Page 10 of Growl Me, Maybe

She blinked, lips parted, suddenly aware of everything—the way his hand tightened slightly at her back, the rise and fall of his chest, the scent of him. Woodsmoke. Pine. Something wilder beneath.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and rough like he hadn’t used it all day.

“Fine,” she said, except her voice came out breathy and traitorous. “Milo tripped me.”

“I noticed.”

He didn’t let go.

And she didn’t move.

The space between them vibrated, tension crackling like live wire. Her fingers were curled into his shirt without realizing it, and his eyes flicked down to her lips just for a moment. A flicker. But she saw it. Felt it.

Something inside her fluttered. Her magic hummed under her skin.

They were standing in a room full of scrolls, tea-scented air, and old magic, but it felt like the center of a storm. Quiet, tight, charged.

Jace leaned in.

Just barely.

So close she could feel the heat of him on her skin.

So close she couldtastethe kiss in the space between their mouths.

But then he pulled back.

Fast. Like he’d been burned.

His hands dropped, his expression snapped back into neutral, and he took a hard step away.

Lyra blinked at the sudden loss of contact.

“I told you not to let magic wander in the archives,” he said stiffly.

“It wasn’t magic,” she replied, breath still shaky. “It was Milo.”

“Same difference.”

He turned, expression shuttered, and began gathering the scrolls she’d dropped like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t just been inches from something that would’ve changed everything.

Lyra dropped her gaze to the floor, trying to gather her dignity with the scattered parchment. Her hands were trembling.

He’d almost kissed her.

And then… he hadn’t.

Which, fine. Cool. Totally fine. Who needed oxygen, anyway?

She brushed her hands down her skirt and stood up. “I was just dropping off muffins.”

He didn’t look at her. “You’ve done enough for the day.”

“I didn’t mean to cause chaos,” she said softly, not sure if she was talking about the muffins or the moment they’d nearly shared.

But Jace didn’t answer.

He just handed her the last scroll, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest second, electric—then walked away without another word.

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