Page 22 of Growl Me, Maybe

LYRA

Lyra stood frozen in the corridor long after Jace had vanished down the hall, the echo of his retreating footsteps stamping something bitter across her chest.

Go home, Lyra.

He hadn’t yelled.

He hadn’t snapped.

But somehow, that cold, clipped sentence hurt worse than any shouted command.

She stared down at her hands, still faintly tingling from the pulse of frustration that rolled through her like a tidal spell on the brink of breaking. She’d tried. She’d asked. She’d let herself be vulnerable, something she didn’t often allow, and he’d shut her out—again.

No answers. No truths.

Just distance.

Again.

Her eyes stung, but she blinked fast and furious, jaw tightening as heat bloomed in her throat.

She wasn’t going home.

She was goingto his office.

The trek from the archive wing to the alpha’s office was short but felt endless. Every click of her boots echoed with righteous fury. Witches were taught to handle emotions delicately, to wrap chaos in control. But Lyra had never been very good at holding in magic or feelings.

Today, she wasn’t going to try.

She didn’t bother knocking.

The door creaked open on its own with a gentle magical prod. Jace stood at the far end of the room, back turned, shoulder muscles tight beneath his dark henley. He was staring out the tall window like the fog outside had secrets worth memorizing.

He didn’t turn when she entered.

“Still here?” he said, voice like gravel dragged across steel.

“I don’t take orders from you when they’re wrapped in bullheaded pride,” Lyra snapped.

Now he turned. His gaze locked on hers, sharp and unreadable.

“Lyra—”

“No,” she cut in, storming across the room until she stood just beyond his reach. “You don’t get to dismiss me like I’m a gnat buzzing too close to your perfect little bubble. Not when you’ve spent the past two weeks growling at every man who so much as breathes the same air as me. Not when you—you—keep starting this invisible fire and then acting like I’m the one who lit the match.”

He didn’t speak, but his jaw clenched hard.

“I’ve tried to be patient,” she continued, voice trembling. “Tried to figure out if I did something wrong. If I imagined the tension. The almost-kiss. The way you held me when the ward flared. But then you push me away, again and again, and I’m left wondering if I’m just some kind of cosmic joke to you.”

“Lyra—”

“Don’t,” she said, one finger raised. “Unless you’re actually going to say something real. Because I’ve had it. I deserve more than a boss who barks when I talk to someone, then sends me home when I don’t know why he’s looking at me like I’m both the storm and the shelter.”

The room pulsed with magic, hers, wild and warm, spilling from her skin like steam. The bond between them vibrated, undeniable and heavy, like fate had lit a fuse between their hearts and was just waiting for one of them to ignite.

He looked like he might.

For a moment, she saw it.

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