Page 59 of Growl Me, Maybe

And it hit her, all at once.

The forest. The fight. The burn in her muscles.

The trap.

A shadow moved near the door.

She looked up, jaw clenched.

Ezra stepped into the room like he was strolling into a dinner party. Immaculate. Relaxed. Polished as ever in a charcoal coat with silver embroidery at the cuffs, hair slicked back like the chaos around him didn’t touch his world.

“Well,” he said, voice smooth and infuriating, “you’re awake.”

“Wish I wasn’t,” she muttered.

His mouth curled into something that might’ve passed for a smile if you didn’t know it was a lie.

"You'll get comfortable eventually."

Lyra sat up straighter despite the ache behind her eyes, the stone floor cold beneath her. The torchlight caught the silver streaks in her auburn curls as she moved. "I'm not here for long," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh?" He folded his hands behind his back, cocking his head with that practiced elegance that made her want to hex him on principle. His silver embroidery glinted as he shifted. "You think the Alpha's coming?"

She didn't answer, but her moss-green eyes narrowed, focusing on the runes pulsing along the doorframe instead of his smug face.

Ezra chuckled, the sound echoing off the circular stone walls. "You don't even know if hecanfeel you, do you? I mean, he's so busy weighing the 'needs of the pack' against hisoh-so-untimely feelings, I wouldn't be surprised if he missed the part where you werekidnapped from his doorstep." His voice dripped with mock sympathy, each word carefully chosen to slice.

"Shut up," she bit out, the golden cuffs warming against her skin as her anger flared.

"Touchy." He traced a finger along one of the wall carvings, leaving a trail of faint light in its wake.

"Your charm act doesn't work on me." Lyra tugged experimentally at her restraints, feeling for any weakness inthe magic binding her. There was none—Ezra's charmcraft was frustratingly thorough.

He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the stone floor. "Doesn't it?"

She refused to flinch. Refused to let him see the tremble that wanted to crack through her shoulders. Instead, she stared him down, channeling every ounce of the defiance that had gotten her kicked out of her coven in the first place.

Ezra crouched to eye level, eyes gleaming like a predator who thought his prey was already cornered. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—something magical and wrong—wafted from him. "You think you're his mate."

"Iam," she snapped, feeling the truth of it vibrate in her bones.

He smiled wider, all teeth and no warmth. "But has heclaimedyou?"

Silence filled the space between them, heavy and accusing.

"Has he marked you? Said the words? Evenpromisedyou anything?" Each question landed like a small blade, precisely aimed.

Her heart thudded, slow and painful, echoing in her ears. The chaos magic inside her stirred weakly against the restraints, reaching for something—someone—beyond these walls.

Ezra's gaze softened just enough to be dangerous, a calculated show of false concern. "You're smart, Lyra. You've read the lore. Youknowwhat it means when a bond is neglected. It frays. Weakens. Itbreaks." His voice caressed the last word almost lovingly.

"I don't care." She twisted one of her enchanted rings with her thumb, wishing desperately it still held its power.

"Youshould." His breath ghosted across her face.

"I said I don't." The silver in her hair seemed to brighten momentarily with her defiance.

He leaned in, close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his otherwise dark eyes. "Because you think he'll come."

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