Chapter Seventy two

Chapter Seventy two
Lucian pov

“You keep on ruining things every time,” Frost fired through the mind link. His voice cracked like ice splitting. “She was finally a little happy with us, and now you’ve let those stupid thoughts from the witch crawl into your head. How are we supposed to make things right when you keep messing it up?”

A beat of silence, then a low curse. “It’s sad to say this, but at times I hate being part of you.”

His words slammed into me harder than any blow. For a second, I just stood there in the pool, chest tight, water curling around my ribs as if trying to hold me up while my wolf dragged me down. I shut the mind link abruptly, more like slamming a door in his face. I couldn’t deal with his anger, not when Iris was already slipping away from me again.

I turned toward her. She had already thrown her clothes on and was walking toward the exit, her shoulders stiff and lifted, every part of her body telling me she was done. Watching her walk away made my stomach sink painfully. It hit harder than I wanted to admit.

I hated seeing the face she wore now, the one filled with disappointment and distance, replacing the softer one I kept holding on to in my mind, the one I wished I could keep forever.

And what made it worse was knowing I was the reason that look kept showing up.

My stomach twisted. Damn it. I pushed out of the pool fast, water dripping from me in messy trails. My fingers fumbled as I pulled on my clothes, half-dry skin catching on fabric, heart pounding too loud. Every second she walked away felt like something being pulled out of my chest, strand by strand.

By the time I reached the car, she was standing beside the door, arms folded tightly, chin lifted like she needed that angle to keep her emotions from slipping.

“You don’t have to walk out on me like that,” I muttered while my fingers fumbled with the buttons.
Her face twisted in full, raw, unfiltered disappointment. It hit harder than Frost’s yelling. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come fast enough, so I reached instinctively. My hand wrapped around her wrist, and I pulled her closer.

She jerked a little, protesting under her breath, her other hand bracing on my chest.

“Come on, cupcake,” I murmured, lowering my head slightly so my voice brushed her skin. My fingers tightened just enough to keep her close without hurting her. “You know I didn’t mean to spoil this beautiful moment you were having with me.”

She jerked her shoulder in a small, annoyed motion, trying to create space, but my hand stayed anchored around her wrist, guiding her back toward me.
“I have been marked without my permission before,” she said, her voice breaking in a way that made my chest tighten. “And I do not want it repeating again.”

The sadness threading through her words hit me hard. Her gaze dropped for a moment, as if the weight of it was too much to hold up.

“This isn’t how I want to be marked,” she continued. “But you all keep pushing. You won’t let it flow naturally. Why the rush?” She shook her head, eyes shining with frustration. “I told you at your office that this whole development is still new to me, and here you are… doing the exact opposite of what you promised.”

Her words hit again, heavier this time, settling right under my ribs like a weight I couldn’t lift. I felt the sting of every accusation, not because she was wrong, but because she was painfully right.

I loosened my hold without fully letting go. My voice dropped, rough with guilt.
“I know. I know I messed that up. I did not mean to make you feel trapped. I swear I did not.”

Her jaw tightened for a second, a tiny shift she probably didn’t even notice. When she looked at me again, the hurt was still there, tucked behind the steady way she held my gaze. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the pull in my chest that tightened with every beat.
“I am not a prize to claim,” she muttered softly. “Not something you rush to lock down. I need time. I need space to understand all of this. And you promised me that.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the burn of her words.

“I’m sorry, I failed you.”



The drive back was painfully quiet. She sat folded toward the door, her body angled away from me, forehead almost touching the glass. She kept her gaze outside the window the entire time, watching the passing trees with a stillness that made my chest ache. Every so often, her fingers tightened into small fists on her lap, like she was fighting thoughts she didn’t want to feel.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But every word I tried to pull together felt wrong, too loud for the silence between us. So I kept my eyes on the road and let the weight settle in the car, heavy and cold.

When we reached the pack grounds, she unbuckled slowly. She opened the door and stepped out, without even glancing at me. She shut the door gently, almost politely, which somehow felt worse than if she had slammed it. And then she walked off without a single word.

I watched her go, feeling the space between us stretch farther than it ever had. Frost was quiet in the back of my mind, unusually silent, like even he knew this wasn’t the moment to speak.

By the time I parked and got out, my decision was already forming. This could not continue. The pack could not keep whispering, pushing, assuming, making her feel like she was being claimed from all sides. She deserved clarity. She deserved to be protected, not cornered.

I exhaled hard and opened the pack link.

“All ranked wolves and elders, gather in the main hall,” I announced, letting the authority settle into my voice. “We have things to address. No delays.”

The link buzzed with surprise, questions, murmurs. I shut it off before anyone could ask for explanations. I wasn’t in the mood for back-and-forth. They needed to hear the truth, all of it, and I needed them to understand exactly what had been happening behind closed doors.

As I walked toward the hall, irritation mixed with regret, burning through my chest. Too many things had been left unspoken, too many assumptions made about her, about us, about the bond.

It was time to set everything straight. Time to make sure no one ever made Iris feel cornered or pressured again.

Time to stop hiding.