Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Lyra

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The machines hum like they always have. Steady. Unforgiving.

I am half-asleep in the chair when the bond shifts.

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My fingers tighten around Ronan’s hand before my brain catches up. I hold my breath, afraid the moment will shatter if I move too fast.

Then his fingers move.

Just once. Barely there.

My heart slams so hard it steals my breath. I lean forward, eyes locked on his face, searching for anything. A twitch. A breath. Proof.

His lashes flutter.

I forget how to exist.

“Ronan,” I whisper, like the name itself might anchor him.

His eyes open.

Not wild. Not empty.

Him.

My Ronan.

The relief hits so hard my vision blurs. A laugh breaks out of me, shaky and unhinged, and I clamp my free hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing outright.

He looks at me like I am the first thing he has ever seen.

Then his gaze shifts past me, sharp despite the weakness in his body. He takes in the room in a single breath. The healers. The elders hovering too close. The watchers pretending concern.

“Out,” he says.

His voice is rough, but the command is intact.

No one moves.

Ronan inhales, slow and deep, and turns his head back to me. His thumb presses faintly into my palm.

“All of you,” he repeats. “Leave.”

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Chapter 32

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Something in the air snaps into place.

Chairs scrape. Boots retreat. Voices cut off mid-thought. The door closes, solid and final, and the room exhales with us.

Silence settles.

Ronan’s eyes soften when he looks at me again. His grip tightens, fragile and certain all at once.

“You stayed,” he says quietly.

I laugh again, breathless and wet-eyed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

For a heartbeat, we just look at each other.

The door clicks shut.

The sound is small, ordinary, and it changes everything.

I do not realize how tight my chest is until the room empties and I can breathe again. Ronan’s attention comes back to me fully, like the world has narrowed to the space between our hands.

“You stayed,” he says again, quieter this time.

“As if you gave me a choice,” I reply, and my voice wobbles despite my best effort.

He studies my face like he is counting bruises that are not there. His thumb traces a slow, absent circle against my skin. It is barely a touch, but it steadies me more than anything else could.

“You look exhausted,” he murmurs.

“So do you,” I say, then laugh softly. “You look worse, actually.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. It is small. It is everything.

He shifts, tries to sit up, and hisses under his breath. I am there instantly, one hand bracing his shoulder, the other slipping behind his back. He is solid and warm and real beneath my palms.

“Easy,” I tell him. “You just died. Take it slow.”

His breath ghosts across my cheek when he leans closer. “I heard you,” he says.

I freeze. “When?”

“Before,” he answers. “During. I could not move, but I could feel you.”

My throat tightens. “I thought you were

gone.”

His forehead rests against mine. “I tried not to be.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The bond hums low and steady, not strained now, just present. His hand

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Chapter 32

tightens in mine, a quiet promise.

“I am here,” he says.

I close my eyes and let the words sink in.

So am I.

I lean in before I can think better of it.

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It is meant to be careful. A brief press of lips. Proof. Nothing more.

The second my mouth touches his, the monitor loses its mind.

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The sound spikes sharp and frantic, shrill enough to make my pulse jump. I pull back, startled, then laugh because the sound rips out of me before I can stop it.

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Was that me?”

Ronan’s breath hitches.

Not a soft reaction. Not flustered.

Sharp.

His fingers tighten around mine hard enough to hurt.

The laughter dies in my throat.

He inhales like he’s fighting something. His eyes flick past me for half a second, unfocused, not quite seeing the room.

Then he shoves me away.

Not gently.

But Sudden.

I stumble back a step, chair legs scraping loudly against the floor. The monitor screams. My heart slams into my ribs as confusion crashes over me.

“Ronan?” I gasp.

He grips the edge of the bed, knuckles white, jav locked so tight I can see the muscle jump. His chest rises and falls too fast, like he’s run a mile instead of kissed me.

“Don’t,” he snaps.

The word lands like a slap.

I freeze.

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“What-?” My voice comes out small. “I didn’t-”

“Stop,” he says again, harsher now. “Don’t touch me.”

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The room feels wrong. Tilted. The warmth between us evaporates so fast it leaves cold behind.

My stomach twists.

Did I hurt him?

Did I misread everything?

My eyes flick to the door, to the hall beyond it, and then-unbidden-to Chloe. To the way she looks at him. To the way she fits into this world without flinching.

The thought hurts more than it should.

“Is this-” I swallow. “Is this because of her?”

His head snaps up.

For half a second, something flashes through his eyes.

Then it’s gone.

“That’s not it,” he says too quickly.

Which somehow makes it worse.

The monitor continues to shriek. Ronan drags in a breath, forces his pulse down by sheer will. The beeping slows, though his hands still shake.

I step back another pace without meaning to.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. “I thought-”

“You thought wrong,” he cuts in.

The words are flat.

My chest tightens painfully.

The bond hums, not broken, but strained. Like a wire pulled too tight.

I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak.

Silence crashes down between us.

Ronan turns his face away, staring at the wall like it has offended him personally. His breathing evens out, too controlled, too slow, like he’s locking something behind his ribs.

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Chapter 32

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I stand there, hands useless at my sides, heart hammering, trying to understand how we went from that to this in less than a minute.

“I won’t touch you,” I say finally, because the quiet is unbearable. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says.

Still not looking at me.

Which somehow hurts more than if he were angry.

Footsteps echo faintly outside the door. Voices. Movement. The world waiting to intrude again.

Ronan straightens abruptly, armor sliding back into place. Whatever softness existed a moment ago disappears like it never happened.

“They’re close,” he says. “You should step back.”

I do. Automatically.

That realization stings.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel standing here. “You don’t have to push me away like that.”

His shoulders tense.

“I do,” he replies quietly.

I search his profile for something. Guilt. Regret. Anything that tells me I didn’t imagine what we shared.

He gives me nothing.

The bond still exists. I can feel him. Solid. Alive. Closed off.

A knock sounds at the door.

Ronan doesn’t answer right away.

“Give me a moment,” he calls.

The knock doesn’t come again, but the presence remains. Pressure. Expectation.

Ronan finally looks at me.

His gaze softens just a fraction, and for a heartbeat I see the man who held my hand while dying.

“Stay back when they come in,” he says. “Please.”

Not don’t leave.

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Just stay back.

I nod again because I don’t trust my voice.

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He exhales, then turns away as the door opens and the room fills with sound, with bodies, with watchful eyes.

No one notices the space between us.

But I do.

And as I step aside like he asked, one thought lodges deep in my chest, sharp and unwelcome:

Whatever just happened wasn’t about me.

Which means it’s worse.

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