Jack's knees hit the forest floor before he realized he was falling. The world swayed—the trees bending, the moonlight blurring into streaks of white. His pulse throbbed in his neck where Lyra's fangs had pierced him, each beat sending a feverish heat rippling through his veins.
Lyra steadied him with surprising gentleness for someone who had spent the last hour snarling, bleeding, and threatening his life. Her hands were cold on his skin, grounding him despite the delirium clawing at his mind.
"Look at me," she said sharply.
Jack tried. Her face flickered in and out of focus like a dying flame. He blinked hard, forcing his vision to settle.
Lyra's silver eyes bored into him, each second sharpening the dread curling in Jack's gut. She was scared. The realization struck him harder than the werewolf's presence had. A creature who had torn into a monster twice her size was staring at him as if *he* was the danger.
"What's… happening to me?" Jack managed, voice rasping.
Lyra's jaw clenched. Her hands trembled where they held his face—lightly, carefully, as if afraid he might crumble.
"You're changing."
Her voice cracked.
Jack blinked slowly. "Into… a vampire?"
"No," she snapped, too quickly. Something like panic flickered across her features. "Not fully. That's impossible. A human can only turn if—"
She cut herself off, biting down hard on her bottom lip until blood welled.
"If what?" Jack pressed, heartbeat stuttering.
Lyra hesitated. Seconds stretched into painful, heavy silence. The moonlight seemed to dim around them.
Jack filled the silence himself. "If… they love the vampire?"
Lyra's expression was unreadable—somewhere between anger and despair.
"Don't say it," she whispered.
Jack sucked in a shaky breath. "But it's true, isn't it?"
Her eyes darted away. "It shouldn't be," she hissed. "Not from you. Not from someone I met an hour ago. This bond… should be impossible."
Jack swallowed around the tightness in his throat. "Lyra… I don't even know what I feel."
She scoffed, but the sound was too strained to be mocking. "You don't know yourself. But your blood does."
Her gaze snapped back to him, fury and fear warring in her eyes.
"Your blood answered mine. It recognized me. Accepted me. That's why you're changing. That's why the bond is forming." She exhaled shakily, as if the admission itself hurt. "I didn't choose this. Neither did you."
Jack felt the pain then—sharp, searing heat spreading from his neck down his spine. He gritted his teeth, stifling a cry as his vision whitened.
Lyra caught him as he doubled over, lowering him gently to the ground.
"Jack." Her voice softened, barely audible. "Listen to me. The change won't kill you, but it will hurt. Your body is deciding what it's going to become."
A cold breeze swept through the clearing, stirring the leaves around them. Jack shivered violently.
"What does that mean?" he managed.
Lyra pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart. "It means you're caught between life and… something else. Something like me. But not entirely."
Jack stared at her. "And you're saying… this is because of you?"
Her jaw tightened. "Yes."
"And this bond—this… marriage thing—"
She looked away, cheeks darkening with something almost like shame.
"It's real."
Jack's breath hitched. "Lyra… I didn't mean—"
"I know," she cut in. "And that's the problem."
Silence settled between them again. Heavy. Fraught.
Then Jack's body spasmed, pain ripping through him like lightning. Lyra flinched but didn't let go. She lowered him fully to the ground, kneeling beside him. Her fingers brushed over his forehead, sweeping sweat-damp hair aside—an unexpectedly tender gesture.
"Breathe," she murmured. "Let it pass."
Jack hissed through his teeth, digging his fingers into the dirt. "Why does it hurt so much—?"
"Because your heart is rewriting itself," she said grimly. "It has to decide whether it belongs to a human… or to me."
Jack's pulse fluttered violently at the word *me*.
Lyra noticed. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You're not going to die," she muttered. "I won't let you."
Jack let out a weak laugh. "That makes one of us."
Lyra glared at him. "Don't make jokes. Your body is fragile enough as it is."
The next wave of pain came quicker, sharper. Jack arched off the ground, gasping as fire crawled beneath his skin. His bones felt molten, his veins too small to hold whatever was happening.
Lyra grabbed his hand before he could claw at his own chest.
"Stay with me, Jack," she urged. "Look at me. *Look at me.*"
He forced his eyes open.
The silver of her irises was softer now, less predatory… almost human.
"Why are you helping me?" he whispered through clenched teeth.
Lyra stilled.
Her answer didn't come in words at first—but in the way her expression shifted. The anger, the fear, the frustration… all of it dimmed, revealing something raw beneath.
"I don't know," she said finally, voice trembling. "I shouldn't care. I shouldn't feel anything. But when you bled for me—when you risked yourself—"
She broke off, swallowing hard.
"It mattered."
Jack's breath caught.
Another shock of pain coursed through him, but it felt different now—less wild, more contained. Less like dying and more like… changing.
He winced. "Lyra…"
She leaned closer. "Yes?"
He managed to smile weakly. "If this is your idea of a first date, it's terrible."
Lyra stared at him.
Then—
To Jack's shock—
she laughed.
A short, disbelieving, beautifully broken sound.
"Idiot," she murmured, shaking her head. "Absolute idiot."
Jack's body trembled again, but this time the pain ebbed sooner. The fire inside him receded to a simmer, no longer overwhelming.
Finally, his breathing steadied.
Lyra let out a slow breath of relief.
"It's stabilizing," she said quietly. "Your body has chosen."
Jack blinked up at her. "Chosen… what?"
Lyra hesitated.
"You're not a vampire. Not fully. You won't need blood to survive."
She looked at him with something like awe—and dread.
"But you're not human anymore, either."
Jack stared at his trembling hands.
"Then… what am I?"
Lyra's voice softened to a whisper.
"Mine."
Jack's breath hitched.
Before he could respond, Lyra carefully pulled him into a sitting position, her hands steady on his shoulders. She looked exhausted, blood still drying on her neck and dress, but her posture remained proud.
"We need to move," she said. "The werewolf won't stay wounded forever. And others may have heard the fight."
Jack nodded weakly. "Where… where do we go?"
Lyra rose, offering him her hand.
"To my den," she said. "Until your body finishes the change. And until I decide what to do with you… husband."
Jack almost choked. "That's not— I didn't—"
Lyra smirked faintly. "Blame the bond. Not me."
He groaned.
But he took her hand.
And the moment their fingers intertwined, something deep in his chest pulsed in answer—warm, foreign, and undeniably connected to her.
Lyra stiffened.
She felt it too.
"This is bad," she whispered.
Jack managed a weak smile. "For me or for you?"
Lyra didn't answer.
But the look in her eyes said it clearly:
**Both.**