Chapter 24 She Said Stay
Bram
A flash of crimson catches my eye, bright against the pale fabric stretched over Lyra’s ribs. “Lyra,” I say. “You’re bleeding through your top.”
She stiffens but doesn’t look at me. “It’s nothing,” she snaps. Then, almost reluctantly, she slips behind the partition.
After a moment, she says, “I’m fine. Just needed a bandage.”
I’m not convinced. My instincts scream at me to help, to make sure she’s okay, even if she won’t let me.
She reappears, looking too pale, and the way she cradles her side tells me she’s in pain, no matter how carefully she tries to keep it hidden. Even wounded, there’s a fierceness in her. She’s wild, brave and unflinching, like she’s already decided not to let anything take her down. She shouldn’t be the one caring for me, but here she is, stubborn as always.
“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Jorin says. “Better make sure no one else has slipped through.”
I nod once. “Good idea, but be careful.”
He shoots me a look. Not the usual teasing smirk, but something more suspicious or protective maybe.
“You definitely should get back to the Alpha before you get caught,” he says over his shoulder. Then he’s gone, the door thudding shut behind him, and it’s just the two of us.
“He’s right. I do need to go,” I say, instantly regretting my words.
Lyra lifts her gaze to me, guarded. “You just got here.”
“I know.” I take a breath. “But I need to check in with Alpha Kaelen. If someone sees me out here, especially with you, without having reported in…”
“You’ll be punished,” she says.
I nod. “We both know he’s not the forgiving type.”
“I don’t care about your Alpha.” Her voice is sharp. “You’re better off here with us than back in that Goddess forsaken hellhole anyway.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands planted on either side to keep myself still. Every part of me wants to close the distance between us, but I don’t trust what might happen if I do.
I can smell her, not the blood or the fire, but her. My chest tightens, and there’s this magnetic force between us I can’t explain. I’ve stood beside hundreds of warriors. Fought beside them, bled beside them, but my loyalty to Lyra is incomparable.
“I’ll come back,” I promise her. “I swear it.”
“You’d better.”
I stand too quickly, nearly falling backward, and she watches me carefully.
"But what if you didn’t go back? Ever again, at all?" ahe asks.
I glance at her, still catching my breath from earlier, my lungs are tight, but the pain is manageable. "What do you mean?"
She steps closer, her eyes moving to the window, where the trees shift gently in the wind. “There are abandoned homes nearu in what used to be Song Pack territory. No one lives there anymore, and most of the buildings are crumbling, but not all of them. Some are still intact.”
I furrow my brow. “And?”
“And maybe instead of you retitnung to Kaelen right now, we set up camp there for a few nights. You’ll still be close enough to report back if needed, but you won’t risk being seen with me.”
I hesitate. “Lyra…”
“You wouldn’t be hiding,” she presses, her voice stern. “You’d be just close enough to go back if needed. You could claim you were injured and struggling for a few days. We’ll be far enough away that you won’t get caught traveling with an outcast.”
I exhale slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. She’s not wrong, and something within me deeper than reason wants to stay close to her. I’ve been trying to ignore the pull, but it’s not fading.
“It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea,” I admit. “You’d be safer there, too. Less exposed if they come looking.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Exactly.”
“You have a satchel?”
She walks to the corner, picks up a bag, and opens it. The bag is already packed with supplies, clothes, food, and water. “Always,” she says, tying it back up.
“I’ll go with you, but only for a few days. Then I’ll have to report back to the Alpha,” I say frankly. “I don’t want to lose my rank or risk becoming ostracized, too. My parents are back home, Lyra.”
She nods. “Just a few days,” she says, excitedly, while reaching into a drawer. She takes out a pencil and paper. “I better leave Jorin a note.”
I step behind the partition, pull off my borrowed clothes, and put them inside the satchel. The shift rips through me, bones grinding, fur rising, and when I stand on four legs, I shake out the tension in my shoulders and ignore the dull burn still lingering in my lungs. Lyra fastens the pack to my back, moves behind the partition to strip, and shifts too, her fur sleek silver.
She bumps her shoulder against mine, starts to run, and I follow. Not back toward the packs that cast her out, but forward. Toward whatever comes next.
We run for miles, weaving through trees that grow denser the closer we get to the abandoned stretch between neutral ground and Song Pack land. I follow Lyra’s lead, watching the flick of her tail ahead of me. The earth cools beneath our paws as the sun dips low.
By the time we slow, the air smells older, like decaying bricks and moss, a place the world stopped caring about. That must mean we’re close.
Lyra dodges a sagging fence post and leads me toward what once might’ve been a road. Cracked stone peeks through the overgrowth. The remnants of a settlement appear just ahead, haunting shapes rising through the twilight. Some are little more than sun-scorched beams, but one of the homes, tucked beneath a stand of pines, still has walls and a roof. A front door hanging crooked but whole. She stops in front of it and looks back at me.
I shrug out of the satchel, and she carries it in her mouth. She goes inside the house to shift and dress then tosses the bag with my borrowed clothes out the door.
The shift is fast and jarring. My knees hit dirt, skin slick with sweat, breath quick in my throat. I quickly pull on some of Jorin’s clothes.
“I’m decent!” I shout, and Lyra steps outside. “I thought it might be worse,” I admit.
She snorts. “You haven’t seen the inside.”
I follow her up the half-rotted steps, the boards creaking under our weight. Inside, the place smells like dust and mildew. There’s a stone hearth, a broken table, and two intact chairs shoved into a corner.
“It’s not bad,” I say, walking a slow circle around the room.
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s a dump.”
“But it’s our dump now, right?”
A smile curls at the edge of her mouth. “That’s the spirit.”
We get to work. She finds a stash of dry wood under the eaves, and I clear out the fireplace, stacking kindling while she lights it. The fire sputters to life, throwing warmth and shadow against the walls. We eat a small dinner of dried meat, apples, and drink water from Lyra’s canteen.
Later, when the fire burns low, and our bodies settle into silence, I stretch out beside her on the floor.
“You really staying?” she asks so softly, her voice is almost lost in the crackle of the flames.
“For now,” I say. “This isn't the worst place I’ve ever been lost.”
I catch a slight wince she tries to mask as she readjusts, trying to get comfortable. Lyra’s good at hiding it, but I’m better at noticing the small things. “May I?” I ask quietly, nodding toward her side where I know the wound must still ache.
Her eyes lift to mine, surprise turning into something like relief. She nods, almost imperceptibly, and there’s a vulnerable strength in the way she trusts me, even in the smallest moments. She looks stunning tonight, even like this, raw and real, and it hits me hard, how much she means to me.
As I reach out to gently check her bandage, a thought stirs in the back of my mind, impossible to ignore. Maybe this isn’t just loyalty or friendship. Maybe the Moon Goddess had a hand in this, choosing Lyra for me long ago. My heart leaps, caught between hope and uncertainty, but one thing feels clear–whatever this is, it’s bigger than either of us.