Chapter 132 Doubting Herself
Lira pov
"I gave them lies," I said. "Pretty words about freedom and sacrifice. But the truth is, I have no idea if we can win."
"No one does." He pulled me close. "That's what faith means. Believing anyway, fighting and hoping."
"I'm tired of faith," I admitted. "Tired of hoping, tired of not knowing if tomorrow brings victory or death."
"Then rest," he said gently, guiding me toward our chambers. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow we will fight again. But tonight, we just survived."
Inside our room, the firelight cast dancing shadows across the walls. Kael closed the door softly behind us, sealing away the weight of leadership, the demands of the pack, the suffocating responsibility.
He turned to me, and something in his storm-gray eyes made my chest tighten. The first sob broke free before I could stop it."Come here," he whispered, reaching for me.
I went to him, and the dam broke completely. Twenty years of learned silence, months of forcing strength, days of swallowing grief—all of it poured out in wracking sobs against his chest.
"Let it out," he murmured, his large hands cradling my head, stroking my hair. "Just let it all out, Lira. I've got you."
"I miss him," I choked out between sobs. "I miss Darion. He was—he really helped me, when everyone else saw the cursed girl, the broken thing in the cellar, he saw the good in me”
Kael's arms tightened around me. Just solid, steady comfort. "I know," he said softly. "I know, love."
"He didn't have to die," I continued, the words spilling out with my tears. "He could've stayed neutral. Could've let me fight alone. But he stood with me anyway and now he's gone, and I can't—I can't"
"Breathe," Kael whispered. "Just breathe with me."
He guided me to the bed, sitting and pulling me into his lap, cradling me like something precious. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, an anchor in the storm.
Slowly, my sobs quieted to shaky breaths. Kael's hands never stopped moving—stroking my hair, tracing gentle circles on my back, grounding me in his touch."Better?" he asked quietly.
I nodded against his chest, then tilted my face up to his.
What I saw there stole my remaining breath.
"I need you," I whispered. "Need to feel something other than grief. Need to remember what we're fighting for."
His eyes darkened, but his touch remained gentle as he cupped my face. "Are you sure?"
His eyes became darker, but his touch stayed soft. He cupped my face with both hands. “Are you sure?”
“Please,” I said.
He leaned in and kissed me. The kiss was slow and gentle. Like he was afraid I might break. I melted into him and let his warmth fill all the broken places inside me.
His fingers moved carefully as he lifted my robe. He took it off slowly. Every time a new scar showed—burns on my wrists, old cuts from, marks from years of cruelty—he stopped as he kissed each one. Soft lips against damaged skin.
“Beautiful,” he whispered against the lines on my wrists. “So beautiful.”
He kissed my collarbone next, then the small hollow at the base of my throat. Then lower, between my breasts. Each kiss felt like a promise.
When my robe was gone, he laid me back on the bed. The sheets were cool against my skin. He stayed above me, looking at my face the whole time. He took off his own clothes. His chest was wide and scarred too. I reached up and touched the rough lines on his skin. He closed his eyes for a second, like my touch hurt and healed him at the same time.
He came back down to me. His body covered mine, but not heavy. He kissed me again—long, deep kisses as our tongues touched slowly.
His hand slid down my side, very slowly. Fingers brushing my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip. He hooked his fingers in my pants and pulled them down little by little. He kissed every new piece of skin he uncovered—my stomach, the inside of my hip, the soft skin of my thigh.
When I was bare under him, he looked at me again, his eyes soft. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Always.”
He settled between my legs. His body pressed close, but he didn’t push inside yet. Instead he kissed my neck. My jaw. My lips. His hand moved between us. Gentle fingers found me, stroked softly, made sure I was ready.
I gasped quietly as my fingers held his shoulders.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered.
I shook my head. “Don’t stop.”
He lined himself up. The thick head of him rested against me. He pushed in so slowly. Just the tip first as he watched my face the whole time. When my eyes fluttered, he paused. “Okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Please… more.”
He slid in deeper. Inch by inch. Filling me so carefully. When he was all the way inside, he stopped moving. He just stayed there, joined with me, forehead against mine as we breathed together.
Then he started to move. Slow so slow. Long, gentle strokes. In… and out… like waves on a quiet shore. Each time he pushed in, he pressed a soft kiss to my lips, my cheek, my temple. Each time he pulled back, his hand stroked my hair or my side.
Tears came again. Not from sadness this time, from feeling seen, from feeling loved. He kissed the tears away. “Let it out,” he whispered again. “I’m here, you are safe.”
He kept the same slow rhythm as his hips rolled gently. The friction built slowly, warmly as pleasure grew like a soft fire.
One of his hands found mine as our fingers locked together beside my head. while the other rested on my belly—on the place where our baby was growing. “You’re so strong,” he murmured against my ear. “So beautiful, I love you.”
His words sank into me. His body moved with mine. We rocked together. Slowly.
When the warm wave finally came, I trembled under him, soft cries leaving my lips as Kael groaned low in his throat. His rhythm stayed slow even as he came inside me. His forehead pressed to mine as he whispered my name.
Afterwards, he didn’t pull away. He stayed inside me, his arms wrapped around me as his hand rested protectively on my stomach.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?” His fingers drew lazy circles on my skin.
“For seeing me for who I am.”
He kissed my forehead.“Always, love. Always.”