The warmth of their shared bed had already begun to cool, the lingering scent of their passion now tainted by the acrid smell of suspicion. Kael's large, warm hand, which had moments ago been possessively splayed across her bare stomach, was gone. In its place was the cold, hard reality of his voice as he spoke into the datapad.
Lyra lay perfectly still, feigning sleep, every word from Finn's grim report searing into her mind. They worked her over. A message. The words were ice water in her veins. She had given them that location. She had tried to help, and it had led to a pack member being brutally tortured.
The call ended. The silence that descended was heavier than the finest silk sheets, thick enough to suffocate. She could feel Kael's gaze on her, a physical weight, probing, dissecting. She slowly opened her eyes, meeting his stormy stare. The raw, unguarded intensity she had seen there during their lovemaking was gone, replaced by the impenetrable gray of a winter sky before a blizzard.
"You gave them that location," he stated. His voice was flat, devoid of the rough, possessive warmth that had whispered praises against her skin just hours before.
Pushing herself up, she clutched the sheet to her chest, the soft fabric a poor shield against his cold accusation. The memory of his mouth on her breasts, his hands mapping the curve of her hips, made the present moment feel like a cruel joke. "Yes," she admitted, her voice husky. "It was a place Silas used for interrogations. I thought it was our best chance."
"You thought," he echoed, the words dripping with disdain. He rose from the bed in one fluid, powerful motion, his naked body a sculpture of lethal grace in the dim light. He didn't look at her as he pulled on his trousers, the muscles of his back and shoulders coiled tight. "You fed my Beta intelligence that led his team into a trap. A healer, a young woman under my protection, was carved up and left as a message because of the information you provided."
He turned, fully dressed now, the Alpha armor securely back in place. The man who had shuddered his release inside her, who had held her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse their souls, had vanished. "Give me one reason why I should not have you chained in the dungeons this very moment."
Fear was a live wire in her stomach, but it was quickly being overpowered by a surge of hot, righteous anger. How could he so easily dismiss everything that had passed between them? "I was trying to help you! If they were gone, it means someone warned them. Someone in your inner circle, Kael. The threat isn't me—it's standing right beside you at your war table!"
He closed the distance between them in two swift strides, his presence overwhelming. The scent of him—frost, pine, and her—was a painful reminder of their intimacy. "A very clever deflection. The spy points her finger at shadows." His eyes, cold and assessing, raked over her. "Did you manage to send a signal? A flick of your wrist during the gathering? A whispered word to a servant? Did you play the wounded, jealous mate to buy yourself a moment of privacy to betray me?"
"No!" The denial was torn from her. She stood up, letting the sheet fall, standing naked before him in a gesture of defiance. Her body, still humming from his touch, felt like a lie. "I was with you the entire night! Or do you think my… my responses… were all a performance?" The flush on her cheeks was from more than anger; it was the humiliation of having their most intimate moments questioned.
"Were they?" he shot back, a cruel, mocking smile twisting his lips. He reached out, not to touch her face, but to run a single finger along the sensitive skin of her collarbone, a touch that was now clinical, investigative. "Is this what you do, Lyra? Does Silas train his spies to moan so convincingly? To arch their backs and beg so prettily? To make a man feel like he is the only star in your sky, all while you plot his downfall?"
Each word was a lash, designed to flay her open. He was reducing the earth-shattering connection they had shared to a sordid trick, a tactic from a spy's handbook. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound.
"You know it was real," she whispered, her voice breaking, the hurt finally eclipsing the anger.
"I KNOW NOTHING!" he roared, his control shattering. He turned and drove his fist into the stone wall beside them. The impact was thunderous, a spray of stone dust filling the air, the wall now marred by a web of cracks. The raw, violent power of it made her flinch. He spun back to her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. "I know that a woman I should have executed is wearing my mark and sleeping in my bed, and in doing so, has brought a knife to the throat of my pack!" He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin. "I know that the one thing in this world the moon itself decreed is mine feels like a blade poised over my heart!"
The bond between them was a tortured scream, vibrating with his fury and her own devastating sense of injustice. She could feel the conflict in him, the war between the Alpha who saw a threat and the man who had, for a few fleeting hours, found solace in her arms.
"Then let me go," she challenged, her own voice trembling with a potent mix of pain and fury. "If I'm such a danger, take this collar off and let me disappear. You have my brother. The deal is done."
A guttural, inhuman sound ripped from his throat. "No." The word was a vow, a curse. "You do not get to walk away. You do not get to leave me." His hand snapped out, gripping her bare upper arm, his fingers pressing into her flesh with bruising force. "You stood before my pack and pledged your loyalty. You will now prove it."
"How?" she demanded, trying to yank her arm back. His grip was unbreakable.
"You will find the traitor," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly, intimate whisper. "You, the expert in deception, will use every skill Silas taught you and you will find the snake in my den. You will do this under Ronan's watch. Every step you take, every word you speak, he will report to me."
The command was a masterpiece of psychological torture. He was forcing the accused to become the investigator, using her own past as a weapon against her. And by involving Ronan, he was poisoning the one semi-friendly relationship she had, turning it into a prison of surveillance.
"You don't trust me, but you'll set me loose in your pack to investigate?" The absurdity of it was staggering.
"I am utilizing an asset," he corrected, his tone frigid and professional. He finally released her arm, his gaze sweeping over her naked form one last time, not with desire, but with cold appraisal. "Consider this your final test. Succeed, and you will have earned the title of Luna. Fail…" He didn't need to finish. The unspoken consequence was more terrifying than any explicit threat. He turned and walked out of the bedroom, the door closing behind him with a soft, definitive click.
Lyra stood there, alone and shivering in the middle of the lavish room. The ghost of his touch was everywhere—on her skin, in the ache between her thighs, in the shattered pieces of the fragile trust they had begun to build. She dressed mechanically in the simple, dark clothes Elara had provided—the uniform of an investigator, not a consort. As she fastened the trousers, her fingers brushed the tender skin on her hip where his stubble had rubbed her raw during their frantic coupling. The memory was a physical pain.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. The silver collar gleamed, a beautiful, unbreakable chain. His words from the night before echoed in her mind. You are the weapon. And a weapon has no will of its own.
But as she stared at the woman in the glass—her eyes blazing with a mix of fury, hurt, and a stubborn, unyielding fire—a new resolve crystallized within her.
She would find the traitor. Not for him. Not for his approval or a place at his side.
She would do it for herself. To prove her own worth. To cleanse her own name.
And to show Kael Draven that the weapon he so carelessly wielded had a will of its own—a will that was sharp, cunning, and dangerously close to turning its edge against the hand that held it.
The door chime sounded, piercing the silence. Ronan was here.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Lyra turned from her reflection, her face settling into a mask of cool determination. The game had changed. The stakes were her life, her freedom, and the shattered remains of her heart.
And she was done being a pawn in anyone's game.