son. Barely thirty. Always wore gloves. Always smiling.
He found her curled up outside his family’s closed bakery during a rainstorm, shivering with fever.
“Hey, hey… you alright?” he asked in accented English, crouching in front of her.
“I… I don’t feel good.”
“You’re pregnant.”
She nodded slowly, eyes glassy. “No hospital. Please. No papers.”
Emile didn’t ask questions.
He carried her inside like she weighed nothing, set her on a couch, and called for his mother.
---
Two Weeks Later
“You can stay,” Emile’s mother said gently, setting a warm bowl of stew in Lyra’s lap. “Just help around the house when you’re better.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
Emile grinned from the corner. “Just name your baby after me.”
Lyra laughed. For the first time in months.
---
The Night They Came
It was storming when the pain began.
She screamed until her throat was raw, clutching the bedsheets as lightning flashed outside the window.
“Push!” the midwife yelled.
Sweat streamed down her face. Her fingers dug into the mattress.
Then—a cry.
A wailing, beautiful, furious sound.
Then another.
“A boy… and a girl,” the midwife said softly, handing her the tiny bundles.
Lyra stared down at them, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
“They’re beautiful,” Emile whispered from the doorway.
“They’re mine,” she said, voice trembling.
Her arms trembled as she held them to her chest.
“My babies…”
---
Nine Months Later
"Momma!" the girl gurgled from the floor, chewing on a wooden spoon.
"Ma-ma-ma-ma," the boy echoed, drooling on his sister’s dress.
Lyra wiped her hands on her apron and dropped to the floor with them, laughing. “You little monsters! You’ve destroyed everything in this kitchen!”
Emile popped his head in. “They’ve got your spirit.”
“They’ve got your appetite,” Lyra teased, glancing at the empty pot behind her.
“I like them already.”
---
One Year Later
She’d found a job cleaning rooms at a local inn. Emile helped with translation. She saved every cent.
The bakery’s upper floor was now home.
Her daughter, Lia, had her hair color
Her son, Rowan, had his scowl.
Both had Ronan’s silver eyes.
They were strong. Quick. Grew too fast.
But healthy.
Lyra never spoke of their father.
Never spoke of the one night that changed her life.
But when she looked at them—two tiny lives breathing against her chest—she didn’t feel abandoned.
She felt complete.
---
Café – Two Years Later
“This latte is incredible,” her friend Rosa said, sipping with delight.
“I think the secret is Emile’s charm,” Lyra smirked.
“Are you sure you’re not into him?”
Lyra shook her head. “He saved me. That doesn’t mean I love him.”
“But you’re smiling again. You’re not the ghost I met at the clinic.”
“I’m… healing,” Lyra admitted.
Rosa grinned. “Then you’ll love the news. There’s a playgroup for kids three and under. Bring your chaos duo.”
Lyra smiled. “Deal.”
---
Later That Night
She kissed her babies’ foreheads and whispered softly, “I’ll protect you. No matter what. Even if the world tries to take you from me.”
Outside, the wind howled.
Somewhere far away, a wolf lifted its head to the moon… and paused.
Just for a moment.
--
- Writer
