BLOOD BOUND

BONDS

The cabin smelled of cigar and ginger ale , the air thick with silence that dared me to break it. My father sat alone at the table, his broad shoulders stiff, hands pressed flat against the wood as though he could hold back the storm with nothing but his palms. He didn’t look up when I pushed the door open, but I knew he’d heard me long before the hinges groaned. Sit, he said.

Not a request. A command. I stayed standing. “No. You’re going to tell me the truth.” His head lifted at that, eyes sharp and blazing, but not surprised. Like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Truth is a dangerous thing, Lyra. And once it’s out, it can’t be put back.” “Then stop holding it hostage,” I snapped. “You’ve kept me in the dark my whole life. You tell me who to trust, who to avoid, who I’m supposed to be—while never explaining why. You owe me more than orders. You owe me answers.” The words echoed louder than I meant them to, but I didn’t regret it.

My chest heaved, every nerve alight, and for once I didn’t cower beneath his shadow. His mouth tightened, and for the first time in years, I saw not the untouchable Alpha but just a man— tired, wounded, trapped in chains he forged himself. “You think you want answers,” he said slowly, “but what waits beneath them will tear you apart.”

I slammed my palm on the table, startling even myself. You don’t get to decide what breaks me. I decide that , I said with slight irritation His jaw clenched so tight I thought it might c***k. And then, softer, almost broken: If you knew what lived in your blood, you wouldn’t look at me the same again.

The words dropped heavy between us, filling the silence until my ears rang with them. What lived in your blood. My heart stumbled, my throat dried, and yet before I could force another question, a voice I hadn’t heard in years wrapped itself around the room. “Aldric.” I froze. From the back doorway, my mother stepped into the light. Her presence was softer than his, but no less commanding.

Her hair spilled in loose waves down her shoulders, streaked with silver like moonlight caught in ink. Her eyes gods, her eyes—looked at me like they had been waiting, aching, for this very moment. Enough, she said to my father, her hand brushing his arm. “You’ve guarded her with walls and silence, but you can’t hold her there anymore. I stared at her, words tangled in my chest. I hadn’t seen her in so long that part of me had convinced myself she was more memory than flesh. Yet here she was—warm, alive, real.

“Mother,” I whispered, the word tasting strange and fragile on my tongue. She smiled, though sadness tugged at the edges. “My Lyra.” I blinked, a thousand questions clawing at my throat, but she reached me first.

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The way your blood sings differently. The way the moon pulls sharper on you than the others.” My heart pounded. She was naming the things I’d never dared speak aloud, the things that made me feel like I belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once. “What am I?” I asked, voice cracking. She shook her head gently.

Not yet. Not all at once. But you are more than you’ve been told. And no matter what truths you uncover, you are mine. Her words were a balm and a wound all at once. My father turned away, shoulders iron, refusing to meet my eyes.

I couldn’t breathe in that room anymore, felt like I was going to suffocate. The walls pressed too tightly, their secrets heavier than air. I stumbled back, muttering something—anything—to break free. And then I ran. The forest welcomed me with its shadows.

The night air was cool, filling my lungs until the knot in my chest loosened just enough to keep moving. Kaelen was waiting. He leaned against an oak, head tilted back, eyes closed as if listening to the wind. The moonlight traced every line of his face, softening him into something almost unearthly. When he opened his eyes and saw me, his entire body stilled, as though the world had narrowed to nothing but me.

“You came,” he said softly. I had to.My voice trembled more than I wanted it to, but I didn’t care. If I stayed in there any longer, I would’ve drowned in their silence.

Something dark flickered in his gaze, but it wasn’t pity. It was understanding. The kind of understanding that reached into the marrow. He took a step forward, and then another, closing the space between us until his presence wrapped around me like a cloak.

You don’t have to drown, Lyra. Not while I’m here. My breath caught. His words weren’t smooth, weren’t careful they were raw, unpolished truth, and it broke something open inside me. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I admitted. His hand lifted, tentative at first, then steady, brushing the side of my face. His skin was cool, but the touch set fire racing across my cheek.

Then let me remind you. You’re the girl who looks at me like I’m not a monster. The one who makes the night feel less empty. That’s who you are. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed someone to say it until the tears stung my eyes. And then it happened.

Maybe it was me leaning in. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was both of us breaking at the same time. But one moment there was air, and the next there was only fire. His lips pressed against mine, firm but trembling, as though he was holding back centuries of hunger in a single kiss. The world stilled.

The trees, the stars, even the wind—all of it hushed, bowing to the quiet storm of our mouths colliding. I clutched his shirt, pulled him closer, and he melted into me.