MARKED BY MY ENEMY MATE

Heat awakens more than desire. It awakens truth.

Lyra woke to fire crawling beneath her skin.

At first, she thought it was another nightmare—another dream of silver moons and blood-soaked howls. But the searing heat between her thighs and the way her breath hitched in her throat told her otherwise.

She sat up, gasping, eyes wide as sweat soaked her sheets. Her skin pulsed, electric. Her bones ached like they were trying to shift again, like her wolf wanted out—wanted more.

No, not just her wolf.

Something older. Something primal.

Lyra staggered from the bed, hands bracing against the stone wall of her chamber. The cold touch of it did nothing to douse the fire that had ignited inside her. Every inch of her skin was hypersensitive. The silk of her nightgown felt like sandpaper. Her heartbeat was thunder.

She didn't need a healer to tell her what was happening.

Heat.

It shouldn't be possible. She wasn't mated. She wasn't claimed. And yet… the bond between her and Kael had been pulsing stronger by the day, ever since the sparring session—ever since she'd felt his body pressing against hers, breathless, resisting the call of something they both refused to name.

Now, it had triggered something deeper. Something dangerous.

A knock slammed at her door.

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

Moments later, the door burst open.

Kael entered like a storm, his gaze locking on hers immediately—and then dropping to the thin nightgown clinging to her slick, trembling frame. His eyes darkened. His jaw clenched.

"Get out," she whispered, voice hoarse.

He didn't move. He only inhaled—and went utterly still.

His wolf reacted first. A snarl low and buried in his throat. His body tensed, hands curling into fists as if physically restraining himself.

"Who triggered it?" he rasped.

Her vision blurred. "I don't know. Maybe the bond. Maybe me. Maybe the Moon's sick idea of a joke."

Kael swore and turned on his heel.

"I'm locking you in. You'll stay here until it passes," he said, voice hard. "If anyone smells you—any unmated male—"

"I know." Her voice cracked. "Do you think I don't know what this means?"

He paused. His hand trembled against the doorframe.

"I'll post guards," he added. "Females. Trusted."

She didn't answer.

He didn't look back.

The room grew darker as the day wore on, and the fire only worsened.

Lyra lay on the floor now, stripped of the gown, too hot to wear anything, her skin fevered, her limbs twitching. She'd tried meditating, chanting the old words her mother once whispered during her moon lessons. None of it helped.

All she could think about was him.

His scent.

His voice.

His hands.

The way he'd almost kissed her in the corridor. The way he touched her without touching her at all.

She cried out in frustration, half-feral now. She clawed at the floor, trying to anchor herself, but nothing worked. The bond was surging, screaming, demanding.

Call to him.

No.

He is yours.

No.

She didn't know when the door opened again. Didn't know how long she'd been writhing in silence before his footsteps returned.

But the moment she smelled him—pine and storm and masculine restraint—her body arched like a bowstring. She turned her head.

Kael stood at the threshold, sweat glistening on his temple, as if he'd been pacing the entire night.

"Damn it, Lyra," he muttered. "I told myself I wouldn't come back."

She wanted to scream at him. Beg. Bite. Anything to release the need clawing inside her.

"You shouldn't have," she said, barely audible. "But… you did."

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a final click. The sound echoed in the silence like a warning bell.

"Your scent's driving me insane," he growled. "I've tried every corner of the damn court to avoid it. But it's… in me. Like it's part of me now."

He approached slowly. Carefully. Like a predator circling a wounded mate—and yet not moving to devour.

Her eyes were glassy. "Then help me. Gods, Kael—do something."

He dropped to his knees beside her, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Just breaths. Just heartbeats thundering in time.

"I want to," he admitted, voice breaking. "More than you know. But I won't touch you like this."

Her lip trembled. "Because you think it's just the bond."

"Because I don't want your first time to be a curse."

His words shattered something fragile inside her.

"Then let me choose," she whispered, crawling forward, her hands finding the hard lines of his chest. "Let me choose you."

Kael groaned, eyes flickering amber-gold. His control cracked like glass under pressure.

His hand gripped her wrist—tight, trembling.

"Don't," he warned. "Not unless you mean it."

She stared up at him, sweat-slicked and glowing, eyes alight with defiance and desperate desire.

"I've never been allowed to mean anything in my life, Kael," she said, voice steady now. "But this—I mean."

She leaned in.

Their lips brushed.

And he kissed her like it was the last moment before the end of the world.

Rough, hungry, restrained—but breaking.

Her legs wrapped around him instinctively, and he growled deep into her throat, pressing her against the cold floor, his weight delicious and heavy.

His hands roamed her fevered skin, mapping her, memorizing her, trembling with control.

She moaned as his mouth explored her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. He stopped there, panting hard, forehead pressed to her chest.

"I can't," he gasped.

"You can," she begged.

"I won't. Not like this." He pulled back, hands fisting into the bedding beside her head.

Her eyes searched his, wild and pleading.

And then, soft.

"But one day," he said, eyes burning. "When it's not the bond. When it's you."

She bit her lip, tears springing to her eyes. Her heart thudded against his.

"Then don't leave me like this," she said. "Just… stay. Please."

Kael laid beside her, cradling her trembling body in his arms like a promise. His lips pressed to her temple, and his voice—low, raw—was the last thing she heard before she drifted into a restless sleep.

"Not even the Moon can make me want you less."

She slept, but it was not peace.

It was a storm of moonlight and shadows. Of Kael's voice echoing through flame. Of her wolf running, howling—wanting.

And when Lyra stirred hours later, the heat had faded, but its echo remained in every inch of her body. Her skin still tingled with memory. Her thighs ached with need unmet. Her heart—tender, raw—felt like it had been laid bare and stitched up by Kael's arms.

She blinked slowly.

The morning light filtered through the slats of her chamber window, painting gold across stone. Her gaze landed on him.

Kael sat in the far corner now. Silent. Still. Shadowed. His hands were clasped together, elbows braced on his knees. A statue carved from guilt and restraint.

He'd stayed.

Even when it broke him.

Even when he wanted her more than air.

"Did you sleep?" she asked softly, voice rough with dryness.

He didn't look at her at first. Just let the silence stretch between them like a tightrope.

"No." His voice was gravel. "Couldn't."

She pushed herself up with effort. The sheets fell away, and Kael finally looked. His gaze dipped—but quickly snapped back to her eyes.

"You should've left," she whispered.

"I couldn't."

The words were so simple. So honest. It made her chest ache.

"You didn't touch me," she added, quieter now. "Not really."

His expression twisted.

"I touched you more than I should've. But not how I wanted to."

A fragile silence followed, woven from tension and half-spoken desire.

"Is it always like that?" she asked. "The heat?"

Kael stood, restless now, rubbing a hand down his face. "For unmated wolves? It can be… violent. Intoxicating. Some don't survive it. You did. You're strong."

"I felt like I was going to explode."

He turned to her then, his expression unreadable. "You almost did."

Lyra flushed, looking away. Her bare legs curled beneath her.

She hated that part of her wanted it all over again.

Even worse, part of her hated that he didn't give in.

"Was it real?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "What I felt? Or was it just the bond?"

Kael's jaw tightened.

"I don't know anymore."

That hurt.

More than she expected.

She stood, shakily, pulling on her robe. The silk clung to her skin, but she ignored the discomfort.

"You should go," she said, voice flat. "Before we make another mistake."

He hesitated.

"I'll always come back when you call, Lyra," he said. "Even if it kills me."

She didn't answer. Just turned her back to him.

The door clicked shut behind him seconds later.

Later that morning, Lyra stood in front of her mirror, studying herself.

Her reflection looked older. More dangerous. Her eyes glowed faintly silver now—residual magic from the night. Her mark still pulsed faintly at the curve of her neck, as if reminding her of what had awakened.

She pressed her fingers to it.

Moonblood.

The word rang in her ears again. Whispers from a forgotten scroll. A prophecy Kael had tried to burn.

She was changing.

And it wasn't just the heat.

Her power was stirring, responding to emotions with unpredictable force. The court feared her already. Now, with what had happened last night… they'd see her as a threat and a temptation.

She couldn't afford to be either.

She stepped out of her chamber, spine straight, robes flowing behind her like armor. The guards outside bowed and averted their eyes—but she could smell it on them.

Fear. Respect. Desire.

Lyra ignored it all.

Her steps echoed down the corridor as she headed to the Archives.

If Kael wouldn't tell her what she was, she'd find out herself.

Even if it meant uncovering truths meant to stay buried.

Even if it meant becoming something the court would never be ready for.

Meanwhile, in the War Room

Kael stood before the map of the borderlands, but his mind wasn't on rogue movements or council complaints.

It was on her.

On the way she'd trembled against him. The sound of her voice begging—not for submission, but for choice.

He'd nearly lost control. Nearly crossed a line that would've changed them forever.

Yet now… he wasn't sure he hadn't already.

He could still taste her. Feel her.

The fire hadn't left him either.

And that terrified him.

Because Kael had fought wars. Broken rebellions. Killed to protect the realm.

But nothing nothing scared him more than the way Lyra looked at him like he was worth saving.

Or worse

Like she'd never stop wanting him.