The Promise That Hurt

Chapter 6

The Promise That Hurt

The air was heavy outside.

Cold.

It hung around me like ghostly chains, making me realize I was still in his house… still bound to him, no matter how far I wanted to go back into my own silence.

Two days. I hadn't heard from Ronan.

Not since the storm of words, the abuses, the shame. The silence that followed was even worse than any beating. The maids avoided me now; even the guards shunned my eyes when I passed by them. I had become something contagious—something loving which could also kill them.

Tonight. I could feel it.

That same heavy energy that always came before him when I hadn't yet seen him. The air grew thick. The scent of metal and pine filled the air.

Ronan drew near.

I turned my back on the door, pretending to stare at the flicking candle on my desk. My heart already racing, against me before he even stepped in.

The door opened. Slowly. Quietly.

"Lyra."

His voice was deep. Deeper than I recalled. It cut into the silence in me that still ached from his hand and his heart.

I did not turn around.

I could not trust myself to.

"Lyra," he spoke again, quietly this time. "Look at me."

I shut my eyes.

For a moment, I wished I could disappear.

When I finally stood before him, he was there — all tall and strong and utterly unreadable. His dark eyes pierced mine as if searching for something he'd lost years ago.

He was exhausted. Not from not sleeping enough — but from something heavier. Something inside him.

"I needed to see you," he whispered.

My lips trembled, but I didn't say anything.

I had no idea that any words could mend what he already ruined.

He moved forward slowly and hesitantly, as if he feared that a single wrong step would drive me away.

But I didn't run.

My legs would not move even if I wanted to run away.

He stopped a few steps away from me. His jaw set, then relaxed again.

"I'm going to set you free, Lyra."

The words hung there like fragile glass.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Free?

I blinked, wondering if I'd heard him right.

He continued, low, even.

"I brought you here because I believed I needed to," he said. "Because I didn't trust anyone else. I told myself you were safe where you were. That you were… useful."

My stomach twisted. That word again.

He took a deep breath. "But I was wrong."

I turned away from him, my hand curled around the window frame. "You think saying that makes it all right?"

He did not answer right away. I heard him walk closer.

"Trying, Lyra."

"Trying?" I gasped, my voice shaking. "You told me I could never be your mate. You told me I would never have your love. You took advantage of me. You held me captive."

He flinched. Barely, but I saw it.

You took everything I had left," I continued, my eyes stinging with tears. "And now you have the nerve to talk about freedom like it's something you can give me?"

His fists clenched at his hips. "You don't understand—

No!" I whirled on him. "You don't understand. You didn't just imprison me here. You broke me. Every time you looked at me like I was dirt, I thought that. Every time you told me I was useful, I dared to dream that was as good as I'd be."

I spoke with a cracking voice, but I didn't abate.

I couldn't.

"You taught me not to want anything. Not love. Not peace. Not even hope.".

He didn't speak a word. His face was blank — but his eyes… his eyes were boiling with tempest.

"I hate you," I whispered. "I should. But I don't. And that kills me."

The silence between us stretched out until I felt it would be stifling.

Eventually, he spoke — his voice rough.

"I don't assume forgiveness. I don't even deserve it. But I can reclaim your life for you."

I chuckled feebly, with bitterness. "My life? The one you ruined?"

He moved closer again, and I didn't back away. I wanted to see how he'd react. I wanted to see if he'd still hide behind his cold facade.

He didn't.

His hand came up halfway, trembling slightly before he caught himself.

"Lyra, I swear to you," he told me, every word calculated, "I'll let you go. You'll be free. I'll ensure no one in this pack ever touches you or harms you again."

I stared at him.

Searching.

Airing for the ploy.

There was always a ploy.

"Why now?" I breathed. "Why all of a sudden act like you care?"

His jaw tightened once more.

"Because…"

He hesitated, eyes shifting away from mine.

"Because I witnessed what my hatred did to you. And hated myself for doing it."

The confession hit me harder than I expected.

I wished so badly to trust him.

But my heart couldn't find a way.

So I posed the only question that mattered.

"And what if I don't want freedom?"

He scrunched up his brow. "What?"

Why if I'd rather have answers?" I took a step closer, matching his silence with my trembling. "Why me, Ronan? Why did the goddess bind you to someone you despised? Why did my dad take the blame for something no one ever could demonstrate? Why am I the bane that everyone talks about?"

He looked at me then — actually looked — and for an instant, I saw something flash across his features.

Fear.

"Some things," he finally said, voice low, "ought to be left alone."

I shook my head, a slow move. "No. You owe me the truth."

The air between us thickened.

His wolf power erupted — that dominant, reluctant power that charged the air.

I felt it, too — my wolf stirring, disoriented and frightened.

Then he warned, speaking,

"If I tell you, everything changes."

I took a shaky breath. "Then let it change."

He stared at me silently for an eternity. His hand brushed over the tabletop beside him, the veins on his arm stretched taut with restraint.

Then he drew a breath,

"The night my parents killed… your father wasn't alone."

My heart stilled. "What?"

He swallowed, his eyes growing cloudy. "Someone was there. Someone who wanted both our lineages eradicated. Someone who is still present.".

The candle flickered between us, and for a moment, his expression shifted from fury to something else — terror.

"Who?" I breathed.

He never had time to answer before the sound of shattering glass burst into the room.

Glass behind me exploded into the room — shards plummeting like silver rain.

I inhaled sharply and took a step back as Ronan wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close to his chest.

Outside, in the distance, a low howl rose — long and haunting, unlike any I’d ever heard before.

Ronan’s grip tightened. His jaw locked.

“They found you,” he whispered.

My breath caught. “Who?”

His eyes burned into mine — fierce, terrified.

“The ones your father was hiding from.”

The wind howled again, louder this time, shaking the broken window.

Ronan turned toward the door, his voice hard. “Stay behind me.”

I needed to speak. To inquire. To escape.

But all that remained was looking at him — the man who had once promised to break me — now standing like a wall between me and the darkness outside.

And in that moment, I realized…

Freedom may never be coming at all.