The bond screams.
Not with fire, not with heat, not yet—but with hunger.
Caelan feels it in the absence. Every second without Lyra is a knife, sharpened, twisting under his ribs. The council's spell does not erase the connection—it starves it, and the wolf beneath his skin hates it.
He cannot sleep. He cannot think. His body remembers what his mind has been denied, twitching and straining against the cage of restraint.
Lyra moves through the fortress deliberately, unaware that every corridor she walks is mapped in his senses. Every shift of her weight, every breath, is a silent torment. He can feel the faint pulse of her heartbeat, dulled by the council's spell, and it drives him mad.
She is mine, he thinks.
I can't touch her. I can't claim her. I can't even… see her fully.
Lyra senses him before she sees him. The bond throbs weakly, like a tether stretched to breaking.
"You're staring," she says, voice light but edged with warning, when she turns a corner and finds him leaning against the stone wall, eyes dark, jaw tight.
"I'm not," he snaps, but the truth is in his wolf: he is.
She steps closer, testing him. Slowly, deliberately. Every step is measured—she knows how close she can get before he loses control.
"You're… starved," she observes, her voice low. "And not just for food."
Caelan's hands twitch involuntarily, brushing against the wall as if to anchor himself. His wolf snarls, coiling around him like a living thing. "Do not speak," he growls.
Her pulse jumps—he feels it, and it makes the wolf roar beneath his skin. The suppressed bond pulses again, sending heat where he cannot act, desire where he cannot claim.
Lyra tilts her head, letting the faintest smile play at her lips. "You're afraid," she says softly, "of yourself."
"Yes," he admits hoarsely. "Afraid of what I might do… if this—" He gestures vaguely toward the bond, toward her—"were allowed."
She takes another step. He flinches as if touched, though she's not close enough.
"Then why don't you run?" she whispers.
"Because I won't leave you," he says, voice raw. "Not now. Not ever."
The bond pulses violently—a warning, a scream, a promise. His wolf presses closer to the surface, and Caelan knows one wrong move could snap the restraint entirely.
Lyra's eyes flicker with both fear and something darker—curiosity. Desire. She knows what he wants. He knows she knows.
Without warning, she reaches forward—fingers hovering just above his chest, almost brushing his skin.
The reaction is instant. His fangs extend, pupils dilate, claws scrape the stone. The air between them crackles with unspent power and restrained violence.
"Do not," he rasps, every muscle trembling.
Her lips curve faintly. "I know," she says. "But you want to. I can feel it."
And that is enough. Enough to ignite the wolf, enough to make his entire body strain with the need to close the distance, claim her, and destroy himself in the process.
Caelan staggers back, turning away before his restraint shatters. The wolf snarls in frustration, howling low, unsated.
Lyra watches him retreat, breathing unevenly, pulse racing. She smiles faintly—part satisfaction, part caution. The game has begun, and she knows she can push the Alpha, starve him, and learn exactly how much control he can bear before the next near-claim.
Because next time, he might not step back.
And neither of them will be prepared.