“His Brother’s Killer”
1809 Words
Kael stood at the edge of the arena long after the others had gone.
The torches had burned low. The earth still smelled of blood and fur. He didn’t look back at the ring where Lyra had fallen, or at the dark trees beyond the clearing. His eyes were on the sky—on the moon that had no right to shine so calmly after what it had stirred.
“She’s not one of us.”
Selene’s voice came sharp and cold behind him.
He didn’t turn.
“She’s dangerous,” she continued, stepping closer. “And you just gave her a mark that makes her untouchable.”
“She earned it,” Kael said flatly.
Selene laughed bitterly. “She lost control. She nearly killed me.”
“She didn’t.”
“Not because she stopped herself. Because you did.”
Now he turned.
Selene stood with arms folded, still bruised from the fight. Her lip was cut, one arm wrapped in gauze. But her eyes—amber and furious—were still sharp enough to cut through stone.
“She’s not a wolf,” Selene spat. “She’s not pack. She’s not even stable.”
“She’s more wolf than half the mutts that stood watching,” Kael said.
Selene took a step closer. “She’s not Asha, Kael. And she’s not Lyra either. She’s something else. Something broken.”
“I know what she is.”
“No, you think you do.” Selene’s voice lowered. “Or maybe you want her to be something she’s not, so you can fix a mistake that’s not yours to fix.”
Kael’s jaw tensed.
“You’re risking all of us,” she added. “And if she snaps again—”
“She won’t.”
“And if she does,” Selene said slowly, “I won’t wait for your permission next time.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed.
Selene held his stare a second longer, then turned and walked into the trees.
The last thing she said—so low he almost didn’t hear it—was:
“You marked your brother’s killer.”
Kael didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t deny it.
Because she was right.
The wind picked up as Selene disappeared into the trees, but Kael stayed where he was—stone still, staring at nothing.
He didn’t need to chase her.
He was already somewhere else.
It had been years ago.
The moon had been high, just like tonight, and the trees had looked the same. But that night, the forest hadn’t been quiet. It had been burning.
He remembered the smoke first. Then the screaming.
The hunters had come just before dawn—iron weapons, silver blades, fire-coated arrows. They moved in silence, their faces hidden by black masks and leather cloaks. But he’d seen her.
The woman who didn’t hide.
She walked through the flames like she was born from them. Cold eyes. A pale braid swinging down her back. A bow in her hand. A single mark on her shoulder.
Asha Blackthorn.
The hunter.
She hadn’t run when Kael charged her.
She’d smiled.
But it wasn’t Kael she’d aimed for.
It was Kiran—his younger brother. Smaller. Gentler. The one who healed wounded pups and carried books instead of blades.
Kael remembered the sound.
Not the shot.
The gasp.
His brother had gone down fast, the arrow deep in his chest. He’d looked at Kael once. Just once.
And then he was gone.
By the time Kael got to the hunter, she’d vanished. The fire swallowed her tracks. The scent of ash drowned her trail. The only thing left was blood and silence.
Kael buried Kiran himself. No pack, no words, no ritual. Just stone over dirt and a promise whispered through his teeth.
If she ever comes back…
And now, she had.
Different face.
Same eyes.
Same mark.
Same scent under the blood and fear and confusion.
She was Asha.
Even if she didn’t know it yet.
Kael returned to the healer’s quarters just before sunrise.
The fire inside was low. Rhea stood beside it, pouring steaming liquid from a kettle into a wooden cup. She didn’t look up when he entered.
“She’s sleeping,” she said.
Kael closed the door behind him. “Good.”
Rhea placed the cup on a nearby table. Her eyes finally met his.
“You pushed her too far.”
“She survived.”
“She almost didn’t.”
Kael said nothing.
Rhea crossed her arms, her voice softer now. “You’re not wrong, Kael. She’s Asha. I felt it the second I touched her blood. But she doesn’t know she is. Not yet.”
“She has to remember,” Kael said. “Before someone else forces it on her.”
Rhea raised an eyebrow. “You mean before Selene kills her.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I’m not protecting Lyra,” he said. “I’m protecting the pack. If she snaps again, I need to know what she is.”
“You already know,” Rhea said. “You just don’t like the answer.”
He looked at the closed door to the back room. “She doesn’t act like Asha. Not yet.”
“Because she’s not whole,” Rhea said. “And if you rush this, if you push her memories back too fast, they won’t come back right.”
Kael turned to her fully. “And if I wait? She loses control again. And next time, it won’t be Selene she attacks.”
Rhea sighed. “Then what are you going to do?”
He walked to the door and placed a hand on it, feeling the faintest trace of warmth through the wood. She was in there. Sleeping. Or pretending to.
“I’m going to show her who she was,” Kael said.
“That’s a dangerous thing to show someone,” Rhea warned.
Kael’s jaw clenched.
“Good,” he said. “Because she was dangerous.”
Lyra stood barefoot on the wooden floor of the cabin, her palms pressed to the cool windowsill.
Morning light poured through the fog outside, pale and colorless. Her reflection in the glass looked like a ghost—bruised, half-healed, hollow-eyed. The glowing mark on her wrist had dimmed to a soft gold. Still there. Still pulsing. Like it was waiting for something.
She didn’t know where the cabin was. She’d woken there hours ago, alone, dressed in a clean tunic with a slice of bread on the table and water in a cup. No locks on the door. But she knew she wasn’t free.
The door creaked open behind her.
She didn’t turn.
Kael didn’t speak at first. Just walked inside, shutting the door gently behind him.
“I don’t remember,” she said before he could say a word. “If you came here to ask again, the answer’s the same.”
“I didn’t come to ask.”
Now she turned.
Kael stood a few feet away, arms folded, watching her with that same unreadable look he always wore—like he was measuring every breath she took.
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
“To tell you the truth,” he said.
“I don’t want it.”
“Tough.”
Lyra’s fingers tightened around the window frame.
Kael stepped closer, slow and steady.
“You were a hunter,” he said. “Not just any hunter. A Blackthorn. You led raids. You killed wolves like they were animals.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Your body does.”
She flinched as he reached out—only to grip her wrist and lift it. The mark glowed brighter at his touch.
“This mark,” he said. “It means you belonged to the Moon Court. The order that trained you. The mark of a wolf killer.”
Lyra pulled her arm back. “Then why the hell am I one now?”
Kael didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned in, eyes narrowed.
“You think I marked you to protect you?”
“You said I was dangerous,” she said. “You said you killed me.”
“I did.”
His voice was low, sharp.
“And now you’re back. But you’re not her… not fully. Yet.”
Her breath caught. “So what now? You’re going to wait until I become her again and kill me a second time?”
“No,” Kael said, stepping even closer.
“I’m going to wake her up.”
Lyra didn’t back away.
She wanted to. Every part of her told her to. But her feet were frozen, her breath locked in her throat. Kael was too close now—his scent full of earth and ash and something sharp beneath it. The space between them held more tension than heat. He wasn’t trying to seduce her.
He was trying to break through her.
“You don’t know who you are,” Kael said. “But I do.”
“Then tell me,” she whispered.
“No.” His voice dropped lower. “You’ll remember on your own. It’ll be stronger that way.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Why does it matter to you so much?”
Kael’s eyes burned into hers. “Because I need to know if the person I buried is still inside you. Because if she is…” He leaned in, voice nearly a growl, “…you’re a threat to everything I’ve rebuilt.”
Then he kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t slow.
It wasn’t sweet.
His hand grabbed the side of her jaw, pulling her into it with no warning. His lips crushed hers with force—not desire. Not affection. A message.
A memory.
Lyra gasped against him, stunned. Her hands came up to push him away, but her body didn’t move. Her skin went hot, then cold. Her head filled with a rush of static. Something… clicked.
Images.
Flashes.
A field burning. A silver arrow. A scream.
And Kael—on his knees, bloody, roaring like a beast.
She shoved him back.
He didn’t fight her.
He stepped away, slow and calm, his breathing steady.
Lyra touched her lips, stunned. “What the hell was that?”
“A reminder,” Kael said. “Of who you were. Of who I am.”
“I’m not her.”
Kael tilted his head. “You keep saying that.”
His golden eyes glinted.
“But you’re starting to sound like her.”
He turned without another word, opened the door, and left.
Lyra stood there shaking, the taste of him still on her lips, her chest tight with something she didn’t understand.
She wasn’t angry.
She wasn’t afraid.
She was remembering.
And that scared her more than anything.
- Writer
