Chapter 77 A Suggestion That's Difficult To Stomach
The next morning, I make a decision before I can talk myself out of it.
Breakfast.
It sounds ridiculous small, harmless, but it feels like a battle plan. I tell myself I’m hungry. That my body needs fuel. That I can’t keep hiding in my room like a ghost haunting a place that refuses to forget me.
The truth is simpler and more dangerous.
I want to see Darius. He was discharged last night.
Not to talk. Not to forgive. Just to look. To make sure he’s still breathing, still whole after the bite, after the blood loss, after the way I felt his pain echo through the bond like a scream trapped under my skin.
And I absolutely do not want him to know that’s why I’m going.
So I dress carefully, something soft, I settle on some wear pants and a tank top. I practice my face in the mirror until it’s neutral, distant, unreadable.
Then I leave my room before I can change my mind.
The dining hall is already alive when I enter.
Long tables, voices overlapping, the clatter of plates and cutlery. Everyone was here to see how their alpha king was. Wolves in human form, laughing, arguing, existing like the world didn’t almost tear itself apart last night. The smell of food hits me,warm bread, meat, and something sweet, and my stomach twists, unsure whether it wants to eat or revolt.
The room quiets.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just… subtly. Like animals noticing a shift in the wind.
I feel eyes on me. Curiosity. Gratitude. Fear. Awe. The same tangled mess I’ve felt since the attack.
I force my feet to keep moving.
Mara spots me first. Her face lights up, relief softening the deep lines around her mouth. She doesn’t call out. Doesn’t draw attention. Just gestures gently toward the table.
I sit.
Only then do I look for him.
Darius is already there.
He’s seated near the head of the table, posture relaxed but alert in a way that tells me he hasn’t actually relaxed since the attack. His color looks better, no longer ashen, no longer hollowed out by blood loss, but I can see the stiffness in his shoulder, the careful way he moves his arm.
At least he was alive I tell myself,The words settle something tight in my chest.
Our eyes meet for half a second.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t look away. But his eyes soften, as he inclines his head slightly, in a silent acknowledgment.
I break eye contact first.
I eat. Or at least, I move food around my plate and take small bites so no one can accuse me of wasting it. Conversation slowly resumes around me. Someone asks about patrol rotations. Someone else jokes about rebuilding the outdoor training yard fence, for the third time this year.
Normal.
It feels wrong.
I’m halfway through a piece of bread when Darius speaks.
Not loudly. Not formally.
“Lyra.”
My name slides across the table, quiet enough that only those closest to us hear it. I stiffen but don’t look up.
“Yes?” I say, cool, distant. Polite.
There’s a pause. I can almost feel him choosing his words, laying them out carefully in his mind like stepping stones across unstable ground.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he says.
That alone sets my nerves on edge.
I glance up despite myself. “What?”
He meets my gaze steadily. No authority in his eyes. No Alpha command. Just… restraint.
“I’ve been thinking about what happened the other night,” he says. “About the attack. About the bite.”
My jaw tightens.
“Go on.”
“I think,” he continues slowly, “that it might help, for you to start structured training.”
The words hit me like a slap.
Before I can stop myself, I push back from the table, chair scraping loudly against the floor. Conversations around us falter again.
Training?
Of course.
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Wow. You didn’t even wait a full day.”
Darius doesn’t rise to it. “That’s not..”
“Oh, no,” I cut in, standing fully now. “Please. Explain how this isn’t you trying to turn me into exactly what they already think I am.”
A few heads turn. Mara’s expression tightens with concern.
Darius stays seated, which somehow makes me angrier.
“I’m not trying to mold you,” he says evenly. “And I’m not suggesting this as a weaponization.”
“There it is,” I snap. “You already hear it. Weapon. That’s what I am to all of you.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant,” I fire back. My hands are shaking now, heat flooding my veins. My beast stirs uneasily, sensing the spike in emotion. “Structured combat? Control training? You might as well hand me over to the Council with a bow on top.”
His jaw flexes, but his voice stays level. “I’m suggesting this because you froze.”
The words land harder than anything else.
Silence crashes down around us.
I feel every eye in the room, every breath held.
“I froze,” I repeat, deadly quiet.
“Yes,” he says gently. “And that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. But it also means you’re carrying fear inside you that could get you, or someone else, killed.”
The room feels too small.
Too tight.
“You don’t get to say that,” I hiss. “You don’t get to analyze me like a problem that needs fixing.”
“I’m not analyzing,” he says. “I’m asking. Because I want you to trust yourself again.”
Trust.
The word twists something ugly in my chest.
“And what if I don’t want to?” I demand. “What if I don’t want to train? What if I don’t want to become more controlled, more efficient, more dangerous just to make everyone else feel safer?”
“This isn’t about them,” he says immediately. “This is about you.”
“No,” I snap. “It’s about making me manageable.”
That finally gets him to stand.
Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a cornered animal.
“I would never…”
“You already did,” I interrupt, my voice breaking despite my best effort. “You hid the truth. You decided what I could handle. You stood by while the Council put a collar on me and called me a subject.”
His face tightens with pain, but I don’t stop.
“And now you want to train me?” I laugh again, breathless, almost hysterical. “So I can prove just how dangerous I can be?”
“That’s not fair,” he says quietly.
“Neither was what they did to me,” I shot back.
I can feel it now, the familiar pressure behind my eyes, the buzzing under my skin. My beast doesn’t roar. It doesn’t surge.
It waits.
Training feels like giving in to it and I know I can never have full control over it.
Like admitting they were right. That I’m unstable. That I’m a danger that needs containment, discipline, and correction.
I won’t give them that.
“No….” I say, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. “And I won’t let you turn me into the monster they already see.”
Darius opens his mouth, then closes it again. And I turn away before he can find words to say.