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LYRA

L yra had always been good at reading people.

Even when she was a kid, nose deep in hex theory and flower-dusted spellbooks, she could tell when her coven elders were lying through their teeth. She’d known when an apology wasn’t really an apology. She’d known when love was conditional, and when kindness came wrapped in expectations.

So she trusted her gut.

And right now? Her gut was waving red flags and tossing glitter in all directions when it came to Jace Montgomery .

She stared into the frothy depths of her tea at The Spellbound Sip , elbows propped on the table, fingers drumming against a muffin plate she hadn’t touched. Across from her, Calla watched her like she was deciding whether to hand over a comforting hug or a truth potion.

“He was cold,” Lyra said finally, breaking the silence. “Not just annoyed—I mean cold . One minute he’s holding me like I’m made of glass and growling like I’m the last biscuit at a family reunion, and the next he’s throwing shade like I caused a magical apocalypse.”

Calla raised a brow. “Did you?”

“No!” She paused. “Well. Mostly no.”

Calla sipped her herbal blend, eyes thoughtful. “You want me to lie to you or tell you the truth?”

“I want you to tell me why my boss acts like I’m some dangerous temptation he can't afford to look at but also won’t leave alone.”

Calla smiled slowly. “So… the truth then.”

Lyra groaned and slumped back in her chair. “Look, I didn’t come here to get emotionally scolded over tea. I came to ask about shifters. More specifically, wolf shifters . More specifically than that— Moonfang lore .”

Calla leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist. “That’s a lot of specificity for someone who just said she didn’t cause a magical apocalypse.”

“I’ve been reading,” Lyra muttered. “In the Keep’s archives. Old bonding lore. Mate stuff. There’s some weird holes in the records, and a few things didn’t translate well, but?—”

“You think Jace is your mate?” Calla asked bluntly.

Lyra sputtered. “No! Maybe? I don’t know ! That’s the thing. I’m a witch, remember? We don’t get mate bonds. At least not like that. My coven was all about soul alignments and magical compatibility charts and ‘is your aura clashing with his?’ tea readings.”

Calla chuckled. “So no wolf stuff.”

“None,” Lyra said. “And now this… this thing with Jace—he’s tense around me. Not the normal grumpy-pants alpha kind of tense. More like if-you-touch-me-I-might-snarl tense.”

“He saved you,” Calla said softly.

Lyra looked away. “Yeah. And then told me to be more careful like I’d run off with a torch and a map to chaos town.”

Calla was quiet for a long beat.

“Do you want the mystical version, or the practical version?”

Lyra leaned in. “Both. Hit me with the full moon-shaped truth.”

Calla nodded. “Okay. So—wolves, especially alphas, imprint through scent and energy. Their bond—when it forms—is undeniable . It’s not subtle. When a shifter meets their true mate, their instincts go into overdrive. It’s like their soul knows , even if the other person doesn’t.”

Lyra's stomach tightened. “Even if the other person is a witch?”

“It’s rare,” Calla admitted. “But not impossible. Especially here, under the Moonlit Veil. The magic here... it likes balance. And it loves drama.”

Lyra exhaled sharply. “So if— if —he felt the bond... wouldn’t he have said something?”

“Not necessarily. Especially not Jace.”

“Why?”

Calla tilted her head, eyes sad and fond at the same time. “Because Jace carries his duty like armor. Since his father vanished, he’s held this entire town on his shoulders. He doesn’t let people in because he’s afraid if he slips up, everything will fall apart.”

“And I’m a walking magical oops,” Lyra muttered.

“No,” Calla said, firm. “You’re magic that doesn’t fit in a box. And maybe that terrifies him.”

Lyra sat back, hands curling around her mug. Her chest felt tight. Not painful—just full. Like too many feelings were competing for space.

“I felt something,” she whispered. “When he caught me the other day. It was like... like time hiccuped. And when he looked at me…”

“His wolf saw you,” Calla said softly. “And that’s not something you can unsee.”

“But he pulled away.”

“Because he doesn’t want to feel it,” Calla said. “And maybe because he’s scared you won’t feel it back.”

Lyra looked up sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Calla added with a shrug. “He’s not used to people choosing him. Not for him . You may be the first person to see past the alpha and the duty.”

Lyra swallowed, throat dry.

“Well that’s deeply inconvenient,” she muttered.

Calla grinned. “Most good things are.”

That night, Lyra couldn’t sleep.

She lay curled in her bed above the apothecary, staring at the twinkle charms strung along her windowsill. The town outside was quiet, cloaked in moonlight and the soft shimmer of magical wards.

Her thoughts raced like spell sparks.

She kept seeing his face. That look he’d had when she’d fallen. The fury. The fear. The protectiveness. It hadn’t been professional. It hadn’t been just alpha duty.

It was the kiss they didn’t share. The heat in his gaze. The way he’d lingered just a breath too long.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the echo of something that hadn’t even happened and still managed to change her.

If Jace Montgomery was her mate...

He didn’t want to be.

But if he wasn’t...

Why did she feel like her magic leaned toward him without asking?