Page 38

LYRA

L yra felt it before she saw it.

Like the earth itself cracked. Like her heart stopped beating.

The moment Jace fell, something in her split wide open.

She had just cast another binding circle around the edge of the battlefield, directing forest spirits through a burst of spellfire, when it hit her—a hollow pull, a tether violently slackening.

Her head whipped toward the center of the clearing. And there he was. Crumbled on the ground. Blood blooming from his side, soaking into the dirt like a curse.

“JACE!”

She didn’t remember running. Didn’t remember screaming.

Only the wind tearing at her hair, the forest shuddering beneath her boots, the sound of wolves fighting and dying around her like background noise.

Everything tunneled into him .

She dropped beside his body, knees hitting the bloodstained grass, hands already glowing as she pressed them against his chest.

“No, no—don’t you do this. Don’t you leave me.”

His eyes were closed. Too still. Too quiet.

Her magic sparked at her fingertips, shaky and wild, flickering like a candle in a storm.

“Please,” she whispered. “Jace—wake up. I need you.”

A cough sounded behind her.

Not his.

Ezra.

He stepped into the clearing like a god ascending, robes torn but his smirk intact. The blade in his hand was slick with Jace’s blood, still humming with dark enchantment.

Lyra rose slowly, her entire body trembling. She stalked toward him leaving Jace’s lifeless body as anger, fear, loss, all consuming her ability to think clearly.

Ezra smiled. “You should’ve joined me.”

Her magic sputtered again, slipping between her fingers like water.

“You should’ve seen what this could be, Lyra. Power without fear. Order without sacrifice.”

“Shut up,” she hissed.

“You think this little town’s loyalty means anything?” he went on, circling her like a predator. “The Moonlit Pact is a dream. It’s a weakness. And it broke him. Just like it’ll break the rest of them.”

“You killed him,” she choked out.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “I gave him a warrior’s death.”

Her vision blurred, the world swimming in and out of focus like a mirage on hot pavement.

The intricate runes etched beneath her skin—once vibrant with chaos magic—dimmed to a faint, sickly glow.

Her heart wasn't just breaking; it was screaming, clawing, tearing itself to shreds inside her chest for him.

Ezra lifted his hand with theatrical grace, dark magic building in his palm—a swirling vortex of midnight and blood that pulsed with malevolent hunger.

"This is your last chance, Lyra. Come willingly—and I'll spare what's left of your precious little coven.

" His voice dropped to a silken purr. "Reject me, and you fall with the rest. Our joining with your chaos and my practice could be extraordinary.

Imagine what we could create together, what worlds we could reshape. "

Her knees buckled beneath her, hitting the dirt with a dull thud as her magic faltered like a dying flame. The power that had always come so easily, so wildly, now seemed to retreat from her fingertips, leaving her hollow.

She stared down at Jace, bloodied, still, far too still—his broad chest unmoving, those storm-grey eyes hidden behind closed lids.

Something inside her started to give , crumbling like ancient stone.

The man who'd scowled and growled and protected them all with unwavering loyalty now lay broken, and it was more than she could bear.

The grief pulled at her like a riptide, threatening to drag her under completely, to drown her in its dark, cold depths.

Until a sound split the air.

Low.

Fierce.

Familiar.

A howl, not just any howl, but one that reverberated through the clearing and shook the very ground beneath them.

Ragged and wild, full of agony and rage and something deeper—something primal that spoke of mountains and moonlight and ancient pack bonds that could not be severed, not even by death.

From the edge of the battlefield, near where his body had been left to fade into the earth, a massive black wolf rose from the dirt, shaking off soil and leaves and the very grip of death itself.

Jace.

Alive. Barely. But rising . Blood matted his midnight fur in dark, sticky patches, one leg dragging uselessly behind him, his side torn open to reveal glistening muscle beneath—but his eyes blazed gold, fierce with determination and something that looked suspiciously like love.

Ezra turned, shock rippling through his perfect features, his composure cracking for the first time since this nightmare began.

"What—"

Lyra moved before thought returned, before reason could caution her. The magic that had abandoned her moments ago surged back tenfold, like it had only been gathering strength.

Magic exploded from her chest in a violent surge that felt like it might rip her apart at the seams. It burned blue-white, crackling with silver sparks, streaking toward Ezra like a living storm hungry for vengeance.

Her hands lifted automatically, mouth moving faster than reason, ancient words tumbling from her lips as the runes on her skin screamed with purpose, glowing so brightly they shone through her clothing.

"You don't get to win," she growled, her voice barely recognizable, thick with power and fury. "Not today. Not ever."

Ezra staggered back as the blast hit him square in the chest, his carefully constructed wards cracking like glass under pressure, his smug smile faltering for the first time since this bloody confrontation began.

Jace didn't lunge toward Ezra as she expected. He limped toward her instead, each step clearly agony, his golden eyes never leaving her face, filled with a devotion that made her heart stutter.

"Lyra…" he murmured in her head—just a whisper across the bond they'd formed without meaning to, fragile but unbreakable.

She turned, breath catching in her throat, hope blooming painfully in her chest.

He was barely holding his wolf form, muscles trembling with the effort, blood dripping steadily from his torn flank, pooling beneath his massive paws, but he was alive . Against all odds, against Ezra's blade, against death itself—Jace had returned to her.

Then, before she could turn back around, before she could finish what she'd started, Ezra's rage had surged to monstrous heights. Lyra barely had time to react.

Ezra burst from the trees like a nightmare given flesh, his blade laced with blood magic and venom, glowing with sickly green light.

His handsome face was twisted in triumph and hatred, no longer bothering with the mask of civility.

His eyes were wrong—glassy, black-rimmed, like something hollow and ancient had taken root behind them.

Magic cracked in the air like thunder as he charged, every step shattering the protective circle she'd painstakingly carved into the earth hours earlier.

Her voice faltered mid-chant, the spell dissolving on her tongue.

"Jace!" she screamed, but he was too far—too hurt to reach her in time.

Ezra was already on her, his breath hot against her face, smelling of decay and dark promises.

Her hands lifted desperately, power surging through her veins once more, but not fast enough to form a shield, not fast enough to counter his attack.

He grinned, raising the blade overhead, triumph gleaming in those empty eyes.

And then a shadow hit him from the side like a meteor, a blur of black fur and primal fury.

Jace.