Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Lyra

The mirror fogs as soon as I turn on the tap.

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Steam curls through the bathroom, softening the hard edges of the fortress stone, blurring the lines of the woman staring back at me. I splash water on my face, press my palms to the cool marble sink, and breathe.

Just breathe.

Last night replays in fragments I can’t quite stitch together. Ronan’s heat. Ronan’s distance. The way he looked at me like I was everything and nothing in the same breath. How one second he was all hunger and gravity, and the next he was a wall I couldn’t climb.

I don’t understand him yet.

But I want to.

I dry my hands slowly, grounding myself in the mundane. The scent of soap. The quiet drip of water. My reflection steadies. The bond hums low, not painful now, just… watchful.

My thoughts drift where they always do lately. To Merrisa.

To the woman who smiled with her mouth and not her eyes. To the way her perfume used to linger in hallways long after she’d passed, sweet and cloying, like rot dressed up as roses. Merrisa never raised her voice. She never had to. Her cruelty lived in little things. In doors left unlocked on purpose. In food taken away because I had not earned it. In the way she would brush past me and whisper that my mother died because of me, just soft enough that no one else could hear.

She was the kind of woman who hurt you in ways that left no marks.

When Marcus hit me, it was brutal and obvious. When Merrisa hurt me, it was careful, disguised. She made sure I was always the one who looked guilty, weak, dramatic. She taught Kyle how to sneer. She taught him how to look at me like I was something he could use.

Even now, even here, safe inside stone walls and magic, I still feel her in the back of my mind. Like a hand between my shoulder blades, pressing me down, reminding me not to take up too much space.

Some scars never fade.

They just learn how to hide.

Then my thoughts drift to Mariah, to Ronan’s mother.

The woman has a talent for cruelty disguised as civility. Every word sharp if you know where to look. Every smile edged with judgment. I can still hear her voice from yesterday, calm and slicing, like she was discussing weather instead of my life.

I swallow and push her from my mind.

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Chapter 45

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Because despite her, despite the elders, despite the weight of expectation pressing in from every direction, my life is changing.

For the better.

I brush my hair, slower than necessary, letting the rhythm calm me. I think about the fortress waking around me. Sunlight where there used to be shadow. Solid footsteps where there were once echoes.

And Kyle.

The thought brings a hesitant smile to my lips.

My brother.

The word still feels fragile, like glass, but I hold it anyway. He stood up for me yesterday. Publicly. In front of people who once watched me kneel without flinching. He looked at me like I mattered.

Maybe he’s changed.

Maybe time and pain reshaped him the way it reshaped me.

The hope blooms quietly, dangerous and sweet. I imagine it. Kyle talking to our father. Standing between me and Marcus instead of behind him. A family that doesn’t hurt to think about. A table where I’m not bracing for the next blow.

A brother who loves me.

I cling to the thought longer than I should.

Then Ronan slips into my mind again, uninvited.

Hot one minute. Cold the next.

A man who kisses like he’s starving and then pulls away like he’s afraid of the damage he might do. Who holds me like I’m precious and then builds walls I can’t see until I crash into them.

I rinse my face one last time and straighten.

Breakfast.

I choose something simple. A soft dress. Comfortable shoes. I don’t armor myself the way I used to. Not here. Not anymore.

When I open the bedroom door, Ronan is already there.

He looks… composed.

Dressed. Controlled. Alpha in every line of his body.

It makes my chest tighten.

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Chapter 45

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I step toward him, fully prepared to storm past and pretend I’m not still unraveling, when he moves first.

He offers me his elbow.

The gesture is old-fashioned.

It stops me cold.

I look up at him, searching his face for something. Apology. Explanation. Heat.

There’s only steadiness.

I hesitate, then slip my arm through his.

The contact sparks anyway. Quiet. Familiar.

We walk.

Ronan’s hand brushes mine as we step into the corridor, not quite holding, not quite letting go. The air feels different this morning. Not lighter. Thinner. Like something has been peeled back.

The fortress is already awake.

Doors stand open. Wolves move through the halls in small knots, some still half-solid, some fully there now. Conversation hums, low and busy, until it starts to thin as we pass.

It is not sudden. It is worse than that.

It happens in ripples.

A woman carrying folded linens pauses mid-step and presses herself to the wall, bowing her head. Two warriors break off their conversation and straighten, hands coming behind their backs. A group of young omegas falls silent, eyes darting toward us and then away too quickly.

“Luna,” someone murmurs.

“Alpha.”

“Good morning.”

The words drift after us like smoke.

I nod automatically. Smile when I remember to. My skin prickles with awareness, with too many eyes sliding over me. Not hostile. Not exactly.

Assessing.

Hopeful.

Ronan moves like none of it touches him, but I feel it all. The subtle way shoulders shift. The way gazes linger just a beat longer than politeness requires. The way their eyes keep flicking between us, measuring the space

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Chapter 45

between our bodies, the angle of his hand near mine.

Something about us matters this morning.

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By the time we reach the dining hall, my shoulders are already tight, my breath sitting too high in my chest.

The doors open to a rush of warmth and sound. Plates clink. Chairs scrape. The smell of bread and fruit and roasted meat rolls over us. Conversation falters, then swells again, louder now, brighter, as if they are trying to prove something.

We take our places.

Ronan at the head of the long table. Me at his right, where a Luna is meant to sit.

The moment I lower into the chair, it starts.

A platter is pushed toward me before I can reach for anything. “Here, Luna, you should try the honeyed pears.”

Someone else leans in from the other side. “Do you take cream in your tea?”

“I heard the gardens are blooming again. Isn’t that wonderful?” a woman says, eyes bright, too bright.

“How did you sleep?” a man asks, smiling like the answer matters more than it should.

Luna. Luna. Luna.

The word keeps landing on me, soft and heavy at the same time.

I answer because that is what is expected. My voice sounds steady even as something inside me starts to vibrate. “Fine, thank you.” “It’s lovely.” “Yes, very bright.” “No, just water is fine.”

My fork hovers over my plate, then lowers, then lifts again without finding anything. Every movement feels watched.

They are not speaking over me.

They are not ignoring me.

They are centering me.

And that is somehow more unsettling.

I glance down the table and catch a few of them whispering to one another, smiling, nodding, their gazes darting back to Ronan and me. There is an energy here that was not present yesterday. A hum of anticipation that crawls over my skin.

This isn’t courtesy.

This is expectation.

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Chapter 45

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And whatever they think has changed between Ronan and me, it is shaping every look, every careful word, every hopeful smile in this room.

My stomach twists as the first cold thread of understanding begins to wind its way through me.

This isn’t normal.

Then the doors open.

Ronan’s parents enter.

I brace automatically, spine stiffening, breath catching as I prepare for the familiar chill.

But it doesn’t come.

Merrisa is smiling.

Actually smiling.

She crosses the room with purpose, heels clicking lightly against stone, and before I can move, she leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek.

My body freezes.

“Good morning,” she says brightly. Then, turning just enough to include the room, “Alpha. Luna.”

The words land like stones dropped into still water.

The table goes quiet for half a heartbeat.

Then conversation resumes.

Just like that.

I sit there, stunned, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Ronan’s hand brushes my knee beneath the table. Steady. Present.

And slowly, horribly, the truth begins to surface.

Bits of conversation float to me now, sharpened by understanding.

“…once the heir comes…”

“….my sister will be solid again…”

“…can you imagine seeing them fully human…”

“…it’s finally happening…”

My stomach drops.

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Chapter 45

They think.

They think we slept together.

They think we’re trying.

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The realization hits me so hard I choke on my bite of bread.

I cough, eyes watering, heart pounding as the room tilts.

This isn’t kindness.

It’s anticipation.

They’re being gentle because they think I’m already carrying their salvation.

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I grip the edge of the table, forcing my breath to steady as the weight of it settles fully on my chest.

This morning’s smiles aren’t for me.

They’re for what they think my body is about to give them.

And suddenly, the room feels very, very small.

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