Page 6

JACE

J ace paced the length of his office with the kind of quiet fury that made most of his wolves clear a room without being asked.

Almost.

He’d almost kissed her.

And not in some calculated, controlled way. No. He’d been inches from her mouth like some hormone-struck pup with no sense of decorum, with no pack watching, with no world to carry on his back. Like it was just them. Just her.

Just her scent in his lungs and the maddening sound of her laugh still echoing in his ears.

“Damn it,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

It had barely been a week since Lyra walked into his world like a sunrise dipped in chaos, and already she was burrowed under his skin. She was wild, unpredictable, reckless and worse, she didn’t even feel it. Not the bond. Not the pull.

Not like he did.

Everything in him screamed for her. His wolf paced constantly now, restless and alert, ears pricked toward her every footstep in the Keep. He didn’t need to see her to know where she was, he felt it. A tension in the air. A whisper beneath his skin. Like gravity had rearranged itself around her.

And she… she was oblivious.

She talked to him like he was just her boss. Snapped back when he barked orders. Baked muffins that messed with everyone’s heads. She enchanted scrolls and tripped on cats and didn’t get it . Didn’t see it. The mate-bond that blazed through him like wildfire.

It was unbearable.

Worse, it was humiliating.

His father would’ve seen the weakness. Would’ve torn into him for hesitating. For not claiming what was his. A mate was sacred. Fated. A gift that couldn’t be wasted.

“She’s not meant for me,” Jace muttered to the empty room.

She was a chaos witch. His opposite in every way. Where he was disciplined, she was impulsive. Where he was built of structure and silence, she was all sparkle and sound.

Surely his father would’ve seen that.

Surely he would’ve understood.

Or maybe not. Maybe that old bastard would’ve said the same thing Calla had been hinting at in his office when he asked about her: She’s the best thing to happen to this Keep in years, and you're too stubborn to see it.

No. No, he did see it.

That was the problem.

The next day brought fog. Thick and clinging, the kind that curled around the mountain and slid through the Keep’s wards like ghost-breath. Jace was up before sunrise, patrolling the perimeter himself. He hadn’t slept.

Couldn’t.

Every time he shut his eyes, he saw her. Heard that near-breathless oh stars as she’d stumbled into him. Felt her hands on his chest.

He growled to himself, sharper than the misty wind whipping through the pines.

By mid-morning, the fog still hadn’t lifted, and tensions ran high. The magic in the air was twitchy. Prickly. Like the forest knew something was coming and didn’t want to share.

Jace stalked through the lower hall of Moonfang Keep, a fresh report in his hand about a shifting anomaly near the eastern grove. The second this week.

He found Lyra in the archive room, again. Always the damn archive. Scrolls spread like confetti, sleeves pushed up, a smudge of ink on her nose.

He stopped in the doorway, heart betraying him with a thump he refused to acknowledge.

“Ravenshade.”

She looked up, startled. “Morning, boss man.”

He ignored the flutter of amusement in her tone.

“You’re behind on last week’s incident categorization. Delia says the reports are still untagged.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You’ve got three stacks of unprocessed files and half of them are floating.”

She glanced up. “They like hovering. It’s a comfort thing.”

“Magic shouldn’t comfort paperwork,” he snapped, stepping further in. “This isn’t a hobby. You’re not here to cast glitter spells and charm tea kettles. You were hired to organize, not enchant.”

Her smile faded. “Well, good morning to you too.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like being cold to her. But the alternative which is getting closer, was worse.

Much worse. It would distract him and he didn’t need that. He didn’t need or want her chaos in his life. He had enough to deal with as is.

She huffed, gathering the floating scrolls with a flick of her fingers. “You know, if you ever need to talk to me like an actual person instead of a magical hiccup, I’m all ears.”

“Just do your job,” he muttered, and walked out before her wounded look could root deeper into his chest.

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes later when he felt it.

That pull.

That snap in his gut like a rubber band stretching too far.

She was in danger.

He didn’t think. Didn’t question it.

He just ran.

Jace found her in the courtyard behind the Keep, crouched near the southern wardstone, arms up as a sudden gust of wild magic crackled around her. Something had snagged the edge of her aura—maybe a ward backlash, maybe a residual pulse from the mist—and it was lashing out.

The force shoved her backward, sending her sprawling into the grass.

He was at her side before she hit the ground.

“Lyra!” His voice was sharp, but his hands were steady—already checking her over, cupping the back of her head, scanning for blood.

She blinked up at him, dazed. “You—how did you?—?”

“Don’t move.”

Her magic shimmered around her like heat off pavement, erratic and humming. Her fingers flexed in the grass. “It—it was the stone. I didn’t touch it, I swear. I was just trying to reinforce the shield. Something pushed back.”

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t.

Because the only thing in his mind was mine .

His wolf was clawing beneath his skin again, wild with protectiveness and rage and the need to bury his face in her neck and make sure she was still breathing.

Lyra stared at him, eyes wide and soft and questioning. “How did you know?”

Jace pulled away.

Cold. Sharp. Controlled.

“I didn’t.”

Her brows knit. “But you came running?—”

“Be more careful,” he said, standing. “You could’ve torn the wards wide open. That stone’s tied to the Grove. It reacts when provoked.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“You were careless.”

Her face paled. “I was trying to help.”

He didn’t let himself soften. Didn’t let himself stay. Not when his hands still tingled from touching her. Not when his wolf still howled in his chest like he’d nearly lost everything.

“Just… stay inside,” he muttered. “Let someone else handle the wards next time that doesn't destroy everything they touch.”

Then he turned and walked away before the tremble in her voice could shatter the walls he’d spent years building.