The rain had not stopped by morning.
It fell in a quiet, endless rhythm, like the sky was weeping for them both.
Lyra sat on the ledge of the ruined keep, a tattered cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Her skin still burned faintly where the mark had appeared — a crescent of light pulsing beneath her collarbone. She pressed her fingers against it and hissed softly.
The pain wasn't constant. It came in waves — soft, then sharp — as if something within her was breathing in time with another heartbeat far away.
She knew whose.
Kian.
She had tried to push the thought away all night, to convince herself that the bond was some cruel trick of fate, that she could sever it the same way she'd severed her past. But now, with every pulse of the mark, she could feel him: his exhaustion, his rage, his guilt.
And worse — the flicker of something tender beneath it all.
"Don't do this," she whispered to herself, fingers tightening around the stone at her side. "Don't feel for him again."
But her body wasn't listening.
She closed her eyes, and in the dark, his presence filled her mind like a storm. She saw flashes — Kian pacing a cold, empty room, his knuckles bloodied from striking the wall, his jaw clenched in silence. He was in pain. Real pain.
Her chest tightened involuntarily.
Lyra cursed under her breath and rose. "This isn't real. It's just the curse."
Yet as she turned to leave, a sudden stab of agony shot through her shoulder. She gasped, collapsing to her knees. When she looked down, her sleeve was torn — and beneath her skin, faint crimson lines were forming, mirroring wounds that weren't hers.
Her eyes widened.
He'd been hurt.
And she was bleeding for it.
She bit down hard, fighting the panic rising in her chest. The air shimmered around her; silver wisps of magic began to flicker uncontrolled.
"Lyra," Selene's voice whispered faintly, a ghost of sound on the wind. "You are no longer alone in your pain."
"Then tell me how to stop it!" she snapped.
But the voice was gone. Only the echo of Kian's labored breathing remained in her mind.
She hated this — hated how her heart still twisted at the thought of him.
She remembered the day he rejected her, how his eyes had turned cold, how the whole pack had watched as he said the words that shattered her.
You are not strong enough to be my mate.
Those words had become her scars.
And now, somehow, those same lips that cursed her were the ones her soul was bound to.
She couldn't decide if the moon was cruel or simply laughing.
Far away, in the Alpha's den, Kian sat on the edge of his bed, gripping his side where the wound still bled sluggishly. He didn't understand why the pain refused to fade — until a faint echo reached him: a soft, strangled gasp.
Lyra's gasp.
He froze.
"No…"
The realization struck him hard. He looked down at his mark — it glowed faintly through the blood. The same as hers.
His chest ached, but not just from the wound. He could feel her — the cold stone beneath her knees, the sharp sting of her breath, the anger trembling in her heart.
He clenched his fists. "Damn it."
He had caused this curse. The Blood Moon had punished them both, bound them to the pain they'd given each other. And now, every hurt he suffered, she would feel — and every tear she shed would burn him in return.
"Lyra…" he whispered into the empty room.
He didn't know if she could hear him, but he hoped she couldn't — not like this. Not when his voice shook with something dangerously close to longing.
Back at the ruins, Lyra's pain finally ebbed. She sat there trembling, the rain washing away the blood on her hands.
For the first time in years, she didn't feel alone — and that terrified her more than anything.
Because it meant that no matter how far she ran, a part of her would always be his.
And deep down, in the part of her heart she wished was dead, that truth hurt more than the curse itself.
She looked up at the sky — gray, endless, merciless — and whispered,
"If this is fate's punishment, then I'll find a way to make fate regret it."
But somewhere, in the dark bond between them, Kian's voice echoed softly:
You can't fight the moon, Lyra.
Her breath caught — she'd heard him.
Clear as day.
And for the first time since her return, she was afraid.