Page 15

LYRA

H e didn’t say goodnight.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t leave.

Instead, Jace leaned in and kissed her like a dam breaking.

Lyra barely had time to register the feel of his mouth on hers—firm, desperate, hungry—before her hands fisted in his shirt and all thought dissolved in a haze of fire and magic.

She gasped against him, and he deepened the kiss, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other gripping her waist like he’d been waiting years for this exact moment.

And maybe he had.

Because whatever this was, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was wild .

Their lips crashed, teeth grazing, breath stolen. Her magic pulsed between them, sparking in little flashes against his chest where her fingers pressed, dancing like embers through her hair.

She didn’t think. Didn’t question. Just felt.

Hot. Needed. Real.

“Jace—” she whispered against his mouth, but he swallowed the sound with another kiss, slower this time. Reverent.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled back.

His chest heaved. Eyes storm-dark. “I shouldn’t have?—”

But Lyra didn’t let him finish.

She surged forward, kissed him again, pulled him down to her by the collar of his shirt.

“You should have,” she said, voice breathy, flushed. “You absolutely should.”

They tumbled through her door, barely making it inside.

The second the door closed behind them, he had her against it, hands framing her face, thumbs stroking her jaw, mouth trailing fire down her neck.

She moaned when he bit gently at her collarbone.

Her sweater hit the floor. His shirt followed.

She marveled at the feel of him, solid and real, built like someone carved out of every growl he never said out loud.

He kissed her like a man losing control.

She answered like a woman who’d been waiting to finally do the same.

Clothes came off in rushed movements, fumbled buttons and breathless laughter, curses muttered when something snagged.

But when he laid her back on the bed, the world stopped.

Jace’s fingers skimmed her ribs like he was memorizing the shape of her.

His lips followed—a slow, deliberate path down her sternum, each kiss a brand.

Lyra’s breath hitched as his teeth grazed the curve of her hip.

This isn’t the man who growled at me over territorial disputes last week , she thought, her nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

The same shoulders that had been rigid with tension when he’d accused her of “hexing the perimeter stones into singing show tunes.” Now they trembled under her touch.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he muttered against her stomach, the vibration rippling through her.

“Says the wolf who howled at me for existing near the eastern ridge.” Her retort dissolved into a gasp as his mouth found the sensitive dip below her navel.

He lifted his head, storm-grey eyes glinting. “You were existing…exceptionally loudly.”

She laughed, a breathless, tangled sound and pulled him up to crush his mouth to hers.

The taste of him flooded her senses: pine resin and midnight air, the faintest hint of bourbon from the flask she’d seen him nursing earlier.

His hands slid under her back, pressing her into the mattress as if he could fuse their shadows together.

As Jace's storm-grey gaze locked onto hers, Lyra felt the raw intensity of his desire.

It was a stark contrast to the stoic alpha who had once scowled at her magical mishaps, and her heart raced in anticipation.

With a swift, almost feral movement, he moved over her, the muscles in his shoulders flexing.

The air between them was electric, charged with the promise of what was to come.

When he entered her, it was anything but gentle.

It was a primal claiming, a fierce melding of bodies that sent a shockwave of sensation coursing through her.

Her back arched off the sheets, her auburn curls splayed across the pillow as her magic, ever attuned to her emotions, surged forth in response to the overwhelming connection.

Prismatic bursts of light danced across the room, reflecting off the enchanted rings that adorned her fingers.

The lamp on the nightstand, a mundane object caught in the whirlwind of their passion, reacted to the magical chaos by sprouting a cluster of daisies from its base.

The flowers glowed with an ethereal light, casting a soft illumination over the scene, a testament to the power they unleashed together.

Jace's every thrust was a testament to his need for her—unrelenting, consuming, and utterly without restraint.

The scent of pine and campfire that always clung to him filled the room, mingling with the sweet fragrance of the daisies and the undeniable musk of their lovemaking.

Lyra's breath came in short, sharp gasps, each one a silent plea for more.

Her nails dug in as she held on, lost in the tempest of their union.

The bond between them crackled and sparked, a living thing that wove their fates together with every shared heartbeat. In that moment, there was no pack alpha, no chaos witch, just Jace and Lyra, joined in a connection that transcended the boundaries of their respective natures.

As they moved together, the room became a canvas for Lyra's chaotic magic, painting the walls with swirls of color and light. The air shimmered with the remnants of their passion, a tangible reminder of the barriers they had broken.

“Lyra—” His voice frayed as she clenched around him, her legs locking at the small of his back.

“Don’t you dare stop.” She raked her fingers through his hair, silver sparks trailing from her rings. A bookshelf across the room began levitating.

He groaned, hips snapping forward. “Your…damn chaos…”

“Our chaos,” she corrected, biting his earlobe.

The bond between them crackled—wolf and witch, order and entropy—as their rhythms spiraled.

She hadn’t expected this rawness, this absence of walls.

Not from the alpha who’d once snarled that her “enchanted dandelions” were undermining pack security.

Yet here he was, unraveling her with every thrust, his control splintering like old ice.

And to feed the need they both had been denying had to be fed more than once that night.

Later, much later, Lyra lay tangled in the sheets, chest rising and falling, skin flushed and glowing.

Jace lay beside her, one arm slung across his eyes, jaw tight.

She turned toward him, still breathless. “Hey.”

He didn’t move.

Her smile faded. “Jace?”

Still nothing.

The warmth of their moment twisted into a knot in her stomach.

He sat up. He scrubbed a hand over his face, tension rolling off him in waves.

“Don’t,” she said softly.

“I need to go,” he muttered, already reaching for his clothes.

Lyra sat up, sheet clutched to her chest. “Go? Now? After?—?”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, voice rough.

Anger flared through her, but hurt came first. “Wow. Okay. That’s… good to know.”

He looked at her, and there was guilt in his eyes.

And something else.

Fear.

She swallowed hard. “Was this just some alpha thing? You needed to scratch an itch so you claimed the nearest witch who’d let you?”

“Don’t,” he rasped, eyes flashing.

“Then what was it?” she asked, voice trembling. “Because it felt like more. Like something that’s been building since the day we met.”

He stared at her. Silent. Haunted.

“I’m sorry,” he said before he just… left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lyra sat there, alone, still tasting him on her lips.

Still aching, wondering what in the hell just happened. But then again how could she had expected anything different?