Chapter 3 Man Of My Dream

• Lyra’s POV
• My head throbbed before I even opened my eyes. It was like something heavy pressed down on my lids, refusing to let them part. When I finally blinked them open, a fire crackled nearby, its scent sharp, herbs mixed with wood smoke. This wasn’t some accidental forest blaze. No. Someone had built this fire.
• Aby lay in the corner, her breathing slow but steady. Someone had cleaned her up—no more blood, no more mess. Relief swept through me like a wave. I sat up, yawning, weak, and aching in every limb. My stomach twisted with hunger, my throat dry like dust.
• How long had we been here?
• "You healed real quick," a gravelly voice thundered behind me.
• I jolted, spinning around.
• “What would pretty ladies be doing out in the woods alone?”
• Adrenaline surged, propelling me to my feet. Standing a few meters away was a man, tall, lean, athletic, with dark, fluffy hair shaved in a half-style that framed his sharp, angular face. His eyes caught me off-guard—almond-shaped, glowing faintly like volcanic light. Beautiful, calm… otherworldly.
• He wore a black leather jacket over a white polo, his trouser tucked into worn brown boots caked in dried mud.
• This had to be the man who saved us. But he didn’t look like someone who could kill a rabid wolf. He didn’t even look like he could yell. His face was too innocent.
• I rubbed my eyes, as if clearing a fog.
• “Are you okay now?” he asked, his hands buried in his pockets like he hadn’t just wrestled a beast to the ground. Like none of this ever happened.
• “Yes,” I said slowly, still studying him. Who the hell was he? Was he living in these woods?
• Then something flickered in my memory—his face, those eyes.
• “It’s you,” I said. “I know you from somewhere.”
• He offered a slight, cryptic smile. “We’ve never met.”
• His voice was like velvet, rough, but warm. Dangerous, yet comforting.
• I stepped a little closer, drawn in despite myself. He was still meters away, but I caught his scent: jasmine and honey. Subtle, alluring. My body leaned toward him instinctively. I snapped myself out of it.
• “Never,” I whispered, shaking my head.
• I shut my eyes, searching my memory, scanning my mental archive. Grandpa used to say I had a freakishly good memory—faces, dates, even weird things like grocery lists. But this time… nothing.
• When I opened them again, the sunlight had slipped through the thick canopy above, landing on his face. His eyes shimmered.
• “You—” I swallowed hard. “You fought that wolf. With your bare hands. It could be dead. How exactly did you do that?”
• He tilted his head. “Did I?”
• I frowned.
• His hands remained calmly in his pockets. No tension. No pride. Like what he did meant nothing. Like it never happened.
• “You did,” I insisted. “I saw you.”
• He shrugged, his lips twitching into something unreadable. “Instead of asking how the hunt went… you should ask what the hunt brought.”
• I narrowed my eyes. “What does that even mean?”
• He crouched by the fire, feeding it more wood from a neat pile.
• “What were you doing in the woods?” he asked. “You could’ve died. Both of you.”
• I swallowed the guilt. He wasn’t wrong.
• “I need to get us home,” I said. “My friend and I need to go as soon as possible.”
• “You can’t,” he replied.
• I frowned at his response.
• I shook my head, anger thumping up. “I must.”
• I ignored him and bent to lift Aby, but her weight was too much. My arms trembled, and I nearly dropped her carelessly. Again I tried, again I failed. My body was screaming for food, water, and rest. But I wasn’t leaving her behind. I’d rather die first than try that.
• “Instead of standing there,” I snapped, tears welling up, “why don’t you help me?”
• He snorted, unmoved. Just stood there like a statue watching me suffer.
• I tried again. My arms gave out. At this point I realized that this was not something I could do alone no matter how many times I tried. Defeated, I dropped to my knees.
• “O—kay,” I said softly. “Please. Help me carry my friend. She needs care. Proper care. Let me take her home.”
• “She’ll be fine,” he said. “You don’t need to worry. She’s healing. Slower than you, though. You’re healing almost twice as fast.”
• I blinked. “What?”
• “You’re healing quickly.”
• “Because of some medicine?” I asked. “Or—what are you saying?”
• He watched me with interest, scratching his clean-shaven jaw.
• “You don’t know, do you?” he asked, lowering his voice.
• I stepped closer. “Know what?”
• But he dodged the question.
• “You shouldn’t wake her. She needs rest.”
• “No. No more rest. Aby, please.” I shook her gently.
• The stranger’s tone shifted. “You’re healing, but you're not indestructible. You’ll burn yourself out.”
• “You don’t understand,” I said. “People are worried. Our families will come searching. And…” I hesitated, panic rushing in. “Josephine.”
• His expression changed. His pupils flared golden—no, yellowish.
• “What?”
• “Where’s Josephine?” I whispered.
• He stood straighter. “Who’s Josephine?”
• Oh no.
• What have I done?