9. Lyra

9

LYRA

I headed into the bathroom and grabbed some bandages, rummaging through the selection we had on hand. Waylen leaned against the doorframe, watching me. He looked exhausted, not just from the fight, but as though he'd been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for far too long.

Was this what he'd been hiding?

My mind spun with questions while I gathered everything needed to clean his wounds.

Who was Xander, and what was the history between them? And Maribel—why was she so important? Why did he believe Granny knew her whereabouts?

I didn't understand anything.

"We're out of dried yarrow," I said, closing the bathroom cabinet. "I'll have to get some from the garden and make a poultice. You can wait for me on the porch, preferably with some clothes on."

That was one good thing about being a bird shifter—you didn't shred your clothes like some other shifters, you just slipped out of them when you gave way to your animal.

I brushed past Waylen, heading into the kitchen for the garden shears and the mortar and pestle beneath the sink. As I stepped off the porch and walked toward the back garden bed where I knew the yarrow was planted, I searched the sky and surrounding area for Xander's raven, worried he might come back.

Thankfully, he didn't seem to be lurking around.

After snipping what I needed for Waylen's wounds, I headed back to the porch where he waited for me. He'd slipped his jeans back on but left his shirt off so I could tend to his wounds easily.

I did my best not to stare at his abs, but it was nearly impossible.

Even so, I forced myself to focus on cutting the yarrow into smaller pieces with the garden shears. Waylen's eyes were on me, but he didn't speak. He just watched me work. After I'd cut the yarrow up, I began grinding it with the pestle.

"I need to add some water," I said, moving to head inside, taking the mortar and pestle with me. "I forgot the muslin, too. Stay here."

"You know you don't have to do this, right? It will heal on its own soon," he insisted.

"I know, but this will help it heal faster."

When I was inside, I glanced at Granny. She was still sleeping on the couch. A small smile graced my lips as I stared at her. Gratitude washed over me. I was so glad she was okay.

I made my way to the kitchen and added a splash of water to the ground yarrow. Once I'd grabbed a piece of muslin from the drawer, I headed back out onto the porch to Waylen.

"Seriously, you don't have to do this," he tried again, his voice almost a whisper as he watched me lay everything out on the tiny table between the porch chairs.

"I want to," I replied, lifting my gaze to meet his.

Warmth spread through my chest, stemming from my owl.

He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the planks making up the porch. "I don't deserve your help, or your kindness."

"Why not?" I asked, my gaze narrowing on him. "You didn't know that man would come after my grandmother and use her like that."

Did he?

Waylen swallowed hard before lifting his gaze back to mine. "I knew there was a possibility, and I didn't tell you." He ran a hand through his hair. The gesture, mixed with the expression on his face, made him look so vulnerable. It tugged at something deep inside me. "I drew that monster straight to your doorstep."

I dumped some of the poultice onto the piece of muslin I'd brought out with me and folded it in half, forming a compress for the area where Xander's raven had pecked him. Then I placed it on the wound, covering it.

"Hold this here," I ordered.

Waylen's fingers brushed mine when he did as I said, and an electric current sparked to life beneath my skin. My heart raced as I held his gaze, the sparks still dancing where we touched. The air between us seemed to hum with the energy of that spark.

I'd never felt anything like it.

Even so, I knew what it meant—my owl did too—and from the look on Waylen's face, so did he.

We were fated mates.

"Lyra," he whispered. His voice sounded strained, like it was caught somewhere between guilt and desire. "There are things you need to know. For starters, who I am."

My heart stalled.

Who he was?

What was that supposed to mean?

My confusion morphed into anger. I'd known better than to get involved with him. I'd sensed he was hiding something all along. Even though my owl and I couldn't understand why we were so drawn to him, the doubts had always been there, swirling in the back of my mind.

"Then talk," I demanded. "Tell me what I need to know. Tell me who you really are."

I braced myself for some big revelation that would knock the wind out of me, but it didn't come.

"I'm not a gardener." He grinned, and I tried not to laugh.

That was his big secret? He wasn't a gardener.

I could handle that.

He scratched at his neck. "I don't know Jack about gardening."

"Why did you take the job here, then? Why did you even show up pretending to be the guy Brody sent?"

"I didn't." He shook his head. "You assumed that's who I was."

I tried to think back to his first visit to the cabin. Had I just assumed he was the gardener Brody sent?

My eyes widened when I realized that I had.

"If you're not a gardener, then what are you?"

"A zipline instructor. I work at Crescent Creek Ziplining," he said, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

"Why did you pretend? You've worked in the garden beds for days. Did Granny pay you?" My last words sounded clipped.

"I pretended because I thought your grandmother was Maribel. I'm looking for her and came here on a lead. It wasn't until after the first day in the garden that I realized she wasn't who I was searching for, but by then I was already invested in helping the two of you with taming those jungles. My eagle wouldn't let me leave even if I tried. Now, I know why." A warm tenderness swirled through the color of his eyes. "And no, your grandmother is not paying me. She was milking the situation the whole time, making sure I got the beds in order before she gave up any information about Maribel's whereabouts."

Shock rippled through me. "She knew you weren't who you said you were?"

"She ran the real guy off an hour before I got here that morning." He chuckled with a nod.

"Sounds like something she'd do." I frowned. "So, who is this Xander guy? What's his deal?"

"He's dangerous. Not just to us, but to every shifter in Crescent Creek."

A chill ran down my spine at his words and the way his entire demeanor changed. "What do you mean dangerous?"

"He's possessed by the spirit of an evil shifter. One me and those in my crew thought we'd never have to face again. This spirit gives him the power to control a shifter's mind, which isn't a power anyone should have."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Waylen admitted. "But what I do know is that he has to be stopped, this time for good. To do that, I need to find Maribel."

"Maribel?" I echoed. "I've heard Granny mention her once or twice, but I don't think they're friends. She's bought herbs from Granny before."

"Maribel's supposed to be a shaman, so that would make sense. Don't you think?"

I shrugged. "I guess so."

I didn't know anything about the old woman. In fact, I'd never even met her.

"Why are you looking for her?" I asked, not understanding why he was so desperate to find her.

"To see if she can clear Xander of Lucius's spirit, if he's truly possessed, which I believe he is and so do the others."

I stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Possessions. Evil spirits. It was all too much.

"When Alma wakes, I'd like to ask her about Maribel," Waylen said, sounding as though he was asking for my permission.

"Of course. While she rests, let me finish cleaning you up," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me.

I reached for the poultice, applying it gently to Waylen's wounds, my fingers brushing over his skin with care. He winced as I tended to the deepest gash, but he stayed still, jaw tight.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice low.

I paused, glancing at him. "You didn't cause Xander's actions."

He shook his head, his eyes dark with something deeper. "It's not just that. There's more I haven't told you."

I swallowed, sensing where this was headed. "What was with the waitress?" I asked softly, though my heart was pounding.

Waylen's shoulders tensed, his eyes flicking to mine before he looked away. "Mia." He sighed heavily, as if a weight had been pressing on his chest for a while. "My eagle attacked her. Back when I was under Lucius's control."

I felt my chest tighten, the words cutting through the air between us. "Your eagle attacked her?" I echoed, struggling to process it.

"She was still human then. Lucius forced me to do it. It was part of an attack on the Ashen Tribe." His voice was rough with guilt. It tore at the edges of my heart. "I didn't have control over my eagle—over myself—but that doesn't change the fact that I nearly killed her."

My stomach twisted at the thought, but I kept my voice steady. "She's no longer human. I picked up on her being a shifter while we were at the diner."

"I know." His head dipped. "I guess that's how she survived what my eagle and I did."

"She doesn't know it was you though, does she? She doesn't know you were the eagle."

He shook his head, his expression heavy with remorse. "No. And I pray she never does. Every time I see her, the guilt comes rushing back. I could've taken her life that day."

"But you didn't."

"No. Thankfully."

"That's why you tip her so well," I said, piecing it together.

A small, guilty grin tugged at his lips. "Guilty conscience."

Despite the seriousness of the moment, I felt a flicker of warmth. He was trying to make amends in his own way, even if she never knew.

"I'll never be able to give her enough money for what I did, though," he said.

"No," I agreed quietly. "But you're trying to do right by her as best you can. That's more than most people would do."

He held my gaze and I could see the tension in his body melting away. "I don't deserve you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "Thank you."

"Thank you for protecting Granny and me as best you could today," I said. "Thanks for not hurting her when she came at you."

"I would never hurt her," he insisted, his brows pinching together. "Or you."

I believed him.

I didn't know why, but I did. This man, while he might have withheld things from me, he still cared about me. It was easy to see. Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned in and kissed him. The moment our lips met, a surge of electricity coursed through me, igniting the sparks that had been simmering beneath my skin the entire time.

Everything faded, leaving only the two of us.

Waylen's hand moved to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and deepening the kiss. His touch was gentle, yet insistent. My heart raced, and my owl fluttered inside me, basking in the closeness of him.

He was our mate.

The truth of it settled into my bones, and with it, a sense of rightness that I hadn't known I'd been missing.

As we broke apart, breathless and dizzy, I realized I'd moved into his lap at some point during our heated kiss. The poultice had been forgotten. The muslin. His wounds. The events of the night.

One kiss from him had erased it all.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his eyes searching mine. "Where do we go from here?"

"I want you," I admitted without hesitation. "My owl wants you. We choose you, Waylen."

Goose bumps prickled across my skin as a slow smile spread onto his face.

"My eagle and I choose you, too," he said, his hand cupping my neck and pulling me close to place a featherlight kiss to my lips. "He's known from the moment we met, and somewhere deep down, so did I."

As our lips met again, the world around us dissolved once more. The heat of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers of want cascading down my spine, and causing my owl to call out with joy.

This was where we were meant to be—in his arms, with his heart beating in sync with our own.

Waylen's hands roamed over my body, exploring me as his mouth claimed me, leaving me breathless. I clung to him, my fingers gripping his biceps as though touching him was the only way to steady myself.

"Lyra," he murmured, his voice low and primal sounding.

In one swift motion, he hoisted me into the air, cradling me against his chest as he stood. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling weightless, as he carried me across the porch and down the steps. When we reached his truck, he popped the door open and set me down gently inside. His eyes locked with mine while I unwrapped my legs from his waist, there was a hunger that burned within them—a hunger that mirrored my own.

Leaning down, he brushed his lips against mine. This kiss was rougher than the one before, fierier and more passionate, as though he couldn't get enough of the feel of his lips against mine. His hands slipped beneath my shirt, skimming along my sides. I arched into his touch, desperate for more. As though he could read my mind, he pulled at the hem, lifting the shirt over my head and tossing it to the side. His hungry gaze skimmed over me, soaking me in, before the corner of his lips quirked into a satisfied grin. His mouth crushed against mine again as he hooked his fingers around to unhook my bra. I gasped as he bent to take one of my nipples into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

How long had it been since a man had touched me like this?

When he trailed soft kisses across my chest to show the other breast some love, I intertwined my fingers through his hair and released a soft moan. He pulled back to look at me, the hunger in his eyes igniting tenfold.

"I'm trying to take things slow with you," he ground out. "But if you make another noise like that, I don't know that I can."

"Who said I wanted to take things slow?" The words left my mouth before I knew what I was saying, but the sexy crooked grin he flashed me made them worth it.

"Okay, then," he countered. "Set the pace."

He removed his hands from me and stood to his full height, lifting his hands up between us in mock surrender. I held his stare for a moment, knowing he was waiting for me to make the next move.

Skimming my teeth over my bottom lip, I did.

I reached for the button on his jeans, eager to feel him inside me. Waylen helped me out, shimmying out of his jeans and boxers. I stared at him, standing in front of me, fully erect.

The man was mouthwatering to look at.

His fingers trailed down my abdomen until they reached the button on my jeans. With expert fingers, he undid it and shimmied them down my hips. My panties came next. His gaze skimmed over me before he leaned in and kissed me, cupping my face with his warm, strong hands. He made his way on top of me in the truck. I spread my legs, allowing his hardness to press against my center.

"Are you sure this is the pace you want to set?" he asked, his words barely above a whisper.

I gripped his ass and pulled him closer to me. "Yes, this is the pace I want to set."

"Well, all right, then," he said, and then he entered me.

A wave of pleasure washed over me as he filled me. I clung to him, my nails digging into his skin, as he began to slowly move, each thrust of his hips driving me closer to the edge.

I'd missed this—being with a man—but I swore it had never felt this good.

Being mates intensified everything it seemed. All I could focus on was him and the way he felt inside me, the weight of his body pressed against mine, and the heat of his breath on my neck.

I was lost in him.

He lifted my leg, hiking it up to wrap around his waist, while he worked his hips in a frantic and wild rhythm. It was exactly what I wanted—what I needed. I panted in his ear and moaned as he built me up with each hard and fast thrust.

"Your moans drive me wild," he ground out, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he spoke.

I released another one, just because, and he thrust into me harder. The sounds of our skin slapping echoed through the cab of the truck, becoming the most erotic thing I'd ever heard.

"Harder," I heard myself urge.

And he obeyed.

He slammed into me, filling me completely, and then pulled back to do it repeatedly. A low growl escaped him, and I knew then that he was on the verge—standing at the top of a cliff—same as I was.

It was sexy as hell.

I nipped at his bottom lip, not knowing what had come over me. All I knew was that this man was sating a deep need I hadn't even known I'd had, and I didn't want this moment to end. His breath hitched as my teeth grazed his bottom lip, and I could see a wild look enter his eyes.

"Don't stop," I breathed, the words a plea against his mouth.

He responded by thrusting into me with renewed vigor. A possessive look entered his stare as he held my gaze.

I was his—wholeheartedly his—and he knew it.

My heart pounded in my chest, a wild drumbeat that matched his relentless rhythm. I clung to him, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back, wordlessly begging for more, and he gave it to me. When his movements became more erratic, less controlled, I knew we were both teetering on the edge.

"Come with me," he rasped, the words barely more than a growl. It was both a command and a plea, one that had my body coiling tighter as my climax built.

When it came, it was earth-shattering.

I cried out his name, my body convulsing around him as he found his release mere seconds behind mine. We clung to each other, spent and sated, our hearts pounding in unison until we'd both caught our breath.

Waylen lifted himself gently off me, a goofy grin pulling at his lips. "You surprised me."

"How so?" I asked, lifting up to gather my clothes.

Did he not think I'd sleep with him?

"You're a wild woman. Strong. Knows what she wants. Honestly, I was waiting for you to smack my ass at one point." He chuckled.

Heat warmed my cheeks. Thankfully, my skin was already flushed, so there was no way for him to notice.

"Would that have been a bad thing?" I asked, feeling the corners of my lips twist up.

He shook his head. "Not at all. While I enjoy being a little dominant in bed, I don't mind being submissive, either. Especially with you. You're hot," he said before kissing me.

"Thank you." I laughed.

"Think I could get a glass of water?"

"Sure," I said, pulling my panties back on. "But only if you stay the night."

He paused in pulling his boxers back on and looked at me, his eyes softening. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "My eagle wouldn't let me leave your side tonight, even if I wanted to—which, for the record, I don't."

A sense of relief washed over me, and I felt myself relax. Not only did I not want him to leave after what we'd just done—my owl didn't either—but I also didn't want to be alone tonight in case Xander came back.

"Good, that way we can talk to Granny in the morning about Maribel," I said, hoping he thought that was why I'd asked him to stay.

I didn't want to say I was scared because that made me sound weak, and being weak wasn't something I was.

"Sounds like a plan, but I'd stay even if that wasn't on the table. You're mine. I chose you." He pulled his jeans on and stepped closer, erasing the distance between us, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Getting rid of me now is going to be a problem."

"It's not a problem at all," I whispered, lifting to the tips of my toes and kissing him.

After we were dressed, we headed back inside the cabin, and I grabbed him a glass of water from the kitchen. Granny was still sound asleep on the couch, her soft breathing filling the quiet space. After a brief glance her way, I led Waylen to my room, closing the door gently behind us.

In the privacy of my room, exhaustion finally set in.

"What side of the bed do you normally sleep on?" I asked around a yawn.

"I don't have a preference," he said, setting the glass of water on my nightstand. "What about you?"

"I guess this side." I pointed to the right side of the bed, barely suppressing another yawn. "Are you tired?"

"Beat," he said, his voice low.

"Me too."

My body felt heavy, every muscle aching with the weight of the day and the moment in his truck we'd shared. I stretched, but it did little to ease the tightness in my shoulders.

"Ready for bed?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes."

We undressed slowly; there was no urgency, no rush. This time it wasn't about the heat between us, it was about the quiet connection and the comfort in being together. The moment I sat down on the edge of the bed, it felt like I could sink into the mattress and never get up again. My eyelids drooped, and even the simple act of pulling back the covers felt like it took every ounce of strength I had left.

Slipping beneath the covers, Waylen pulled me flush against his warm body and draped his arm over my hip. There was nothing sexual about it, his touch brought only comfort to me. Comfort that I relished.

"Thank you for staying," I whispered.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he murmured, giving my hip a gentle squeeze.

As I drifted off, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips because this felt nice.

It felt right.

Waylen felt like home.