Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Ronan

Sunlight fills the hall.

I still don’t trust it.

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–

The fortress hasn’t seen morning like this in years, and now the place is alive voices, footsteps, chairs scraping. My wolves are becoming solid again. I can feel the difference in the air like a heartbeat waking.

Lyra sits at my right, drowning in my shirt, hair messy, eyes soft from sleep. She looks like she belongs in this seat. My wolf watches her more than the food in front of us.

There’s an easy happiness in the dining hall now, the kind that spreads fast and makes people forget the Luna nearly tore into Chloe ten minutes ago. Even Chloe sits three seats down, smiling like nothing happened, soaking up the warmth of the reunion. Laughter rises, plates clatter, and for a moment the whole fortress breathes again.

The doors open again, and this time the room stands.

The Elders step inside–slow, steady, unmistakably solid–and every breath in the hall seems to stop. These were the first to fade when the curse took hold. The first to lose their bodies. The first I thought I’d never see walk again.

Now they cross the floor with real footsteps.

Clothes that once hung like mist now cling to flesh. Faces that were nothing but blurred memory sharpen into lines I know by heart. Wrinkles. Scars. Gray hair tied back in the old warrior styles.

One of them–Elder Riah, who taught me my first blade form–looks right at me and bows.

My throat tightens.

The pack follows suit.

Lyra watches in stunned silence.

And for the first time in years, I feel it:

my people coming home.

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They bow to me, then bow deeper to her. Luna. Recognition spreads across the room like a rumor taking root.

Samuel arrives like a force of nature–broad grin, heavy footsteps, eyes already shining. “There he is,” he booms, sweeping me into a rough hug before I can stand. “My Alpha. My brother.” His voice cracks on that last word, and he covers it with a laugh. He pulls back, gripping my arms as if to check I’m real. “Look at this place, Ronan. It’s waking up. You did that.”

Then he turns to Lyra and bows his head low, deeper than most. “Luna,” he says warmly. “You saved more lives last night than you know.”

I gesture toward him as he drops into the seat beside me. “Lyra, this is Samuel,” I say. “My Beta. My oldest friend. Emma’s father.” Samuel grins, knocking his shoulder into mine before offering Lyra a respectful dip of his head. “And the only one here who’s kept this idiot alive.”

–

Breakfast starts. Noise grows. Two hundred solid wolves are in this hall eating, laughing, planning. Two hundred out of two thousand. It’s a miracle and a warning: the curse isn’t done.

The doors open again, and the room shifts before I even turn. My parents step through first. My father looks almost exactly as I remember him–tall, broad–shouldered, dressed in a dark forest–green coat he used to wear for council gatherings. His

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Chapter 22

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hair is silvered now, but his posture is steady, commanding without trying. My mother walks beside him, and for a moment my heart stumbles. She’s whole. Solid. Her dark hair is twisted into the same elegant knot she favored before the curse, and her deep plum dress–fitted, sharp, regal–moves like it remembers royalty. Her eyes shine with a warm, stunned relief when she sees me.

Behind them, my siblings hover like half–formed shadows. Elias, the youngest, flickers the worst–thin, translucent, barely holding shape, his small hands gripping the back of my father’s coat as if grounding himself. Mara stands to our mother’s left, taller, older, her outline stuttering in and out like a lantern struggling to stay lit. My middle brother, Cale, is the closest to solid–broad like our father, jaw set–but his skin still carries that faint shimmer of someone caught between worlds.

Seeing them all of them–hits harder than sunlight.

The curse is breaking. And they’re coming back.

–

My heart slams once, too hard. My mother’s eyes find mine, and for a second she looks like the woman I lost — warm. relieved, proud. She crosses to me fast, cups my face, whispers, “My boy.” Her voice breaks on it. She holds my cheeks the way a mother touches a child she thought she’d never see again.

Everything inside me goes tight and grateful.

But then she sees Lyra..

And the warmth drains out of her as if someone cut a string.

Her jaw stiffens. Her eyes narrow. She inhales sharply, like checking something only she understands. Then she leans in close to Lyra’s neck — assessing, not greeting – and pulls back with a cold, unmistakable flash of disappointment.

“Still a virgin, I see?” she says loudly.

The hall falls silent.

Lyra freezes beside me. Her fingers curl into my sleeve.

Heat flashes up my spine.

“Mother-“I warn.

She lifts a hand. “Don’t interrupt, Ronan.”

Her eyes stay locked on Lyra. “Two hundred of our people solidified this morning. Two hundred. And the curse still holds the rest hostage.” She steps closer. “Because someone has yet to do her part.“.

My father steps in quickly, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Son. Sit,” he murmurs – not commanding, just trying to keep the room from splintering. I lower myself halfway before my mother’s voice spikes again, and he turns to her with a forced, gentle smile. “Mariah, darling, perhaps we should—”

She flicks her wrist, brushing him off like dust.

“Oh hush now, John,” she snaps, never taking her eyes off Lyra. “These children need someone to speak plainly.”

He reaches for her wrist, trying to pull her back a step, but she twists free, sharp and offended, as if his touch insults her. “Mariah,” he tries again, quieter this time, “this isn’t the moment-”

She ignores him completely, stepping forward, chin high, voice slicing clean through the hall as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

Chloe perks up like a vulture smelling fresh kill.

My mother turns her head toward her warm smile, soft voice. “Chloe, darling. You look beautiful today.”

–

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Chapter 22

Chloe beams.

Lyra lowers her gaze. My wolf snarls.

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My mother turns back to me. “Your brothers and sister still flicker. Your youngest is barely holding form. We do not have

time to waste.”

“Mother,” I say, slow and deadly, “that has nothing to do with-”

“It has everything to do with her,” she snaps. “A mate is meant to lift the curse. A Luna is meant to carry the future. That bond–she gestures at Lyra’s stomach without shame, “-should already be forming.”

Lyra’s hand trembles.

I cover it.

“She was nearly killed yesterday,” I say. “She won’t be pushed.”

My mother’s eyes sharpen. “Then what good is she to this pack?”

The wolves near us go silent. Samuel stiffens. My father shifts uncomfortably, trying to guide her back, but she steps around him.

“She sits here wearing your shirt, claiming the place of Luna, yet does nothing to free your people.” Her voice rises, cutting through the hall. “If she refuses the one duty that matters-”

“Mother. Stop.”

She looks me dead in the eye.

“No.” she says. “It’s time someone said it. This girl-” she points at Lyra, “-is holding this pack hostage with her inexperience, her fear, and her refusal to do what a Luna must.”

Lyra’s breath shudders out. Her shoulders shake once, barely visible. She lifts her chin, but her eyes shine. She doesn’t speak.

My heart cracks and burns.

I push up from my seat, voice low. “You will not shame her in my hall.”

My mother lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “Shame? I’m stating facts. If she won’t give us an heir, then-”

She glances between Lyra and the flickering shapes of my siblings standing in the doorway, half–there, half–not.

You can hear the ache in her voice when she finishes:

“-then she might as well go back to Tradesport.”

The room stops breathing.