Breed Me Cursed Alpha (Lyra and Ronan) novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Ronan

Hale takes an involuntary step back. His wolf flashes in his gaze, ears flattening before he gets control again.

“Ronan,” he starts carefully, voice lower now, respectful in a way it wasn’t a moment ago, “are you saying—”

I shift.

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Bones crack, fur recedes, the world narrows. When I stand upright again, human and breathing hard, I’m still more beast than man. My skin steams in the cold air. The forest wind knifes over old scars and fresh tension.

I don’t bother to hide what I am. Or what they’ve just heard.

“Yes,” I say. My voice sounds wrong to my own ears–rough gravel over something sharp. “Lyra Kane is my mate.”

The word settles over the clearing like a dropped blade.

Hale swallows, “Your… fated mate?”

“As fated as they come.” My eyes don’t leave his. “You said she ‘belongs‘ to you. I suggest you never say that about her again.”

A murmur runs through his men. They’ve relaxed their ready stances–not because they’re safe, but because they’re smart enough to look less like a threat.

“Alpha,” one of them says under his breath, “we can’t–he’s-”

“The king of alphas,” another finishes tightly. “We are not touching a bond like that.”

Good. They aren’t as stupid as they look.

Hale lifts his hands slightly, palms out. “Ronan, Trade Sport has contracts. If the girl was sold-”

I take a step forward, right up to the invisible line of my border. Power thickens around us, ancient and old as bone.

“You want to drag some other omega into your murder games?” I continue. “Find one who didn’t cross into my territory. Find one who isn’t mine. But if you think you’re taking my mate…”

I let the silence finish the thought for me.

Hale’s throat bobs. His wolf is in his eyes again, shoulders angling instinctively lower in the way of a lesser alpha facing a greater one.

“No disrespect meant,” he says. “We didn’t know.”

“You do now.”

Behind him, his men are already edging toward the vehicles. No one wants to be the wolf on the wrong side of a mate–bond. Especially not with an alpha who carries this much old magic in his blood.

“Trade Sport isn’t worth a war with Blackfang,” one of them mutters. “Not over one girl.”

Not over my girl.

Part of me wants to snarl at that, but the larger part is too focused on the thin, invisible thread humming between my chest and the fortress behind me. I can feel her through it–faint but undeniable. Not words, not thoughts, just sensations. Heat. Restlessness. A raw, aching need that isn’t entirely mine.

12.1

Tue, Feb 3

Chapter 9

My mate.

I’ve waited a hundred years to feel anything like this.

I’ve also spent a hundred years learning what happens to women I touch..

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Hale nods once, sharp and decisive. “We’ll report back to the Council that the asset crossed into pre–claimed land,” he says. “They know better than to challenge a mate–bond.” His gaze flicks to my eyes, then away. “We apologize, Alpha Blackfang. No further claim on Lyra Kane will be made by Trade Sport.”

He means it. I can smell the truth on his words.

“See that it isn’t,” I say.

They retreat in a hurry that they try very hard not to let show. Engines growl back to life. Snow spits under tires. In minutes, the vehicles are gone, swallowed by the trees, their scents already thinning on the wind.

Only then do I breathe.

The bond between us pulses again, insistent, pulling.

I don’t walk back.

I run.

The forest parts for me, recognizing the urgency in my stride. Branches bend out of the way. Roots avoid my path. Magic, always half–feral here, clears the way toward the fortress.

Toward her.

By the time the stone walls loom into view, my heart is hammering in a way that has nothing to do with exertion.

Emma is waiting at the top of the steps, eyes enormous, edges bright with emotion. “They’re gone?” she demands.

“Yes.”

“And her?”

My fingers curl into fists at my sides. “She’s… awake.”

Emma’s mouth curves, equal parts wicked and relieved. “We felt that too. That’s why I left you with tradesport and came here immediately.”

Of course they did.

The closer I get to the heart of the fortress, the thicker her scent becomes. Heat and something softer underneath. It slides under my skin, wraps around my ribs, tightens its grip on my already–frayed control.

I force myself toward the kitchen.

Lena and Mira are there, hovering over a tray that shouldn’t be solid but is–thick slices of bread, steaming broth, fruit that glows faintly with valley magic. The curse lets their hands shape what I can carry.

“We heard the howl,” Lena says softly. “We felt it, Alpha.”

“I figured,” I answer, voice rough.

Mira pushes the tray toward me. “For her,” she says. “She’ll need something real in her before the next wave hits.”

12:13 Tue, Feb 3 G

Chapter 9

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I nod in thanks and take the tray. My hands are too big, too tight around the edges, but I manage not to splinter the wood.

5

I head for the warded chamber.

And stop in front of it.

Her scent pours out even with the wards still in place, sliding through cracks no magic can seal. It hits me like a physical touch.

My knees nearly buckle.

Heat. Want. A wild, dizzy edge that makes it hard to think. She’s been… busy.

My wolf shoves harder toward the surface.

Mine.

I grit my teeth, set the tray down on a small table carved into the stone, and rest my hand against the lock.

The wards recognize me. They pull back with a shiver, ancient sigils loosening. The heavy mechanism clicks, then slides.

I open the door.

Her scent doesn’t just hit me.

It slams into me.

The chamber is warm, fire low but steady, shadows licking along stone. Lyra stands a few steps from the bed now, no longer folded against the door. Her hair is a wild halo around her face, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

Her eyes find me instantly.

For a heartbeat, everything is silent.

She looks at my face. Then lower.

Then lower.

Then bites her bottom lip and makes a small sound. Mhm.

There is no shame in it.

No flinch. No stutter of uncertainty.

Just open, stunned hunger.

My wolf preens, satisfaction rolling through him at the way her gaze tracks over me. I should have put on clothes before I left the border. I didn’t. I didn’t think that far ahead. I barely thought at all.

Now, with her standing there in a thin shift, bare legs braced, eyes dark and dilated as they rake over my bare chest, my abdomen, lower-

I wish I had.

And I don’t.

At the same time.

I clear my throat, the sound almost comically human in the thick, charged air.

12:13 Tue, Feb 3 GD

Chapter 9

“I brought you breakfast,” I manage.

Her gaze drags up from my dick to my face. Slowly. Like it costs her something to let go of the view.

She swallows.

“Right,” she says, voice rough around the edges. “Breakfast.”

I can see it in her eyes.

She’d take me over food in a heartbeat.

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My fingers tighten on the tray. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to drop it, cross the distance, pin her against the nearest surface and answer the way her body is calling.

She’s mine.

She smells like mine.

The bond between us is a living thing now, pulsing and eager, tangling our breaths together in the space between us.

I take one step into the room.

Then another.

The warded door swings shut behind me with a low, final thud.

Her eyes flick to it, then back to me. She bites her lower lip again, catching it between her teeth, and my control frays like old rope.

“Eat first,” I say, though it feels like the words are scraping out of my throat. “You need strength.”

She tilts her head, studying me as if she’s trying to decide whether she believes that’s why I came.

Her gaze drops again, lingering in a way that makes my breath stutter.

“Do I?” she asks softly. “Is that really what I need, Ronan?”

The sound of my name in her mouth is almost worse than the scent of her heat.

My wolf lunges.

My heart answers.

The tray shakes once in my hands.

And I realize something with cold, perfect clarity:

I’m not sure I can keep every promise I made to her.

Not anymore.

Not with my mate standing between me and the only door out.

Not when she looks at me like this.

The bond pulls tight, a noose and a lifeline in one.

I take another slow step toward her.

12:13 Tue, Feb 3 GD

Chapter 9

“Lyra,” I say, voice low, unsteady, caught somewhere between warning and prayer.

Her answering smile is small, wicked, and devastating.

The tray wobbles again.

I’m fucked. –

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