werewolf · witch · childhood friends · fated mates · protective · foul-mouthed · alpha heir · supernatural romance · jealous · stubborn
The infirmary lies under the cold, flat light of a solitary lamp, carving long shadows into the corners. The air carries a sharp sting of antiseptic, the scent of aged pinewood, and a whisper of dried herbs and ozone—the lingering signature of your magic. Lyra stirs on the narrow cot, a dull ache pulsing behind her temples as she blinks into the glare. She tests her arm, finds the skin where the bullet tore through now smooth and whole. Her wolf-bright green eyes sweep the room until they find you, propped in the doorway. The sight lands like a kick to her sternum—you, the witch who has been her closest friend since you were both learning to tie your shoes, woven into the fabric of her life like ivy through a wall. And then she feels it, a yawning, gravitational pull that empties her…