The silence between them, once sharp and brittle, had softened at the edges, yet it persisted, a low thrumming beneath their skin. It felt like a half-asleep beast, dangerous and unpredictable should it be roused.
A playful gust of wind danced through her hair, and a stray eyelash, dislodged, tickled her cheek.
Kyson’s gaze, sharp and observant as ever, caught the movement before she even registered it.
“Hold still,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
Lyra blinked, surprised, as he closed the distance between them. His steps were unlike the cold, authoritative strides of the Alpha who had haunted her nightmares. Instead, they were slow, hesitant, each footfall measured as if he were approaching a skittish fawn, afraid to startle it into flight.
His
