POV: Kairo
She didn't know what she was doing to me.
Or maybe she did.
Either way, I couldn't stop her. Not from becoming stronger. Not from stepping into the kind of power that made even my beta flinch. And not from tearing down every wall I'd spent years building.
The way she had looked at me earlier — the way her fingers curled into my shirt when she told me to stop holding back — that look still clung to me long after I left her in the tower.
I didn't want to leave her.
But needing space from her and protecting her were two different things, and I wasn't sure which one was driving me anymore.
Vren found me pacing near the northern watchtower. His face was tense, shoulders squared like he was ready to say something I wouldn't like.
"She's drawing attention," he said. "Not just from them."
I knew exactly who "them" meant.
"You've heard the whispers," he added. "The pack elders. The High Council. Even the border patrol. They're asking questions now."
"They've always asked questions," I snapped. "Now they're just being louder about it."
"Because she's not just some girl anymore, Kairo. She's changing. And they think you're letting her."
"I'm not letting her do anything," I growled. "She's not a prisoner."
"She's not your mate either."
That was the blow. The one he knew would hit deep. And it did.
I turned to him slowly.
"Careful."
Vren looked away first. "I'm just telling you what they're saying. If you're going to protect her, you need a plan. Because soon, it won't be whispers. It'll be accusations."
"She's not the threat," I muttered.
"No," he said, "but you are, if you keep choosing her over the pack."
He left after that, giving me space, but the weight of his words stayed. I leaned against the cold stone wall, staring out into the dark trees, thinking about her. Always her.
If they made me choose… would I?
A sound behind me. Barefoot steps. Light, hesitant.
I didn't need to turn.
"You're not supposed to be out here," I said.
Lyra's voice came soft. "And yet, here I am."
She stepped beside me, her presence quiet but impossible to ignore.
"You disappeared again," she said, not accusing me — just stating the truth.
"I didn't trust myself."
"To do what?"
"To be near you."
There was a long pause before she spoke again.
"You think I'm not scared too?" she said. "Of what I'm becoming? Of what you're making me feel?"
I finally turned to her.
Her hair was wild from the wind, her eyes shining from the torchlight. She looked like a dream carved from fire and defiance. And all I wanted was to pull her into my arms and forget the world.
But I couldn't.
"You deserve someone who can love you without hurting you," I said.
"Then stop hurting me and love me anyway."
It wasn't a plea.
It was a challenge.
And just like that, she closed the space between us.
I couldn't resist her this time.
Not when her hands slid up my chest.
Not when her breath ghosted over my mouth.
And when I kissed her, it felt like the first time I'd tasted something real in years. Something alive. Something not born from duty or pain.
Just fire.
But fire always burns.
So when the flames lit up the western sky — another attack, another sign — we pulled apart like reality had punched us in the chest.
Lyra's eyes locked to mine.
"It's never going to let us breathe, is it?"
"No," I said, tightening my grip on her wrist, "but that doesn't mean we stop living."
She nodded, and for a moment, we weren't enemies or weapons or burdens.
We were just two broken people trying to hold on.
And we were doing it together.