Life inside the fortified wing of Valerius Manor changed in subtle ways after Anya started coming around.
She never stayed long, and never came openly. Her visits slipped in through the dark, like whispers on a cold wind.
But for Lyra, they became everything.
Valerius always knew she was near before she knocked a sharp shift in the air, the scent of pine and wild herbs slicing through the manor's still, ancient breath. A moment later, a soft, coded scratch echoed at the hidden postern gate. He had shown her that entrance himself, long ago.
As soon as the heavy door creaked open, Lyra was off like a shot barefoot, wild curls bouncing, all urgency and joy.
"Gamma!" she'd shout, the word now clear as bell chimes. She flung herself into Anya's arms with no hesitation.
Anya's laugh, low and warm, filled the cold corridor like the first wind of autumn.
"My fierce little cub! Have you grown taller since the last moon?"
She swings Lyra around, and the girl's laughter would echo down the stone halls a startlingly bright sound in a house made for shadows.
Valerius always watched from the background, silent and still. He trusted Anya trusted her love for Selene, and by extension, for Lyra. But centuries of instinct couldn't be silenced. He stayed on edge, always listening. Always watching.
Borak hadn't caught wind of the visits. Not yet. But it only took once.
So rules strict ones. Anya came deep in the night. She masked her trail with wolfsbane, with silver dust, with rituals old as the Pack itself. Valerius ensured it.
She brought more than affection.
Soft leather scraps for boots. Wool spun thick enough for winter. Jars of combed honey. Salves sharp with herbs Lyra couldn't name. But her most valuable offerings were stories, memories and pieces of Selene.
"Your mama," Anya would murmur, Lyra curled in her lap by the tiny fire Valerius allowed in the living chamber, "was born under the Hunter's Moon. Big and proud in the sky that night. She howled louder than any pup in the den."
Lyra would lean into her, tracing the faded embroidery on Anya's old leather tunic.
"She ran like wind through the pines," Anya would go on, voice softer, "climbed the Sentinel Rock before ten summers and was stubborn? Like a badger cornered in its den. Argued with every elder before she'd even shifted."
"Mama was brave?" Lyra would ask, eyes wide, sometimes catching the firelight just right just enough to reflect the faintest flicker of amber. A flicker Valerius never missed.
"The bravest," Anya would say without hesitation, hugging her tight.
"She loved the woods. Loved the cold bite of snow. And she loved your papa the quiet night-walker even when others snarled at the thought of it."
Valerius, always pretending to read near the fire, never said a word. But inside, something twisted every time.
Selene lived in Lyra in the fire in her eyes, in the set of her jaw, in the relentless questions.
And Anya's stories were the only bridge between that wild bloodline and the girl trapped behind stone walls.
Anya also painted pictures of the world beyond.
The Silvermane territory stretched farther than Lyra could imagine frozen rivers like the Moonfang, endless cliffs where eagles nested, the great den roaring with life during the Great Howl.
She described rituals Lyra had never seen, The First Run under the new moon, the solemn rites on the Long Night when the dead were remembered.
One evening, Anya showed Lyra how to weave patterns using dried grass blades, their hands moving slowly near the fire.
Lyra looked up at the barred window, where a sliver of moon shone through.
"Gamma's home up there?" she asked, pointing. Her voice was small. Serious.
"Under moon?"
Anya hesitated. Her hands stilled.
"Yes, little cub. My home is under that moon." She glanced upward.
"But it's full of sharp teeth and sharper words for someone like you. It's not safe. Not yet."
"Why?" Lyra pressed, brow furrowed.
"Lyra quiet. Papa quiet."
Across the room, Valerius stood in silence, a shadow in the corner, unmoving.
Anya's voice softened. Her next words came slowly, deliberately.
"Some wolves fear the night, little one. Fear what they don't understand. Fear things that don't howl at the moon like they do."
She glanced again at Valerius.
"Your papa keeps you safe here. These stones… they protect you. They hide you from eyes that wouldn't see you clearly."
Lyra looked down, then patted the cold flagstone floor beneath her palm.
"Stones safe," she said simply.
Anya smiled, bittersweet. "Yes, fierce cub. The stones are safe."
As Lyra neared her fourth year, things started to change.
Not outwardly. Not to anyone who didn't know her.
But Valerius saw it.
One evening, she tried to shove a heavy chest a thick, old heirloom that hadn't been moved in decades. Valerius watched from his usual perch, expecting her to give up after a few grunts.
But she didn't.
She growled. A low sound, deep and unfamiliar, vibrated in her chest.
Then the chest scraped.
Shifted just an inch, but unmistakably moved.
Lyra yelped and backed away, staring at her hands like they'd betrayed her.
A week later, Anya brought a polished moonstone milky, smooth, and cold to the touch. Lyra loved it instantly.
She held it up to the firelight, watching it flicker.
"Shiny," she whispered.
Then she gasped.
"Papa! Eyes… gold!"
Valerius and Anya both leaned in.
The moonstone, smooth and curved, caught her reflection and in that reflection, her eyes gleamed amber.
Just for a second.
Then gone.
Anya went still. Her hand tightened on her chair.
Valerius felt something old and cold settle in his bones.
Lyra just laughed and tapped the stone. "Silly moon rock!"
That night, after Lyra was asleep, they stood outside her room alone in the echoing corridor.
"The strength. The eyes…" Valerius murmured, not looking at Anya, but into the blackness ahead of him. "The wolf stirs."
Anya nodded once. Her face was tight. Her voice was low.
"Yes. The call of the moon grows stronger. The first change will come before her fifth year ends."
Valerius stilled completely.
In the dark, Kaelen's words echoed again.
Abomination. Violation. Worthless.
"How?" he said. The single word was cold, desperate.
"How do I contain it? What if… what if she hungers? What if the vampire blood…"
He couldn't finish the thought.
"We don't know what she'll need," Anya said softly.
"She's not wolf. Not vampire. She's something… new."
Her gaze met his. Amber eyes sharp as moonlight.
"We teach her control. Like we would any pup. But more than that we teach her to hide. To stay quiet. To be cautious."
A beat.
"For both your sakes."
Valerius didn't speak for a long moment. He stared at Lyra's door. The only sound was the flutter of her heartbeat through the stone. So fast. So fragile.
And in that moment, he didn't see his daughter.
He saw what the world would see if it ever looked too closely: a storm no one could survive.
But then he blinked, and she was Lyra again.
Selene's daughter.
His blood.
His.
"We teach her," he said. The words carried no emotion but the finality was unmistakable.
"Control. Secrecy. She remains hidden."
He met Anya's gaze squarely.
"Whatever the moon demands."
And as the firelight flickered out behind them, both of them knew:
The shadows weren't just hiding the child anymore.
They were hiding something waiting to break loose.