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“Someone has to stay back and protect our home.”
“Is that what your father told you? It’s nothing but a weak platitude to appease you,” I scoff. “Your pack lives in a trailer park, scrounging and scavenging for scraps, so what are you protecting? Is it moonshine and guns, or the rows upon rows of dilapidated trailers with their broken windows and sagging porches? Or is it the weeds that have long since choked out the grass, leaving the ground packed with dirt, that you are protecting? You deserve more than that,” I say, my voice firm. “You deserve a pack that is strong and that thrives. You deserve a home that is safe and welcoming. And you deserve a mate who will stand by your side, no matter what.”
“I am a half-breed, a bastard born to a human mother and a werewolf father. I am given what I deserve.”
“No, little wolf. You are not defined by your bloodline. You are defined by the strength within you and by the fire that radiates from your soul. You are a warrior, a protector, and a force to be reckoned with. And you deserve so much more than what you’ve been told. You deserve to be loved, Lyra. You deserve to be cherished, adored, and worshipped for the warrior that you are. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted; all you have to do is give me a chance.”
Lyra shifts uncomfortably, and her hand trembles slightly as she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I can’t,” she whispers. “I can’t betray my pack.”
I feel a pang of admiration for her loyalty to those who have treated her unfairly, but at the same time, her refusal ignites a fierce anger within me. How dare she defy me? I rise from the bed, my eyes narrowing as I glare at her.
“Have it your way, then,” I growl. “You have fourteen days to change your mind, and for the next two weeks, I will not touch you or force myself upon you, but you will sleep in my bed. Do we understand each other?”
My words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, there is a tense silence. Lyra’s gaze is fixed on me, her expression guarded.
I stalk towards the door, my mind racing with fury and frustration. I have never been one to take rejection lightly, and the idea of being denied what I want only fuels the flames of my anger.
As I reach the door, I turn to face Lyra one last time. “You will sleep in my bed,” I snarl. “It’s non-negotiable.”
I stride out of the guest room and into my bedroom, where I settle on my bed. The sheets are cold, like the embrace of death. My anger gives way to a deep sense of longing. I yearn for Lyra’s warmth, her devotion, and her love. And yet, she remains steadfast in her refusal, a thorn in my side that threatens to pierce me at every turn.
CHAPTER NINE
Xavier
My bedroom is shrouded in darkness, the blackout curtains tightly drawn, but I sense the telltale signs of midday. Even without the piercing rays of sunlight breaching the room, I can feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a diminishing of the veil that separates day from night. The ambient temperature rises slightly, as if the very air carries a hint of warmth. The distant chorus of birdsong grows livelier, their melodies intertwining with the gentle rustle of leaves and the murmur of woodland creatures whispering a secret of the approaching midday hour.
I shouldn’t be awake, but there are intruders in my house, and they don’t belong here. Familiar faces like Marcus and Alexander often appear unannounced, but this time, it’s not them daring to enter my private sanctuary uninvited.
I lie perfectly still, my senses sharp and alert, focused on the hushed whispers that emanate from the depths below—the basement. Their clever ploy, choosing the daylight hours, is a sly move. They assume I’ll be asleep, defenseless, and vulnerable. Little do they know that the age-old tale of vampires sleeping away the day is nothing but a clever fabrication, a smokescreen woven by our kind to confuse our enemies.
Four voices reach my ears. An unholy chorus of human murmurs and the grating, nauseating gibberish of a shadow schemer, a wretched creature spawned from nightmares. Its shrill, high-pitched voice resonates like a rusty blade scraping against aged iron, each syllable dripping with malevolence, conjuring images of nebulous gloom and insidious deeds. As the creature glides, its sinewy, elongated fingers glide over the floor, its sharp, jagged nails creating a macabre rhythm that reverberates with every step.
The humans wear the mark of the hunter, and they are here to end my immortal life.
No, wait.
The truth becomes clear as I piece together their murmurs. I realize I’m not their primary target. Their sights are set on Lyra, a name that drips from their tongues. Their intentions are not to capture her, but to extinguish the flame of her existence.
I won’t allow that to happen.
Rage bleeds through my body and settles deep within the cavernous recesses of my gut, for they dare to dangle the thread of mortality over the one whose soul is intertwined with mine. Through the crimson fog of rage, questions pierce the chaotic storm of my thoughts. Why are they hunting Lyra? Yes, she is a werewolf, but she is more human than wolf, while I am a creature of the night, a monster who shouldn’t be walking the face of the earth. It makes more sense if they are coming for me. Who sent them?
Dwelling on the questions will cost us precious moments. The hunters have already reached the kitchen, and there is no time for decoding their whispers or unraveling their diabolical plots. It’s time to confront them, to meet the threat head-on, and damn the consequences.
I shift across the bed, melding my chest against Lyra’s spine to press my lips against the curve of her ear. “Little wolf, wake up.”
Seven agonizing days have passed since our fiery clash in the guest room. I’m frustrated but also growing increasingly worried as my time to convince Lyra that we’re meant to be together is slowly running out. Lyra remains obstinate, refusing to yield to the bond between us, but at least she conceded to my demand of sharing my bed. Though it is abundantly clear, she isn’t going to make it easy. The distance she keeps between us and the way she turns her back on me in bed are testaments to her resistance. I reached out to Alexander, hoping he would be able to provide some insight; he’s always proclaimed to be a romantic, only to discover that he left Shadowbrook to go on a cruise.
What has the world come to?
We’re fucking vampires; we don’t go on cruises!
Marcus is no help either; he is still finding great joy in watching the tension between me and Lyra.
I’ve tried everything to break down her walls; I’ve cooked her elaborate dinners and even joined her at a candlelit table in my dining room, and I don’t need to eat or even enjoy human food, for Christ’s sake. When I go into the city to feed, I bring back exquisite little trinkets and expensive jewelry for her, but it seems like she’s determined to keep me at arm’s length.
Stubborn, unwavering woman.
