Page 43 of Growl Me, Maybe

She flinched.

He stopped. Closed his eyes. Lowered his voice.

“I’m not made for soft things,” he said. “I’m not built to love the way you deserve.”

Lyra’s lips parted, but he barreled on, like a dam had finally cracked behind his ribs.

“My father disappeared the night he should’ve passed the full mantle to me. One minute he was this unshakable force—the alpha every other alpha answered to—and the next he was gone. No explanation. No trail. Just me, twenty-three, holding a pack and a town and theMoonlit Pactin my bare hands.”

His voice roughened, like gravel underfoot. “I didn’t have time to grieve. Didn’t have space to fall apart. I had to become the version of him they needed—even if it broke me.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

And the truth in his eyes nearly dropped her to her knees.

“I can’t bring you into that,” he said, barely a whisper. “Not when it would make you a target. Not when it would tie you to this...this weight.”

Lyra’s hands trembled, but she held her ground. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I know.”

“Then why—why keep pushing me away?”

“Because if something happened to you because ofme,” he said, voice shaking, “I wouldn’t survive it.”

Lyra stepped closer. “So you’d rather break both of us slowly than take the risk?”

He didn’t answer.

She stood there, chest heaving, magic curling around her like smoke and heartbreak.

“You say you can’t claim me,” she said. “But you already have. Every look, every word, every time you’ve saved me—you’ve carved yourself into me.”

He swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what this means now,” she whispered. “But I know this—if you keep standing there holding back, you’re goingto lose me. And it won’t be Ezra who takes me. It’ll beme, walking away.”

She turned again.

And this time, he let her go.

Because for all his strength, all his certainty...

He didn’t know how to hold her without breaking her too.

21

LYRA

Lyra didn’t remember the walk back.

One second she was standing in the woods, staring at Jace like he might crack wide open if she looked too long—and the next, she was halfway across town, her feet moving on autopilot, her fingers clenched into fists tight enough to leave crescents on her palms.

The wind had teeth tonight.

Or maybe it was just the ache in her chest, sharp and cold and gnawing at the edges of her resolve.

Milo padded silently beside her, not saying a word. For once, the snark was gone. No sarcasm. No wisecracks. Just quiet pawsteps and the occasional glance that said,I’m here if you need me—even if I don’t know how to fix it.

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