Chapter 63

Chapter 63
Lyla’s POV

The rain hadn’t stopped for hours.
It drummed softly against the roof of the infirmary, a quiet rhythm that almost drowned out the chaos earlier that night. 

I sat at Rowan’s bedside again, the dim lantern-light painting the room in warm gold and deep shadows. He slept lightly, breath steady, the rise and fall of his chest grounding me more than anything else.

It still felt unreal.

I swallowed hard, staring at my palms. They looked normal now; ordinary hands, pale and small, the hands of a baker. But I could still feel the heat that had surged through me. The power that didn’t belong to someone like me.

The healer’s herbs filled the room with a sharp, earthy scent. I tucked the blanket closer to Rowan’s chest. His hair fell across his forehead in soft dark strands, and for a moment my fingers hovered there, wanting to brush them away.

But I didn’t.

Touching him felt dangerous now, for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

I forced myself to sit back and breathe.

Behind me, the door opened quietly. Elder Harun stepped inside, his long cloak dripping from the rain. His sharp, silver eyes swept over Rowan, then landed on me.

“You’re still here,” he said softly.

“Yes,” I whispered. “He needs someone with him.”

Harun studied me for a long moment, thoughtful. “What you did out there… what you showed tonight… it changes everything.”

I stiffened. “I didn’t mean to show anything.”

“When power as old as yours awakens, intention is irrelevant.”

He stepped closer. “Do you know what you are, child?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “I don’t.”

He hummed softly, a sound between curiosity and awe. “There are stories, whispered for generations. Of a bloodline older than any pack. A True Alpha born not through status, but through destiny. Chosen. Rare. Nearly impossible.”

My heart hammered painfully. “I can’t..."

“Lyla,” he said gently, “the light that came from you tonight was not illusion. It was not chance. You healed an Alpha’s fatal wound with nothing but will. That is not a gift given to ordinary wolves.”

I shivered.
I didn’t want to be special.
I only wanted Maya back. I wanted peace. I wanted… him safe.

Before Harun could say more, Rowan stirred in his sleep. His breath hitched, a faint groan escaping his throat. I was at his side instantly.

Harun watched the movement closely. “Your bond is waking,” he murmured.

I froze. “Bond?”

He nodded once. “Whether either of you are ready or not.”

Heat pooled beneath my skin, spreading through my chest in a slow, unnerving shiver.
“What do you mean?”

“You will feel it,” Harun said, stepping back toward the door. “Both of you.”

The healer arrived then, and Harun slipped away as quietly as he’d entered.

I looked back at Rowan and instantly regretted it.

His eyes were open.

Drowsy. Unfocused. But open.

“Lyla,” he whispered.

I leaned down, unable to help myself. “I’m here.”

He blinked slowly, gaze drifting to my face as though trying to memorize every line. “You’re safe… right?”

My breath caught. “Yes. Are you hurting?”

“No.”
His fingers twitched weakly toward me.
“Come… closer.”

I hesitated only a moment before leaning in, letting him rest his forehead gently against my shoulder.

His breath warmed my neck.

“You shouldn’t have been alone,” he murmured.

Neither should you, I wanted to say. Instead, my throat tightened.

“I’m here now,” I whispered.

He exhaled, slow and shaky, like he’d been waiting to hear those words.

Then he drifted back into sleep, leaving me with a heart that wouldn’t stop racing.



The medical wing felt too quiet after everything that had happened. Too still. Too fragile. Every sound echoed, the soft clatter of bowls, the shuffling of healers, the low murmurs in neighboring rooms as injured warriors fought sleep.

I stood by the window, watching rain trickle down the glass in thin, trembling lines. My heart thudded painfully, not from exhaustion but from the weight of Rowan’s question.

“Tell me what you’re hiding.”

I hadn’t given him an answer.
Not because I didn’t trust him…
But because I didn’t trust the moment.

Everything felt like glass. One wrong word and it might shatter.

Behind me, Rowan exhaled quietly. Even weak, he had a commanding presence, the kind that filled a room. The kind that made your body respond even when your mind said you shouldn’t. I felt him watching me, his gaze heavy, heated, curious… and something else I couldn’t name yet.

“Lyla,” he said finally.

I didn’t turn. “You should rest.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

The firmness in his voice sent a ripple through me. I gripped the window frame harder, swallowing.

“You’ve been keeping something from me,” he continued. “Not for hours. For days.”

I shut my eyes.

He wasn’t wrong.
But telling him the truth meant dragging the poison back into the open; Damon’s betrayal, Dalia’s plot, the eavesdropped conversation in the hallway. It meant reopening the wound of my own guilt, my own stupidity, my own helplessness.

I wasn’t ready.

“You don’t have to say it all at once,” Rowan said softly. “Just… look at me.”

His voice gentled at the end, enough to make my rigid shoulders slowly loosen. Slowly, I turned. Rowan sat against the pillows, bare-chested, the bandage on his ribs now replaced with clean gauze. He looked exhausted — but alive. And that alone sent a wave of emotion through me so strong it almost hurt.

His eyes met mine, gold ringed with storm clouds.

“Come here,” he murmured.

I hesitated again not because of fear. Because the pull between us was stronger than ever. I walked toward him slowly, each step echoing in my chest until I stood at the edge of his bed.

Rowan’s hand lifted, fingers brushing the inside of my wrist. A soft, intimate touch that sent heat crawling up my spine.

“You don’t have to talk about Damon right now,” he said quietly.

My breath caught. “How did you..."

“I see everything.” His thumb stroked lightly. “Even when I pretend not to.”

The truth of that cut deeper than anything else. He wasn’t accusing me. He wasn’t angry. He was simply… seeing me. Seeing through me.

The rawness of that made my voice break. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Then tell me when you can.” He tugged my wrist gently, coaxing me closer. “Just don’t shut me out.”

I swallowed. The sincerity in his voice melted whatever resistance I had left. I nodded slowly.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Rowan exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours. His gaze dropped to my hand, still trembling slightly in his.

“You saved me,” he murmured, lifting my hand to his lips. His breath brushed my skin; warm, soft, sending sparks through my entire body. “You healed me. And you don’t even flinch when I say it.”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“And the truth terrifies you.”

I froze.
He wasn’t wrong.

“There’s power in you,” Rowan whispered. “Ancient. Beautiful. Dangerous. And you act like it’s a crime.”

My throat tightened. “Because it feels like one.”

He frowned at that, a small, devastating crease between his brows. He sat straighter, ignoring the pain.

“Lyla,” he said, voice a soft command, “whatever you are… whatever fate made you… it is not a crime.”

A breath shuddered out of me. His words hit somewhere deep, a place I didn’t even know needed healing.

Before I could reply, footsteps echoed in the hall,  loud and fast. Rowan stiffened. Instinctively, I stepped closer to him.

A warrior burst into the doorway. “Alpha! Another message from the northern border!”

Rowan tensed, jaw tightening. “Give me a moment.”

The guard hesitated, bowed, and disappeared.

Rowan turned back to me and for a moment, his expression softened in a way that made my heartbeat stumble dangerously.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly.

I nodded. “I know.”

The tension between us thickened; warm, electric, dangerous as if the very air waited for us to take one more step closer to the line we kept almost crossing.

“Stay with me tonight,” Rowan said suddenly.

My breath hitched. “Rowan..."

“Not for protection.” His voice dropped, rough and honest. “For peace.”

My chest tightened. “Rowan, I..."

The door cracked open. “Alpha…?”

Rowan exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Go.”

The guard fled.

Rowan looked back at me with a gentleness that made my knees weak.

“We’ll finish this talk,” he murmured. “I swear it.”

I swallowed again, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He watched me for a moment that felt like a year, then his gaze drifted to my lips.

I didn’t realize I was shaking until he brushed his thumb along my jaw, subtle but grounding.

“Later,” he said softly, voice raspy. “When the world stops burning.”

I nodded again, slower this time.

For the first time since the coup, I felt like I could breathe.



The storm had finally broken, leaving the world washed in silver. The scent of wet pine, rain-soaked earth, and cold night wind drifted through the shattered windows of the eastern hall. Warriors rushed past me, some wounded, some carrying injured packmates, the remnants of Damon’s coup scattered like ash across the compound.

But all I saw was Rowan.

He stood a few feet ahead of me, broad-shouldered, blood-spattered, breathing hard but alive. More alive than I had ever seen him. Moonlight traced the sharp lines of his jaw, the fierce fire still burning in his eyes. When he turned, those eyes locked on mine, and everything inside me tightened.

He began walking toward me slowly, each step measured, almost hesitant, like he was approaching something sacred. I swallowed hard, my pulse tripping over itself as heat crawled up my throat.

“Lyla,” he said, low and rough.

Just my name.
But I felt it everywhere.

I stepped closer without meaning to. My hand still tingled from where I had healed him during the fight, glowing gold, a power I barely understood, a part of myself I had hidden for as long as I could remember.

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. His voice softened.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” I whispered.

“Keep saving me.”
His eyes flicked to my lips for a split second.
“Risked yourself.”

“It wasn’t a risk,” I said. “It was you.”

His jaw clenched. “That makes it worse.”

The corridor was empty now, everyone had rushed to secure the borders or drag traitors to the cells. The only light came from the moon filtering through the broken windows, catching gently on Rowan’s dark hair and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin.

His fingers brushed my arm first, so lightly I barely felt it. A shiver rolled down my spine.

“Lyla…” His voice was too soft for the Alpha everyone feared. Too raw. “You’re shaking.”

No, I wanted to say. You’re the one shaking me.

But the words stuck.

He lifted his hand to my cheek, palm warm against my skin. My breath hitched. His thumb brushed a stray tear I didn’t know had fallen.

“You scared me,” he murmured.
“Tonight… you terrified me.”

I pressed my hand against his chest without thinking. His heartbeat thundered beneath my palm fast, strong, wild.

“I’m right here,” I whispered. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into my touch, like he’d been waiting for it longer than either of us realized.

When he opened them again, they were different. Softer. Burning.

He took my other hand and guided it to his waist, pulling me closer. My breath caught at the sudden heat between us, the way our bodies fit like we had been made to stand exactly like this.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.

Instead, I whispered, “Don’t.”

That was all it took.

His mouth found mine with a hunger he’d been holding back for far too long. His hand slid into my hair, gripping gently but firmly as he tilted my head and deepened the kiss. I gasped softly against him, and he breathed into that kiss like it was the first real breath he’d had in years.

Warm.
Fierce.
Desperate.

My fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer as heat unfurled through my stomach. His other arm wrapped around my waist, anchoring me against him, lifting me just slightly off my feet as the kiss grew deeper, slower, beautifully intense.

His breath mingled with mine. 

The world fell away.
The hall. The storm. The bruises. The blood.
Gone.

There was only Rowan.

He kissed me again and again soft at first, then fierce, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth, tasting every unspoken thing between us. His nose brushed mine. His lips trailed to my cheek, then returned to my mouth with a trembling exhale that set my skin on fire.

My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

When he finally broke the kiss, our foreheads rested together, breaths tangled, chests rising and falling in the same rhythm. His hand remained on the back of my neck, thumb stroking slowly, reverently.

“Lyla,” he murmured, voice shaky, “if you walk away from me now… I won’t survive it.”

I cupped his face gently.
“I’m not walking away.”

His eyes closed as if the words physically struck him.

The bond between us, whatever it was moved  like a living thing, threading through my ribs, my spine, my pulse. It felt ancient. Right. Inevitable.

He opened his eyes again.

And for the first time, I saw no distance.
No denial.
Just truth.

“I—” he began.

But footsteps thundered down the hall, cutting him off. The moment shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of the coup’s aftermath.

Rowan pulled back reluctantly, his hand lingering against my waist.

“We’ll finish this,” he promised, voice still rough.
“I swear to the Goddess—we’ll finish this.”

My heart twisted in my chest.

Because I wanted him to.