Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Ronan

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Lyra leans into me as we leave the clearing. Her steps look steady at first–her chin lifted, shoulders squared–but the closer we get to the packhouse, the more her weight shifts toward me. She’s bleeding from too many places to count. Every four or five steps, her breath stutters like she has to remember how to inhale.

My jaw tightens,

She shouldn’t have fought like that.

She shouldn’t have had to.

But she did. She won. And the entire pack saw it.

The path to the packhouse opens before us, flickering wolves stepping aside as we pass. Some are more solid than this morning; others phase in and out, but their eyes–all of them–track her with stunned respect. A few bow their heads. A few whisper her name. None of them look at her like an omega ever again.

By the time we reach the front doors, her legs give slightly. I catch her before she falls, one arm around her waist.

“Ronan,” she murmurs. “I’m fine.”

She’s not. Her back is soaked red. There’s a gash along her ribs that refuses to clot. She has puncture wounds at her shoulder and hip. Even her scalp is bleeding through her hair.

“Don’t talk,” I say softly. “Just stay awake.”

I push open the packhouse door. The hall fills instantly–voices, movement, shock. A young omega gasps when she sees Lyra’s blood. A flickering warrior steps forward, then halts, unsure if touching Lyra is allowed.

“Bath,” I order. “Boiling water, cooling herbs. Now.”

Whey scatter–some running upstairs, others vanishing into walls in their half–formed state. Someone throws logs into the

hearth to heat the cauldron faster. Someone else grabs linens. The hum of activity grows frantic. She is their Luna. Their hope. Injured because of them.

I lift her fully into my arms when her knees begin to buckle. Her hand curls into my shirt–not out of fear, but exhaustion. She’s fought an entire wolf on her first shift. Her body is shaking with adrenaline and depletion.

“Almost there.” I murmur as I carry her up the stairs.

We reach my chambers. The largest room in the fortress. Dark stone walls softened by tapestries, a massive bed covered in furs, a fireplace glowing low in the corner. This room has always felt too big, too cold. But tonight–it feels like the only place she belongs,

The pack arrives with steaming buckets and herbs. They pour the water into the sunken bath built into the floor. Steam rises thickly. The scent of mint, resin, and burnweed fills the air.

I lower Lyra gently beside the bath. She winces when the movement pulls her torn skin.

“Tell me if anything hurts too much.”

“It all hurts,” she admits, voice thin.

I help her into the water. The heat hits her wounds and she flinches, gripping the edge of the basin. A soft sound escapes her before she can catch it.

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Chapter 19

“Easy,” I say “Let it do its work.”

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Slowly–slowly–her muscles unclench. The shaking cases. The water stains pink around her as blood lifts from her skin. I kneel beside the bath and wash each cut with a cloth, clearing dirt and dried blood. She holds still, but her breathing skips every time my hands pass over the deeper wounds.

“You fought beautifully.” I say without thinking.

She huffs a weak, humorless laugh. “I fought because I had to.”

“And you won because you’re stronger than he ever let you be.”

Her eyes close–not in pride, but in something like relief.

When the water cools and her skin warms again, I lift her out of the bath. She doesn’t resist this time. Her head rests against my shoulder as if she’s forgotten she’s allowed to lean on someone.

I dry her carefully, avoiding the worst injuries. Then I carry her to the bed.

But the wounds are still bleeding.

Fresh blood beads along her ribs. A tear in her hip leaks steadily. Her shoulder wound hasn’t closed at all.

“She should be healing by now,” I mutter. “Her wolf should have taken over.”

A packwoman in a translucent form approaches hesitantly. “Alpha… first shifts drain everything. Her wolf might not have the strength yet.”

Which means-

I sit on the edge of the bed.

“Lyra,” I say quietly. “My saliva accelerates healing. It’s an old Alpha trait. It won’t hurt. It just–will help.”

She blinks up at me, eyes glassy from pain and exhaustion. “Okay.”

I start with her shoulder. Instinct takes over–natural, biological, older than any curse. I lower my head, clean the wound with slow, desparate passes of the tongue. The healing takes effect instantly–blood clotting, skin knitting, the edges pulling together.

She exhales in relief.

I move to her arm. Her ribs. Her thigh. Every wound closes under my tongue, glowing faintly before fading into smooth, new skin. She flinches occasionally, and each flinch hits me harder than any blow I’ve taken in battle.

When I reach her lower back, she sucks in a sharp breath–but not from fear. The injury stings. I treat it quickly, carefully.

One wound remains.

The deep slash along her hip.

I brace myself and lean in.

Her breath catches–different this time, softer, almost a sound meant for someone she trusts–and the noise nearly cracks something in my chest. I force myself not to acknowledge it. I clean the wound, slow and methodical, keeping my eyes on the injury, not on the way her perfect skin warms under my hands, not on the goosebumps that appear when my breath brushes too close, not on how fragile she feels lying there. The healing spreads, closing the torn flesh, sealing the damage.

Then something shifts.

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Chapter 19

Her breathing changes–soft, uneven-

and a scent hits me.

Faint

Unmistakable.

Arousal.

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Fuck. She want me.

My entire body goes rigid. The wolf inside me lunges forward hard enough to rattle my bones, answering her without hesitation.

Gods.

Not now.

Not like this.

Her body is exhausted. Her instincts are frayed. She isn’t aware of what she’s doing. She isn’t doing it on purpose. And I cannot–will not–let instinct decide anything for me. Not when she deserves so much more than a curse–bound monster fighting his own nature.

I pull back so fast my breath stutters. A hard exhale leaves me before I can stop it, shaking with a dozen emotions I don’t have names for.

Damn it.

1 drag a hand over my face, grounding myself before instinct can make a move I cannot allow. Before I reach for her the way every part of me aches to.

I cannot want her.

I cannot touch her.

I cannot risk her life–not for comfort, not for instinct, not even for love.

If she ever carried my child…

If the curse acted on her the way it acted on every woman before…

I’d lose her.

Forever.

I step away from the bed, chest tight, jaw locked, because distance is the only mercy I can give her.

“I can’t…” My voice cracks before I force it steady. “I can’t be close to you right now. Not when you’re looking at me like you’d let me pound you senseless. Not when the curse still holds.”

She whispers, her thighs pulling together. Her scents hits me again. Harder.

She shifts weakly, half–asleep, unaware of the turmoil tearing me apart. Unaware that keeping myself from her is the hardest thing I have ever done,

I stand guard at the far end of the room, hands braced against the stone wall, fighting instinct, fighting myself, fighting the truth that has been clawing at me from the moment I learned her name.

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Chapter 19

And all I can think–the only truth that cuts through everything–is

I will never risk losing her.

Even if it destroys me

Even if wanting her ruins me

Even if loving her is the one thing I can never act on.