Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Ronan

Lyra is still asleep when dawn touches my lands for the second time in years.

Real dawn.

Real light

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It filters through the high windows of my room, soft and golden, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. My fortress- my cursed, rotting, half–dead fortress–glows from the inside out. Stone that has been gray for decades warms under sunlight. Dust motes dance, Shadows soften.

My pack… my people… are becoming solid again.

I step into the hallway, and the change steals the breath from my lungs.

Warriors walk with actual footsteps now, not the half–silent drift of cursed spirits. Children race past me, their laughter echoing properly, not glitching in and out of the air. A woman stands near the wall, wiping stone with a cloth, eyes shining. with tears–because she can touch things again.

A truth that fills me with everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I fear losing.

I make my way to the dining hall, the long table already weighed down with food–fresh bread, cured meats, fruit I haven’t tasted in a decade. My people move energetically, alive in ways I barely recognize. They look to me with hope. With expectation.

As if I can give them the rest of their lives back.

As if I would ever do that at the cost of hers.

I sit

And then she arrives.

Chloe.

Her footsteps click across the stone–deliberate, graceful, the kind of movement one practices in mirrors. She wears white today, a shade too bold for breakfast. A shade that draws every eye.

She drapes herself into the seat beside me without invitation, leaning in close enough that her perfume hits me–sweet, sharp, manufactured confidence.

She has not been solid in years.

Now she looks nearly whole.

“Good morning, Ronan,” she purrs.

My jaw locks. “Chloe.”

“You didn’t come to see me yesterday.” Her fingers skim the rim of her cup. “I was hoping you’d explain why.”

“You know why.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “Your little mate caused quite a scene.”

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Chapter 21

My wolf bristles instantly–sharp, protective, ready to tear the air apart.

Chloe leans in, voice low “You deserve someone who understands you. Someone… compatible.”

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Someone who wasn’t cursed beside me, I think bitterly. Someone who betrayed me before I ever claimed the wrong girl.

But I say nothing. I refuse to give her the reaction she wants.

“Don’t look so tense,” she whispers. “I’m only making conversation.”

I force myself to breathe. “I’m not interested.”

“In conversation?” Her lashes flutter. “Or in me?”

Before I can answer-

The door opens..

And the temperature of the room changes completely.

Lyra stands there.

Barely awake,

Hair tousled.

Wearing one of my shirts.

Looking like she belongs here more than anyone ever has.

And when she sees Chloe leaning into me-

-her entire body goes still.

Her wolf rises up so vividly I feel it across the room.

Chloe smiles sweetly, too sweetly, and brushes her fingers across my forearm.

A calculated gesture.

A mistake.

Lyra doesn’t walk toward us.

She storms.

Every chair she passes shudders as her aura brushes them. Warriors step out of her way. Omegas duck their heads. My pack -my entire pack–turns silent.

And then Lyra is beside me.

Her hand slams onto the table. “Move.”

Chloe blinks. “Excuse me?”

Lyra’s voice drops to something wild and low, a growl braided into sound. “I said move.”

Chloe’s eyes sparkle with amusement–not fear. “Darling, you’re new here. You can’t possibly think-”

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Lyra grabs her shoulder and wrenches her out of the chair.

Gasps erupt around the room.

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Chloe staggers but doesn’t fall; she smooths her dress with a scoff. “How charming. The new Luna has a temper.”

“She has a mate,” Lyra snaps. “A mate you don’t touch.”

Possessiveness–raw and powerful–surges through the bond between us, nearly knocking me breathless. My wolf roars in approval.

“Lyra.” I murmur, rising.

She doesn’t look at me.

Her eyes stay locked on Chloe, burning molten gold around the edges.

“Mine,” Lyra growls.

The word strikes me like lightning.

Chloe lifts her chin. “Cute. But claiming him doesn’t mean you can keep him alive.”

My blood goes cold.

Lyra’s goes boiling hot.

“Say that again,” she whispers.

“What?” Chloe asks.

“I dare you,” Lyra mumbles between her teeth.

“I said,” Chloe repeats, stepping closer, “your bond is temporary. We all know how the curse ends.”

Before she can finish, Lyra lunges.

I move fast, catching Lyra around the waist–barely–pulling her back before she tackles Chloe across the table. She fights against my hold, trembling with fury, with instinct, with something uncontrollable.

“Let me go,” she snarls.

“Lyra,” I breathe, tightening my grip. “Look at me.”

Her eyes flick to mine.

And everything inside me shatters.

Because she’s not just jealous.

She’s hurt.

She’s terrified.

She thinks she could lose me.

“No one will take me from you,” I whisper. “No one.”

Her breath stutters. The tension drains from her limbs, leaving her shaking in my arms.

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I guide her gently into my chair and stand behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder–claim, protection, reassurance all in one.

Chloe watches, her expression unreadable.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” she says lightly, and turns away, but not before I catch the flicker of humiliation beneath her mask.

When she leaves, the hall exhales.

Lyra sits stiffly, arms crossed, refusing to look at me.

I kneel beside her.

“Lyra.”

Nothing.

Her jaw is clenched so tightly I can see the strain in her throat.

“Talk to me,” I say softly. “Please.”

Her eyes finally lift–and the vulnerability there guts me.

“I saw her touching you,” she whispers. “I saw her leaning into you. And I-” She shakes her head. “I don’t like feeling like that. I don’t like thinking I could lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She isn’t you.”

“She’s known you longer.”

“But she isn’t my mate.”

Her breath catches.

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I reach for her hand slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She doesn’t. Our fingers lace together, and my wolf settles. like a storm easing under sunlight.

“I would choose you,” I murmur, “in this lifetime, in the next, and in every world the Goddess could create.”

Her eyes burn.

She leans forward–slow, trembling–and presses her forehead to mine.

“Don’t let her touch you again,” she whispers.

I smile against her breath. “She won’t.”

“Good,” she says, voice fierce and soft at once. “Because you’re mine, Ronan.”

And gods help me-

I’ve never wanted to be anything else.