Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Lyra

I don’t plan to run.

I just do.

1. GD.

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The scrape of my chair echoes too loud in the dining hall, and suddenly I’m on my feet, my chest tight, my throat burning. The weight of too many eyes, too many thoughts, too many expectations presses down until breathing feels like work.

“Lyra-” Ronan calls after me.

I almost turn back.

Almost

But his mother’s hand closes around his wrist before he can take a step.

“Let her go, Ronan,” she says smoothly. “Sit down. Eat.” Her voice softens, indulgent. “An Alpha needs all the nutrients he can get. You work hard.”

The words land like a door shutting.

“You cannot afford to be chasing after grown women who throw tantrums when reality presses in,” his mother says coolly, fingers straightening Ronan’s sleeve as if he’s still a boy who needs managing. “An Alpha does not abandon his table for wounded pride. You eat. You think. You lead.” Her gaze flicks dismissively toward the stairs. “If she can’t withstand a breakfast conversation, how will she withstand a crown, a pack, or the weight of what’s coming? Sit, Ronan. This isn’t a romance. It’s rule.”

Ronan doesn’t argue. I feel it in my bones–that restraint, that forced obedience to decorum, to pack, to blood. His hesitation hurts worse than if he’d ordered me to stop.

So I leave.

I take the stairs two at a time, my bare feet silent against the stone. The upper corridors are empty, stripped bare by the curse years ago. No tapestries. No torches. Just long stretches of shadow and cold air.

I make it to the upper corridor before my legs give out. The stone is cold when my back hits it, grounding in a way nothing else is. My chest feels too tight, like I’ve swallowed something sharp. I press my palms to my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the tears. I can’t get the images of his mother’s disappointment out of my mind, Chloe’s cunning smile, Ronan’s father’s eyes filled with pity. I tell myself to breathe. I tell myself I am stronger than this. I tell myself I can handle being unwanted.

And then I cry.

Not prettily. Not quietly.

My shoulders shake. My hands curl into the fabric of Ronan’s oversized shirt like it’s the only solid thing in the world. Everything comes crashing in at once–the pack, the curse, the pressure, Chloe’s smile, his mother’s words, the way the room had gone so silent it felt like judgment.

I press my forehead to my knees and breathe until my chest stops stuttering.

I don’t know how long I sit there.

Long enough for my tears to dry. Long enough for the ache to settle into something dull and heavy.

That’s when I hear voices. The voices aren’t close enough to be cunning.

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Chapter 23

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They drift through the stone and air, blurred at the edges, the way sound carries when people speak freely and assume no one is listening. There’s no polish to them. No careful pacing. Just low, uneven murmurs layered over one another – the cadence of pack members talking among themselves.

Muted. Close. Just outside the corridor.

“…not what we expected.”

“She hasn’t done anything yet.”

“Two hundred solid and counting, but the rest of us are still-”

A pause. Footsteps shifting. Someone exhales through their nose.

“Two hundred solid isn’t nothing.”

“No. But it isn’t enough either.”

“-and she’s still untouched.”

“Shhh. Angela,” one says. “Lower your voice.”

“I am lowering it. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

I freeze.

My breath goes shallow as I lean closer to the stone wall, heart pounding.

“She’s young.”

“So was the last Luna.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.

“If this stalls,” someone says quietly, “the pack will turn. You know that.”

A pause. Then, lower: “Ronan won’t always be able to shield her.”

My fingers dig into the fabric of the shirt. My wolf stirs, uneasy.

They don’t sound cruel.

That’s what scares me.

They sound… practical.

The voices fade as suddenly as they came, retreating down the corridor in low murmurs I can’t quite follow. They don’t sound like manipulative. There’s no honey in them, no careful softness. And they might be servants–no sharp authority, no certainty. These voices carry something else. Unease. Calculation. The sound of people weighing a problem they don’t yet know how to solve.

I stay still long after they’re gone, listening to the quiet reclaim the hall. My pulse refuses to slow. My wolf shifts restlessly under my skin, unsettled by the absence more than the presence. Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t meant for me-

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Chapter 23

and that feels… invasive?

Footsteps echo faintly from below, heavier now. Different rhythm. Different presence.

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That’s when I realize the voices I’m now hearing are coming from outside the corridor, not within it. From the courtyard. From the open air beyond these walls.

I push myself to my feet slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. My legs feel weak, but curiosity–and dread–pull me forward.

I move toward the window.

Whatever I overheard wasn’t the end of it.

It was only the beginning.

I push myself up on shaking legs and move toward the nearest window, careful, silent. The glass is old and clouded, but I can see the courtyard below.

Ronan’s mother stands there, rigid and regal, her back to the fortress. Chloe is beside her, close–too close–one hand resting lightly on her arm like it belongs there.

They’re talking.

I can’t hear the words, but I don’t need to.

Chloe’s posture is gentle. Understanding. She nods at all the right moments, her expression sympathetic, almost sad. The perfect listener.

Ronan’s mother gestures sharply toward the hall. Toward where I ran from.

Chloe places her hand over Ronan’s mother’s fingers, soothing. Reassuring.

Then she speaks.

Slowly.

She glances up–and our eyes meet.

Her lips curve into something almost kind.

Almost.

She mouths the words clearly, carefully:

‘When you fail, I’ll be waiting!

Then she winks.

The world tilts.

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I stagger back from the window, bile rising in my throat. My chest aches–not from fear this time, but from understanding.

She’s not threatening me.

She’s positioning herself.

The realization settles like ice in my veins.

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Chapter 23

I turn away before either of them can see me again–and that’s when I feel it.

A low vibration through the stone beneath my feet,

The wards.

Straining.

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Not humming the way they do when something approaches. This is sharper. Uneven. Like a string pulled too tight.

My wolf lifts her head, alert.

Something is wrong.

1 don’t think.

I follow it.

Down the corridor. Through a side stairwell I haven’t used before. Past a door hanging half off its hinges. The farther I go, the colder the air becomes.

The vibration grows stronger.

Intentional.

Testing.

I step into the shadowed archway near the outer border wall and press my palm to the stone. The magic hums under my skin, reactive, aware.

Someone is out there.

I can’t see them.

But I can feel eyes on me.

A pressure gathers in the dark beyond the wards, coiling, patient.

Then a voice speaks.

Not loud.

Not close.

But clear.

Measured.

As if spoken just for me.

“Do not trust Ronan,” it says.

The words curl and bend, old as bone and sharp as prophecy.

“For though his heart be bound to thee,

his fate is writ in blood not yet shed.

Beware the king who loves thee so-

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Chapter 23

for love hath felled mightier crowns than his.”