Kill Me, Wolf King
“You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
Lyra's voice was hoarse—like broken glass scraping along her throat. But the words cut through the heavy silence in the room like a blade.
Kael turned slowly from the shadows, eyes glowing faintly gold in the dim torchlight. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched her from across the chamber as if waiting to see what she really was underneath the bruised skin and cold resolve.
She sat upright now, the bedsheets twisted around her legs. Her hair was damp, tangled, and clinging to her neck. The faint burn of the moonmark still etched onto her collarbone.
She noticed his stare. She didn’t look away.
“Do it,” she said again. “Whatever it is you’re waiting for—do it now.”
Kael’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
Her lip twitched, and it wasn’t a smile.
“Because I don’t want to be her,” Lyra whispered. “Whatever she is. Whatever you saw in the forest… I don’t want to be it.”
He stepped closer, silent, the way only a predator could be. His bare chest gleamed with sweat and moonlight, every muscle wound tight. He moved like someone half-chained to rage. Half-chained to mercy.
“I saw you shift,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “You ran on all fours. Your eyes glowed. And you spoke in a voice that wasn’t your own. That wasn’t a dream, girl.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes, breathing shallow. “I felt it too. Something inside me—old and angry. She’s... cold. And hungry.”
Kael stopped only a few feet from her. His hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t like the way she said it. Like she knew exactly what lived inside her. And worse, like she’d already made peace with it.
“You knew I wouldn’t kill you,” he said at last.
“I wasn’t sure,” she whispered. “But I hoped you would.”
She opened her eyes, and they were wet—not with fear, but grief. The kind that lived deep, old, and permanent.
“I’ve been running for weeks. I’ve had dreams I don’t remember. I’ve seen faces I never met. Blood on my hands when I wake up. I went to a seer once—she screamed when she touched me.”
Kael said nothing.
“She said I had no future. No thread. Just... silence.”
Lyra looked up at him. “Do you know what that means?”
Kael’s jaw tensed. “You were meant to die.”
She nodded. “Or something worse. Maybe I already did. Maybe that thing inside me—Selhara, the moon witch, the goddess, whatever she is—maybe she’s the only part left.”
He took a step forward. The floor creaked.
“If that’s true,” he said, “then you’re dangerous.
”Lyra exhaled shakily. “Exactly.” She looked him dead in the eye. “So kill me, Wolf King.”
Kael didn’t move.
His fingers twitched at his sides. The wolf inside him rose, stirred, whispered.
Yes. End her. Before it’s too late.
But another part of him—older, quieter—resisted. Because when he looked at her now, trembling but unflinching, skin glowing with the last touch of moonlight, he didn’t just see a threat.
He saw something familiar.
He saw himself.
“You’re not just a vessel,” he said. “You’re something else.”
“Like you?” she said bitterly. “Cursed?”
He looked away. She wasn’t wrong. He stepped closer until he could feel the heat coming off her skin.
“You think you’re a monster,” he said. “So did I.”
She looked at him then—truly looked—and for a moment, her face softened. Like she could see past his scars and coldness and ancient rage.
“Maybe we both are,” she whispered.
Kael’s throat tightened. “Then maybe we’re the only ones who understand each other.”
Lyra blinked.
And then her wall cracked. Just a little.
“Why didn’t you kill me in the forest?” she asked, voice low.
Kael’s gold eyes locked on hers.
“Because something in me said not to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he murmured, “it’s the only one I have.”
---
A Few Moments Later…
She stood slowly, the blanket falling from her shoulders. Kael didn’t look away. She was trembling—whether from cold or fear, he didn’t know. But she took a step toward him.
“You don’t know what I’ll become,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
He took a step toward her now, and the air between them cracked like tension pulled too tight.
“I’ve killed every person I’ve ever loved,” Kael said. “Every full moon, I lock myself away because if I don’t, I become something worse than a wolf. Something cruel. Mindless.”
“I know.”
He frowned. “How?”
“I dreamed it,” she said quietly. “The first night I crossed your border.”
Kael’s chest rose and fell, slow and deep. “What did you see?”
“You,” she whispered. “On your knees. Covered in blood. Screaming for a name.”
His stomach turned.
“That name was yours,” she said. “Kael.”
He looked at her like she’d stabbed him in the heart.
“I don’t speak that name anymore,” he said.
“I know. But I heard it. Over and over. In your voice.”
The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was heavy. Grief-shaped. Kael turned from her then, stepping into the shadows, his fists clenched tight.
“You still want me to kill you?” he asked quietly.
She swallowed. “No.”
He turned his head slightly. “Because if I die,” she said, “then she wins. I don’t know who she is yet. But I know I can’t let her win.”
Kael nodded once.
“You’ll stay here,” he said. “Under watch.”
“Caged?”
“No. Protected.”
Lyra’s voice softened. “By you?”
Kael didn’t answer right away.
And then he said, “For now.”
---
That Night…
Kael sat outside her chamber door, back against the wall, blade across his lap. The moonlight filtered through the broken ceiling above, painting silver light across the floor.
Inside, Lyra slept again—but her breaths came heavy. Uneven. And Kael didn’t sleep at all. Because he didn’t know whether he’d made the right choice.
All he knew was that the girl with the moonmark, the one who asked him to end her, now held his fate in her blood.
And maybe—just maybe—he held hers.
---
At midnight, Lyra sits up straight in bed, eyes wide, lips moving.
She whispers something in a language Kael hasn’t heard in centuries. He rises to his feet, blade in hand. And on her chest, the moonmark glows bright again—
This time, in the shape of a wolf’s eye.