After the battle, Lyra wandered through the stronghold, searching for Cassian. The skirmish had been brutal, and though the pack had prevailed, the tension between them lingered like a storm refusing to break.
She found him standing alone on a ridge near the edge of the forest, his broad back turned to her. The moonlight reflected off the blood streaking his arms and claws, remnants of the fight. His usually commanding posture was tense, rigid as if holding back an invisible weight.
“Cassian,” Lyra began, stepping cautiously toward him. “You fought well today.”
He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the dark expanse of trees below. Finally, he let out a low, humorless laugh. “Did I?” he muttered, his voice sharper than she’d expected.
Lyra blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “What’s wrong?”
Cassian exhaled, the sound more a growl than a sigh, and turned to face her. His amber eyes gleamed faintly in the moonlight, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “What’s wrong?” he echoed, the sarcasm in his voice palpable. “You’re not with me in this, Lyra. You never have been.”
The accusation struck her like a blow. “That’s not true. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” Cassian’s gaze bore into hers as he took a step closer. “Because all I see is someone who can’t decide where her loyalties lie. Someone who’s still thinking about running back to him.”
Her mouth opened, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn’t wrong—Adrian was never far from her thoughts—but hearing Cassian say it aloud felt like an exposed wound.
“I’m not running anywhere,” she managed, her voice faltering.
“Then prove it,” Cassian snapped, his frustration spilling over. “Because I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t even care if you can’t stand to look at me. But if you can’t trust me—if you can’t stand by my side—then we’re both dead.”
Lyra flinched at his words, her chest tightening. “I don’t know how to trust you when you keep pushing me away.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened, his wolf stirring just beneath his skin. “And what about you?” he growled. “Sneaking off to Adrian, hiding things from me. Do you expect me to trust you?”
“I’m not hiding anything!” Lyra snapped, her voice rising in defense.
“Save it.” His tone was colder now, and he turned away from her again. “Decide where you stand, Lyra. Because if you’re not with me, then you’re against me.”
***
In the dim corridors of Seraphine’s stronghold, Misery moved with quiet determination. She knew the risks of what she was about to do, but she couldn’t ignore what she’d seen—Eryon being pushed to the brink of losing himself. If Eira’s plans continued unchecked, the man she cared for would be gone forever.
Misery found Eira in her chambers, surrounded by an array of ancient tomes and flickering candles. The sorceress glanced up as Misery entered, her silver eyes narrowing.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Eira asked, her tone dripping with mockery.
Misery forced herself to remain calm. “We need to talk about Eryon.”
Eira arched a brow, leaning back in her chair. “Do we? What could you possibly have to say that matters?”
“Eryon’s strength is undeniable,” Misery began, choosing her words carefully. “But even you can see it’s breaking him.”
Eira’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Breaking? No, little vampire. It’s refining him. What he was before—that was weakness.”
Misery stepped closer, lowering her voice. “If you push him too far, he’ll snap. And when that happens, you’ll lose him.”
Eira’s gaze turned icy as she rose from her chair, her movements smooth and predatory. “And what do you suggest I do, hmm? Coddle him? Let him remain the half-formed creature he was when Seraphine found him?”
“I’m suggesting you give him a chance to be more than your weapon,” Misery countered, her crimson eyes flashing. “You’re so focused on his strength that you’re blind to what it’s costing him.”
Eira laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. “How touching. You actually think you can save him.”
“I know I can,” Misery said firmly. “And if you’re smart, you’ll stop trying to break him.”
Eira’s smile faded, replaced by a dangerous glint in her eyes. “You overstep, Misery,” she said coldly, motioning to the guards stationed at the door. “Take her to the dungeons. Perhaps some time in the dark will remind her of her place.”
The guards moved to seize Misery, but she bared her fangs, her body coiling with tension as she prepared to fight. Before anyone could act, a low growl echoed through the room.
“What is happening here?” Eryon’s voice was like thunder as he entered the chamber, his amber eyes blazing with barely restrained fury.
Eira’s demeanor shifted, her smirk returning. “Your little friend seems to think she can dictate how I handle my pupil.”
Eryon stepped between Misery and the guards, his claws flexing. “If anyone touches her, they’ll answer to me,” he said, his voice dangerous and unyielding.
For a moment, Eira held his gaze, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Then, with a dismissive wave of her hand, she sent the guards away. “Very well,” she said smoothly. “But remember, Eryon—your loyalty is to me, not to her.”
Eryon didn’t respond, his focus on Misery as he took her arm and led her out of the chamber. Once they were alone, he stopped, his expression softening slightly.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.