Chapter 7 7
I looked at his lip. A small wound seeped a crimson line that contrasted with his pale skin. The blood dripped slowly, a physical reminder of my audacity. My fear reached frantic levels; I was certain he would murder me right there, under the Valentine’s sky.
I nearly fell to my knees, my hands clasped in a desperate plea when he reached a hand toward me.
"Spare my life! Please!" I cried out, losing all dignity.
"Yes... you are my Alpha... I’m sorry! I didn’t know what I was doing! But don't hurt me, I beg you!"
My words came out in a rush, imbued with the most visceral fear. At that moment, Silas’s eyes underwent a terrifying transformation: they turned completely white, a sign that his inner wolf was taking total control, struggling to break the chains of his self-control.
Suddenly, he waved his hand in the air, a gesture of surrender that didn't fit his dominant figure.
"Lyra, I would never hurt you…" he said, and though his voice remained powerful, there was a hint of agony in it, a crack in his armor of ice.
His words resonated in my mind, but my heart rejected them. How could I believe him? He was the architect of my misery. I would never trust him, even if he were the only reason for my survival.
"Go... I don’t want you near me... I don't want to see you again," I declared, taking a step toward the darkness of the woods.
Despite my terror, I couldn't ignore the impact of my words. Every time I rejected him, his face contorted in a grimace of genuine pain, as if my phrases were silver daggers piercing his chest.
Silas stood motionless, turned into a marble statue. The silence was only broken by a heart-wrenching roar that made the trees tremble, a sound full of frustration and loss.
Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the thicket at supernatural speed.
As soon as he left, my soul seemed to return to my body with a jolt. My legs gave out and I fell to the muddy ground. Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and bitter.
I was devastated. The taste of his kiss still lingered on my lips, an invisible mark that burned me. I could only think of the invasion of his tongue, the strength of his embrace, and that strange contradiction in his eyes.
Before Silas could decide that his regret was temporary, I scrambled to my feet and ran. I ran as if death itself were at my heels, dodging branches until the lights of the small cabin appeared through the brush.
I stumbled inside, my heart hammering against my ribs. The silence of the house was a relief. The twins were sleeping soundly in their room, oblivious to the drama that had nearly destroyed their older sister.
Delilah, for her part, must still have been in the square celebrating with the rest of the town.
Without making a sound, I retreated to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and let the near-boiling water hit my skin, trying to wash away not only the trace of Silas, but also the feeling of betrayal from my own body.
Why had he kissed me? Why now, after humiliating me so much? He had always made sure I knew how much he despised me. However, I was sure of one thing: this new "protective" side of Silas was far more dangerous than his open hatred.
There was something hidden in his gaze, a secret that seemed to burn him alive, and I wasn't willing to be the one incinerated with him.
My body still vibrated, betraying me as it recalled the pressure of his steel chest against mine. It was a sensation that turned my stomach and fascinated me in equal measure, a poison seeping through my veins.
As the steam filled the small bathroom, the heat of the water triggered a memory I had tried so hard to bury, a ghost of a life that felt like a beautiful dream turned into a nightmare.
Flashback: Two Weeks Before the Exile
The pack gardens were blooming under the summer moon. Back then, I didn't walk with my head down. I was the girl who laughed too loud, the one who thought the world was hers because Silas looked at her like she was the only star in the sky.
I was sitting by the lake, the cool grass tickling my ankles, when I felt that familiar electric pull in the air. I didn't need to turn around to know he was there.
His presence was like a warm tide, a magnetic force that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up before his shadow even touched me.
"You should be at the ceremony, Lyra," Silas said, his voice dropping an octave as he stood behind me. "The elders are asking for the future Luna."
I turned, a playful smile on my lips. Silas looked breathtaking in his ceremonial robes, the dark silk stretching over his broad shoulders.
His hair was slightly tousled by the wind, giving him a rugged look that contrasted with the elegance of his position. He wasn't the cold statue I saw tonight; back then, his eyes were full of a soft, honeyed gold that was reserved only for me.
"The future Luna is tired of speeches about tradition," I teased, reaching out to tug on his sleeve. "I’d rather stay here and watch the fireflies."
He chuckled, a sound so rich and genuine it made my heart skip a beat. He sat beside me, his thigh brushing mine.
Even through the layers of our clothes, the heat from his body felt like a brand. It was a slow burn, a jolt of pure desire that pooled in my lower belly and made my breath hitch. He took my hand, tracing the lines on my palm with his thumb, his touch lingering on the sensitive skin of my wrist where my pulse was racing.
"My father wants us to formalize the bond before the next full moon," he whispered, his gaze intense, searching mine for any sign of hesitation. "He says the pack needs stability. But I don't care about stability, Lyra. I only care about you."
I leaned my head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent that haunted my dreams, pine, rain, and something uniquely him. It felt like home.
"Do you really mean that, Silas?" I asked, looking up at him, my lips just inches from his jaw. "Even if I'm just a low-ranking Omega? Even if I have nothing to offer but my heart? We don't even know if we are fated yet. The Moon Goddess hasn't spoken."
He stopped his movements, his jaw tightening. He turned toward me, his hand sliding from my wrist to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair with a firm, possessive grip that sent a shiver of heat down my spine.
