Page 13 of Growl Me, Maybe

“Don’t move.”

Her magic shimmered around her like heat off pavement, erratic and humming. Her fingers flexed in the grass. “It—it was the stone. I didn’t touch it, I swear. I was just trying to reinforce the shield. Something pushed back.”

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t.

Because the only thing in his mind wasmine.

His wolf was clawing beneath his skin again, wild with protectiveness and rage and the need to bury his face in her neck andmake sureshe was still breathing.

Lyra stared at him, eyes wide and soft and questioning. “How did you know?”

Jace pulled away.

Cold. Sharp. Controlled.

“I didn’t.”

Her brows knit. “But you came running?—”

“Be more careful,” he said, standing. “You could’ve torn the wards wide open. That stone’s tied to the Grove. It reacts when provoked.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“You were careless.”

Her face paled. “I was trying to help.”

He didn’t let himself soften. Didn’t let himself stay. Not when his hands still tingled from touching her. Not when his wolf still howled in his chest like he’d nearly lost everything.

“Just… stay inside,” he muttered. “Let someone else handle the wards next time that doesn't destroy everything they touch.”

Then he turned and walked away before the tremble in her voice could shatter the walls he’d spent years building.

7

LYRA

Lyra had always been good at reading people.

Even when she was a kid, nose deep in hex theory and flower-dusted spellbooks, she could tell when her coven elders were lying through their teeth. She’d known when an apology wasn’t really an apology. She’d known when love was conditional, and when kindness came wrapped in expectations.

So she trusted her gut.

And right now? Her gut was waving red flags and tossing glitter in all directions when it came toJace Montgomery.

She stared into the frothy depths of her tea atThe Spellbound Sip, elbows propped on the table, fingers drumming against a muffin plate she hadn’t touched. Across from her, Calla watched her like she was deciding whether to hand over a comforting hug or a truth potion.

“He was cold,” Lyra said finally, breaking the silence. “Not just annoyed—I meancold. One minute he’s holding me like I’m made of glass and growling like I’m the last biscuit at a family reunion, and the next he’s throwing shade like I caused a magical apocalypse.”

Calla raised a brow. “Did you?”

“No!” She paused. “Well. Mostly no.”

Calla sipped her herbal blend, eyes thoughtful. “You want me to lie to you or tell you the truth?”

“I want you to tell me why my boss acts like I’m some dangerous temptation he can't afford to look at but also won’t leave alone.”

Calla smiled slowly. “So… the truth then.”

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