Chapter 30: 30
I didn’t think twice. I trotted after her, my heavy paws silent on the porch steps, following her right into the small garden of her house like a shadow that had finally found its light.
The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the ghost of her perfume—strawberries and rain—a combination that made my wolf’s senses scream with a possessive, aching need.
“I’ll be back in a few seconds... please don’t make any noise, little wolf,” she whispered, her voice a soft command that had more power over me than any Alpha’s roar.
She lingered for a heartbeat, her eyes searching mine, before she turned and disappeared behind the heavy wooden door. I stood there, frozen on her porch, the largest wolf in the northern territories reduced to a silent shadow by a single look.
“Little wolf? Are you kidding me?” my wolf grumbled, though his tail gave a traitorous flick. “If she knew the sheer number of enemies we’ve torn apart with these teeth, she wouldn’t be calling us ‘little’ anything. I should growl just to remind her who’s the king here.”
“Shut up,” I snapped internally. “Just stay still. Don’t ruin this. We’ve spent five years in a hell of our own making. If she wants to call us a puppy, let her.”
While she was inside, I couldn't help myself. The curiosity was a physical itch I couldn't scratch.
I trotted silently to the edge of the window, my massive paws barely making a sound on the dirt. I peered through the glass, my golden eyes adjusting to the dim, warm light of the interior.
The house was modest, smelling of lavender and woodsmoke, but my breath hitched in my lupine throat when I saw them.
Two small boys, Dante and Bruno, were curled up on a rug near the fireplace, fast asleep.
They looked so much like her—the same soft curves to their faces—and yet, there was a familiar set to their jaws, a certain strength in their frames that made my blood run cold with a sudden, terrifying suspicion.
My wolf went silent, a heavy, sinking weight settling in my chest. They’re about five years old, I realized. The exact amount of time since I left her in the dark.
I didn't have time to process the thunderclap of that thought. The door creaked open, and I scrambled back to my spot, sitting tall and trying to look as "innocent" as a six-hundred-pound killing machine could.
Lyra stepped out, carrying a large ceramic bowl. The scent hit me before she even set it down—seasoned chicken and thick cuts of beef. My stomach let out a low, embarrassing rumble that vibrated through my ribs.
“Here you go,” she said, her voice teasing as she set the bowl down on the grass. “A big boy like you must be starving. You look like you haven't had a home-cooked meal in an eternity.”
I didn't wait. I dug in, and the flavor was an absolute explosion. It wasn't just raw meat; it was cooked with care, seasoned with herbs that made my senses sing.
“Damn! Could this girl be any more perfect?” I thought, my tail thumping rhythmically against the ground. “She’s a goddess, she’s a warrior, and she can cook like this? I’m never leaving this garden. I'll stay here until the moon falls from the sky if it means she keeps looking at me like that.”
Lyra didn't go back inside. Instead, she sat down on a weathered garden bench nearby, pulling her knees to her chest.
She watched me eat with a curious, melancholic expression. Normally, when a wolf of my stature approaches a settlement, people scream. They bar the doors and pray to the Moon Goddess. We are imposing, lethal beings, symbols of raw power and often, raw terror. But she didn't look afraid. She looked... lonely.
“You’re such a strange one,” she mused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never seen a wolf like you before. So dark, so big. I don’t know if your human side is listening to me, or if you’re even a shifter at all, but... I’m also a werewolf.”
She paused, her gaze drifting toward the dark tree line, where the shadows of the pines seemed to swallow the light.
“Even though my wolf is useless... I’m basically just a puppy,” she added with a self-deprecating chuckle.
The mockery in her voice was a thin veil for the jagged pain underneath. It cut through me like a silver blade.
I stopped eating immediately, pieces of chicken forgotten, and tilted my head to the side, my golden eyes locked onto hers. I wanted her to know I was listening. I wanted to howl that she was wrong—that she was the most powerful female I’d ever met.
Lyra stood up slowly, her movement graceful but hesitant. She stepped closer to me, the scent of her heat flaring my nostrils. She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from a jagged scar on my shoulder—a souvenir from a skirmish with a rogue pack months ago.
“You’ve been through a lot, haven't you?” she whispered. Her hand finally made contact, and I felt a jolt of electricity move through my fur. “Who hurt you, little wolf?”
I leaned into her touch, my eyes closing. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to shift right there, let my bones snap and reform until I could wrap my human arms around her waist and bury my face in the crook of her neck. My wolf whined, a low, pleading sound.
“You’re so warm,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the line of the scar. “It’s been a long time since I felt something this warm. In this town, everything feels like ice. Everyone is just... waiting for the end.”
She leaned her forehead against mine for a fleeting second. The intimacy was visceral, almost suffocating. My wolf surged, wanting to nuzzle her, to mark her as mine right then and there. But I held back. I was a monster in her eyes, even if she didn't know it was me.
She pulled away with a sigh, sitting back down on the bench.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m talking to a wolf like you can understand me. I must be going crazy. It’s the stress. The new Alpha in town, Silas... he brings back memories I’d rather keep buried under six feet of dirt.”
I winced internally at the mention of my name. She spoke it like it was a curse.