The dawn crept in softly, painting the walls in pale gold. Light spilled across the stone floor, stretching slowly toward the bed where Lyra Virelle lay tangled in Kael Fenryn's arms.
She stirred first.
Not because she wanted to leave.
But because the weight of what they'd done last night still clung to her skin like a second layer. Kael's arm was slung around her waist, heavy, possessive, and warm. The scent of him, smoke and storm, still lingered on her lips, her thighs, and her soul.
His breath was steady, the rise and fall of his chest soothing against her back. She'd felt it all night, anchoring her in the chaos she hadn't known she'd invited.
She moved carefully, slipping from his embrace like a thief, gathering her clothes from where they'd been tossed in the heat of it all. Her dress was wrinkled. Her thighs ached in ways she wasn't ready to admit out loud.
But her mind—
That was the real problem.
Because Kael had shattered something last night. Not her body, no, that had only burned and bloomed under him. It was her defenses. Her carefully forged armor. He'd ripped through them with a touch, a kiss, a growl murmured against her neck.
She shouldn't have let it happen.
She'd told herself this was a game. A calculated indulgence. One night to quench the fire.
But gods, it was so much more than heat.
She reached the door before his voice stopped her.
"You know you are not very good at sneaking away."
Lyra froze, her spine stiffening.
She turned.
Kael sat up in bed, hair disheveled, a sheet barely covering his hips, and a lazy, knowing smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
"You were asleep," she said.
He tilted his head. "You think I sleep after what you did to me?"
Her cheeks flushed, traitorous. She crossed her arms. "We agreed it was one night."
"No, you agreed." He swung his legs off the bed and stood, moving toward her with a slow, predatory grace. "I never said a damn thing."
Lyra backed up a step, pulse rising.
Kael closed the space, fingers brushing her cheek before sliding down her jaw. "You were in my bed, Lyra. You said my name like it meant something."
"I moaned it," she snapped. "That doesn't make it sacred."
His smile faded.
Ah, there it was. The tension in the wall she had to rebuild before it was too late.
But Kael only nodded once, sharp and cold. "Right. Just sex."
She hated the way those words made her stomach twist.
But she said nothing.
He turned away first this time, reaching for his trousers. Their current silence was brittle, unlike the one from last night.
Unforgiving.
"I need to return before the others notice I'm gone," she said, breaking the silence.
Kael didn't look at her. "Then go."
It cut deeper than she expected. She lingered at the door, hand resting on the wood, torn between slamming it and staying.
"Last night wasn't nothing," she said finally. "But it can't happen again."
Kael looked over his shoulder, eyes unreadable. "Why not?"
"Because I won't survive you."
That made him pause.
And for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then she slipped through the door, gone like a shadow at sunrise.
The halls of the fortress were still quiet, the guards likely switching shifts, the nobles nursing their wine-soaked dreams.
Lyra moved like a phantom, avoiding detection with practiced ease. She reached her chambers and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh.
She should've felt satisfied.
Instead, she felt... hollow.
She stripped the dress off, letting it fall to the ground. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for a fresh tunic, her body still thrumming with the ghost of Kael's touch.
She wasn't afraid of sex. She wasn't naive.
But Kael wasn't just anyone. He was danger wrapped in silk, ruin dressed in wolfskin. And worse, she liked the way he looked at her. Like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.
She dragged her fingers through her hair and cursed under her breath.
She needed a distraction. Fast.
And fate, cruel thing that it was, seemed to offer one when a knock echoed from the outer corridor.
She grabbed a cloak and pulled open the door.
Standing there was Thane, the spymaster of the court, sharp-eyed and smug. "You look flushed, my lady."
"Say what you came to say, Thane."
He arched a brow. "The high council has summoned you. Apparently there's word from the northern border. Something about a rogue pack breaching the warding stones."
Lyra's pulse jumped. "Werewolves?"
Thane grinned. "Not the tame kind."
She didn't wait for more. She moved quickly, her heart grateful for the excuse to shift focus even if it was toward bloodshed.
Meanwhile, Kael stood in his chambers, shirtless, brooding.
He stared at the empty spot where Lyra had been hours ago.
He shouldn't care.
He shouldn't care.
But he did.
Every part of him wanted to follow her. To find her. To pull her into his lap and remind her that last night had meant something.
He clenched his jaw, shoving that thought down.
If she wanted to play cold, he could do colder.
But as he turned to his armor, a message sat on his table sealed with the crimson wax of Draven's northern scouts.
He opened it, skimming the contents.
Then froze.
His eyes narrowed.
Trouble.
It was coming fast.
And Kael had a sinking feeling it wasn't just political It was personal.
Back in the council chamber, Lyra stood tall, arms crossed, flanked by stone-faced advisors and cloaked sentinels. The report was already spreading: slaughtered livestock, torn bodies, and ancient sigils desecrated. It was the mark of wild werewolves, feral, unaligned beasts driven by instinct and madness.
"They're coming this way," said one of the mages, fingers trembling. "And they won't stop until blood paints the river red."
Lyra didn't flinch.
"Then we bleed them dry before they reach us."
However, as she was saying it, her thoughts uninvitedly returned to Kael. His physique. His warmth. The whisper of his lips on her skin.
Her pulse stuttered.
She pushed the memory away, swallowing hard.
War was coming.
And whatever had passed between them last night, no matter how deep it burned, it was going to have to wait.
If it survived at all.