Chapter 22

Moon Fever

The fever started three nights after Lyra asked Kael whether he was lonely.

At first, she thought she was simply getting sick.

The northern winter had grown cruel again overnight, dragging sharp winds through the mountain passes hard enough to rattle Blackfang’s outer walls until dawn. By morning, Lyra woke sweating beneath heavy blankets despite the freezing temperature inside her chambers.

Her skin felt wrong.

Too warm.

Too sensitive.

Even the fabric brushing against her arms seemed irritating somehow.

Mirelle noticed immediately.

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean medically.”

“That’s somehow less comforting.”

Lyra sat slowly at the edge of the bed while pressing cold fingers against her forehead.

The silver markings beneath her wrists had darkened overnight again.

Not brighter this time.

Deeper.

Like moonlight trapped beneath skin.

“Did you sleep at all?” Mirelle asked carefully.

Lyra shook her head.

Not really.

Every time she closed her eyes, strange fragmented dreams dragged her awake again.

Warm hands.

Gold eyes.

The feeling of something ancient moving restlessly beneath her ribs.

And always—

Kael.

Which felt deeply unfair.

By midday, the symptoms worsened.

The entire fortress suddenly smelled overwhelming.

Smoke from the kitchens drifted too strongly through the halls. Wolves in the lower courtyard made her pulse jump every time they howled. Even distant conversations scraped uncomfortably against her hearing.

And underneath all of it—

she could smell Kael everywhere.

Cedar.

Snow.

Leather.

The dark warm scent that clung to him after training sessions.

It haunted entire corridors now.

“This is ridiculous,” Lyra muttered while gripping the edge of the eastern balcony hard enough her knuckles hurt.

Below the fortress walls, snow spiraled endlessly through the cliffs.

The cold air should have helped.

It didn’t.

Mirelle folded her arms nearby watching her with growing concern.

“You need a healer.”

“I need my body to stop behaving like it joined a cult overnight.”

That earned exactly zero amusement.

Worrying.

By evening, even the wolves had started reacting strangely again.

As Lyra crossed the western corridor toward the library, three Blackfang wolves resting near the stairwell abruptly lifted their heads in unison.

Their eyes tracked her movement immediately.

Alert.

Restless.

One whined softly beneath its breath.

The reaction sent another sharp pulse of heat through her body.

Lyra stopped walking.

Because suddenly—

the scent changed.

Not the wolves.

Her.

A strange sweetness threaded suddenly beneath her skin warm enough to make her dizzy.

The wolves reacted instantly.

All three stood.

“Oh, hell,” Fenrir muttered from somewhere behind her.

Lyra turned too fast.

Fenrir stood near the war room entrance holding several military reports while staring at her with the exhausted horror of a man realizing administrative problems had become supernatural.

“What?” Lyra asked.

Fenrir rubbed one hand down his face slowly.

“That,” he said carefully, “is not supposed to happen yet.”

Wonderful.

Fantastic.

Very reassuring.

Before Lyra could demand clarification, the wolves suddenly lowered themselves flat against the corridor floor again.

Not submission.

Distress.

Like instinct itself didn’t know whether to protect her or run from her.

And then—

Kael appeared.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, the atmosphere changed violently.

Not outwardly.

Internally.

Every instinct in Lyra’s body reacted at once.

Kael stopped dead.

Completely motionless.

His attention locked onto her instantly.

And Lyra realized with sudden horrifying clarity:

he could smell it too.

The silence stretched painfully tight.

Fenrir looked between them once and immediately decided survival required leaving.

“Absolutely not my problem,” he muttered before disappearing down the opposite hallway.

Coward.

Kael crossed toward her slowly.

Too slowly.

Like approaching something capable of destroying him accidentally.

His expression remained controlled.

Barely.

Lyra noticed the tension in his jaw immediately.

The way his breathing had subtly changed.

The sharp unnatural stillness of someone fighting instinct second by second.

“What’s happening to me?”

The question came quieter than she intended.

Kael stopped only a few feet away.

Not touching her.

Probably because he no longer trusted himself to.

His eyes dropped briefly toward the silver marks glowing beneath the skin of her throat now.

Then lower.

Toward the pulse racing visibly beneath it.

“Moon fever,” he said roughly.

Lyra blinked.

“That sounds fake.”

“It isn’t.”

The answer came immediately.

Too immediately.

Like he’d spent the last hour desperately hoping he was wrong.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through her body suddenly hard enough that Lyra physically grabbed the stone wall beside her for balance.

Kael moved instinctively toward her.

Stopped halfway.

The restraint in him looked painful now.

Actually painful.

“What does it mean?” she asked breathlessly.

Kael stared at her for several long seconds before answering.

“It means your bloodline is waking up.”

That should not have sounded terrifyingly intimate.

Unfortunately it did.

Another pulse hit her then.

Stronger this time.

And suddenly every part of her became hyperaware of him standing there.

The size of him.

The warmth radiating from his body.

The scent of snow and cedar wrapping around her senses until breathing itself felt difficult.

Kael noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His pupils narrowed sharply.

And for one dangerous suspended second—

Lyra saw his control slip.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

His wolf surged too close to the surface all at once, possessiveness and hunger flashing visibly across his face before he forced it back down again.

The reaction hit her body like fire.

“Kael…”

She didn’t even know what she intended to say.

His name simply escaped her.

That almost broke him.

Lyra saw it happen.

The exact moment something inside him snapped tight enough to become unbearable.

Kael took one abrupt step backward.

Then another.

Like distance itself had become necessary for survival.

“You need to stay away from me tonight.”

His voice sounded rough now.

Strained.

Every word dragged through restraint hard enough to hurt.

Lyra stared at him helplessly.

“Why?”

Kael laughed once under his breath.

A terrible sound.

Because it carried no humor whatsoever.

“Because,” he said quietly, “I can barely think when you smell like this.”

The honesty of it hit harder than shouting ever could have.

For several long seconds, neither moved.

The corridor remained silent except for distant wolves pacing restlessly somewhere below the fortress.

Then suddenly Kael turned away completely.

Fast.

Final.

And before Lyra could stop him—

the Black Wolf King locked himself behind the western war room doors like a man trying to survive his own instincts before they destroyed something precious.