Chapter 25 25

Chapter 25 25
JAXON

Something had been wrong since the night at the club, and no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, it followed me like a shadow that refused to detach from my feet, quiet at first and then louder every day, pressing against my thoughts until I could not tell which feelings were mine and which ones had been planted there.

I sat on the edge of my bed staring at the floor while Aria talked behind me, her voice soft and careful like she was walking across thin ice.

“You have been distant,” she said. “Did I do something.”

I rubbed my hands together slowly. “No. You did nothing.”

She stepped closer. “Then what is it.”

I wanted to say everything. I wanted to say that my head felt foggy, that sometimes when she touched me I felt warmth but no spark, that my wolf paced under my skin like it was trapped behind glass. Instead, I said the easiest thing.

“I am tired.”

She sighed and wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind. “You have been tired for days.”

Her scent wrapped around me, familiar and sweet, but instead of grounding me, it made my head throb. A sharp pain pulsed behind my eyes and I clenched my jaw.

“Jaxon,” my wolf growled low inside me. “This is wrong. You are being dulled.”

“Stop,” I whispered under my breath.

Aria stiffened. “What.”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, standing up. “I just need air.”

She watched me carefully. “You have been needing a lot of air lately.”

I did not answer her. I grabbed my jacket and left before she could ask more questions, my chest tight with guilt and confusion as I stepped outside.

The campus was loud with life, people laughing, talking, brushing past me, but I felt disconnected from all of it, like I was watching the world through water. My wolf pushed harder as I walked.

“You are drifting back to her,” he said. “You feel it.”

“I am not,” I muttered.

“You are lying,” he replied. “And you know it.”

I stopped near the quad, my fists clenching at my sides. “She hates me.”

“She does not,” my wolf said. “She is afraid.”

The word echoed in my chest.

I did not plan to find Lyra. I told myself that as my feet carried me toward the old training hall where she sometimes went when she wanted to be alone. I told myself I was just walking, just clearing my head.

Then I saw her sitting on the steps, knees pulled to her chest, hair loose around her shoulders, staring at nothing.

My heart stumbled.

I should have turned around.

“Lyra,” I said instead.

She flinched, then looked up, her eyes widening when she saw me. “Jaxon.”

There was no anger in her voice. Just surprise and something softer that made my chest ache.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” she said quietly.

“I was,” I replied honestly. “I mean, I am. I was trying to.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Trying usually means failing.”

I huffed a weak laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Silence stretched between us, thick but not uncomfortable, and I realized with a jolt that my head did not hurt right now. The fog that usually pressed behind my eyes felt thinner, lighter.

My wolf stirred, pleased. “You feel clearer,” he said.

I sat beside her before I could talk myself out of it. “You okay.”

She shrugged. “I have been better.”

“I am sorry,” I said, the words heavy on my tongue. “For the club. For walking away. For everything.”

She studied my face like she was searching for something. “You looked at me like you hated me.”

My chest tightened. “I did not want to.”

“But you did,” she said softly.

“I do not understand what happened,” I admitted. “One second I felt like tearing the world apart and the next I just wanted to get away from you.”

Her hands clenched in her sleeves. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” I said without hesitation.

She looked up sharply. “You do.”

“I do,” I repeated. “I do not know why, but I do.”

Something passed between us then, quiet and warm, like an old memory rising to the surface. My wolf leaned into it, content.

“You should not be here,” Lyra said after a moment. “Aria would not like this.”

I swallowed. “I know.”

“Then why are you,” she asked.

The honest answer scared me.

“Because when I am near you,” I said slowly, “my head stops hurting.”

Her breath caught. “Jaxon.”

“I am not saying that to blame you,” I added quickly. “I just mean…everything feels clearer.”

She looked away. “That is not a good thing.”

“Why not,” I asked.

“Because people feel things around me,” she said carefully. “Things they do not expect.”

My wolf bristled. “She is telling you without telling you,” he murmured.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I am already feeling things I do not understand.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You always did.”

I turned to her. “You remember that.”

“Of course I do,” she said. “You were impossible to forget.”

Heat spread through my chest, slow and steady, not overwhelming, just right.

We talked then, really talked, about nothing and everything, about classes and training and stupid memories from years ago, and with every word, the tension inside me eased a little more.

Time passed without me noticing.

“You should go,” Lyra said eventually. “Before this becomes something else.”

I stood reluctantly. “Can I see you again.”

She hesitated. “Jaxon.”

“Just talk,” I said quickly. “Nothing else. I just…missed you.”

Her eyes softened. “I missed you too.”

That night, when I went back to my room, Aria was waiting for me, sitting on the bed with her arms crossed.

“Where were you,” she asked.

“Out,” I said.

“With her,” she said flatly.

I froze. “How did you know.”

She stood up. “Because every time you are near her, something changes in you.”

I frowned. “What do you mean.”

“You pull away from me,” she said. “You look like you are waking up from something and it scares me.”

My head started to ache again, sharp and insistent, and I pressed my fingers to my temples.

“Jaxon,” she said, stepping closer, touching my arm. “You promised me you would stay away from her.”

“I know,” I said through clenched teeth. “But I cannot explain it. When I am with you, everything feels warm but heavy. When I am with her, it feels clear.”

Her eyes darkened. “Clear is dangerous.”

“Why,” I demanded.

“Because she is not normal,” Aria said. “You do not know what she is.”

“Neither do you,” I snapped.

She flinched. “I am trying to protect you.”

“From what,” I asked. “From feeling something real.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Silence slammed into the room.

“I love you,” Aria said, her voice shaking. “Everything I do is because I love you.”

The word love echoed strangely in my chest, dull instead of bright, and fear crept in.

“I need space,” I said quietly.

She stared at me like I had struck her. “You are choosing her.”

“I am choosing clarity,” I said. “I am choosing to feel like myself again.”

I left before she could stop me, my heart pounding, my wolf howling with relief as the ache in my head faded once more.

Days passed, and I spent more time with Lyra, walking, talking, training together, nothing dramatic, nothing rushed, just being near each other, and with every moment, the fog lifted further.

My feelings shifted slowly, gently, like dawn replacing night, and I realized with a mix of fear and awe that what I felt for Lyra was not obsession or rage or confusion.

It was love.

Real and steady and terrifying.

One evening, as we sat by the lake watching the water ripple, I finally said it.

“There is something about you,” I said. “Something you are not telling me.”

She went still. “You are too close to me for this.”

“I need the truth,” I said. “Please.”

She closed her eyes. “If I tell you, you might hate me.”

“I already hated you once,” I said softly. “And it was not real.”

She laughed weakly. “You really are impossible.”

She turned to face me. “I am a siren.”

The word settled into place like a missing piece.

My wolf did not react with fear.

He reacted with understanding.

“That makes sense,” I said quietly.

She stared. “That is it.”

“I wondered why everything felt louder around you,” I said. “Why my wolf responded to you like you were a song.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You are not afraid.”

“I am,” I admitted. “But not of you.”

I reached for her hand, and when she did not pull away, warmth spread through me, clean and real, the last of the fog dissolving.

Whatever spell had once held me was gone now.

And what remained was the truth I could no longer deny.