Lyra woke before dawn to the sound of growling outside her room.
It was low and rumbling, primal so faint most wouldn't notice. But her ears had long grown used to picking out danger in the silence. She sat up instantly, her body alert. Her room was still cloaked in shadows, but there was movement in the corridor. Voices, too hushed to catch. Footsteps creaked against the wooden floorboards.
She dressed quickly, braiding her hair back as she moved. She didn't bother with armor, no one here had offered her any protection, and she didn't expect it. The packhouse might've had warm walls and a bed, but it wasn't a home. It was a battlefield. A quiet, suffocating one.
When she stepped into the hallway, three warriors passed her without acknowledgement. One of them, a tall, dark-skinned male with jagged scars on his forearms, glared openly. Another woman with a braided mohawk and silver piercings in her ears snorted and muttered under her breath, "She walks like she belongs."
Lyra didn't bite back.
Not yet.
She walked past them, keeping her shoulders square and her gaze forward. If they wanted her to flinch, they'd be disappointed.
Downstairs, the training yard buzzed with motion. Warriors were already lined up, sparring and howling commands. Beta Daria stood at the center, shouting orders with the sharpness of a whip. Her voice carried across the stone walls as she barked out drills.
Lyra descended the steps slowly. Several heads turned when she appeared curious, most disapproving. Her presence rippled through the air like a scent no one wanted to acknowledge.
"Rogue," one of the younger wolves muttered, spitting near the edge of the dirt ring.
Lyra ignored it, walking to the side, keeping a safe distance from the main training grounds. She wasn't invited to train, but she wasn't about to sit idle either. Movement, even observation, was better than confinement.
"Didn't think you'd show your face again," came a voice from behind.
She turned to find Kael, a Ravenguard warrior she recognized from the council gathering. His eyes were hard, green like shattered glass, and his smirk was anything but friendly.
"Didn't think I needed permission to walk," Lyra shot back.
He circled her like a predator, not touching, but close enough to make a point. "You're not one of us, no matter what bond you carry. You didn't earn it. And sooner or later, that Alpha of yours will realize he bonded with a mistake."
The words struck a nerve. But Lyra smiled tight, cold, and dangerous.
"If you're trying to scare me, you'll have to try harder," she said quietly.
Kael leaned closer, lowering his voice. "No need to scare you, girl. We're just waiting for the day we can throw you back where you came from. Preferably in pieces."
Before she could respond, a sharp voice cut across the air.
"That's enough."
The crowd turned.
Alaric stood on the edge of the field, arms crossed, his eyes locked on Kael like a blade ready to be unsheathed.
Kael stepped back immediately, his arrogance evaporating. "Alpha"
"Speak again," Alaric growled, "and you'll finish your patrols in the northern swamps for the next three moons."
Kael bowed his head, silent, and disappeared into the ranks without another word.
Alaric's eyes flicked to Lyra. She stood unmoved, her posture defiant.
"You didn't need to interfere," she said, biting back her frustration.
"I didn't do it for you," he replied coolly. "I did it to keep the others from spilling blood in my yard. You want to earn your place here? You do it on your feet, not in the dirt."
Lyra clenched her jaw. "I didn't ask for a place. You forced the bond."
Alaric stared at her for a moment. "Yes. And now you get to live with it."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her in the center of the yard, surrounded by a sea of enemies cloaked in loyalty.
Later that afternoon, Lyra found herself summoned to the War Room.
The chamber was nothing like the rest of the packhouse. It was cold stone, circular, with a massive carved table in the center bearing maps, figurines, and territory markers. Alaric stood at the head, flanked by Daria and two senior warriors. The tension in the room was stifling.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked as she entered, not bothering with a bow.
Daria's lip curled, but she said nothing.
Alaric gestured to the map. "The East Ridge patrol was attacked this morning."
Lyra's eyes swept over the terrain. East Ridge bordered rogue-controlled lands, a place she knew all too well.
"How many dead?" she asked.
"Two warriors. One scout was injured," Alaric said flatly. "The rogues didn't just attack. They left a message."
He handed her a torn piece of fabric. Black cloth, smeared with blood. A symbol was scrawled in the center, a crescent wolf skull.
Lyra went cold. She knew that mark.
"That's Ronan's."
Alaric nodded. "You've encountered him before?"
She hesitated. "He led the raid on my old pack. He doesn't want territory, he wants chaos."
"He wants you," Daria added sharply. "And now, thanks to your presence here, he's decided to escalate."
Lyra's jaw clenched. "I didn't bring him here. He was coming either way."
"No one attacked Ravenguard until the day you crossed our borders," Daria hissed. "Coincidence?"
Alaric raised a hand. "Enough. We didn't bring her here for politics. We brought her because the Bloodbond forces loyalty. Whether we like it or not."
Lyra stepped closer to the table. "He's watching. Testing your defenses before making a real move. The message isn't just about war. It's personal."
The room fell silent.
Alaric's gaze narrowed. "He'll come through the southern pass next."
"How do you know?" Daria asked, suspicious.
Lyra's voice was calm. "Because that's what I'd do. He's counting on you focusing your warriors east. It's a distraction."
No one spoke. Then Alaric nodded slowly.
"Prepare a secondary patrol. Quietly. I want eyes in the south before sunset."
He turned to Lyra. "You'll go with them."
Daria's head snapped around. "Alpha, she's not one of us."
"She is," Alaric said coldly, "until the bond is broken. And if she's right, I want her there when it happens."
That night, as Lyra joined the patrol moving toward the southern ridge, the tension between her and the warriors was thick enough to choke on. None of them spoke to her. She didn't care. She didn't need their approval to survive.
They moved in silence beneath a silver sky, the scent of moss and old pine surrounding them. Lyra led the flank, her ears tuned to every shift in the wind.
She wasn't just walking into hostile land.
She was a hostile presence.
Inside Ravenguard, every step she took was a challenge.
Every breath she drew a reminder: she wasn't welcome. Not really. Not yet.
But they would learn.
If they wanted a fight, she'd give them one.
On her terms.
And this time, she wouldn't back down.