"Lyra's POV"
The moon was full, bloated with light, and hung low in the sky like it was watching me. Watching us. Judging. Its pale glow poured across the sacred stones of Moonstone Cliff, bathing everything in cold silver the mountains in the distance, the temple carved from ancient marble, and the sea of wolves standing in a semicircle, their eyes all turned to me.
Every step I took on the ceremonial path felt like a punishment. The smooth marble was freezing beneath my bare feet, the cold biting into my skin as if to remind me, over and over again, that I didn't belong here. My breath came in slow, shallow draws, the weight of silence pressing in on me like a storm cloud. I kept my chin high, but even that didn't stop the whispers from cutting through the air like blades.
"Why is she dressed like that?"
"She doesn't even have a wolf."
"This has to be a joke."
The voices weren't hushed. They wanted me to hear them. Their words were laced with amusement and disgust not pity. Pity would've been easier. What I heard in those voices was loathing wrapped in laughter, a kind of mockery saved for the lowest among them. For me.
They had dressed me in white, as tradition dictated but not the kind worn by honored Lunas or chosen she-wolves with noble blood. No. This fabric was sheer, tight, clinging to every inch of me like second skin. It offered no dignity, no warmth. Instead, it exposed the absence of scent that would've marked me as powerful. It revealed everything I wasn't. No wolf. No rank. No worth.
In their eyes, I was nothing.
A mistake.
Useless.
Except I wasn't. Not anymore.
Not after the vision.
Something had changed inside me. I hadn't told anyone not even my mother, not even myself, really but I had felt it. A shift. A flicker of something ancient and buried and angry. I didn't know what it meant yet. I didn't even understand it. But I carried it with me tonight, wrapped tight around the hollow where my wolf should've been. It was the only thing that kept my legs moving forward.
At the end of the path, he waited. Draven.
Alpha of Nightbane. My fated mate. The one the Moon Goddess had chosen for me, and the one I had never dared imagine would truly be mine.
He stood tall at the altar, carved from obsidian and bone, his silhouette etched in moonlight. He wore black from neck to boots not the simple black of mourning, but the ceremonial armor of dominance. His long coat swept the floor like shadows. His boots echoed across the chamber with each subtle shift of weight. His entire presence commanded attention, fear, awe. He didn't need to speak to be heard.
And his face…
Gods, his face was a study in cruelty. Not ugliness no, Draven was far too beautiful for that. He was sharp in all the places that made hearts stop.A strong jaw that could've been cut from stone, high cheekbones, a mouth shaped like a promise no one should trust. His hair was black as pitch, tied at the nape. And his eyes storm-grey and merciless looked like they hadn't known sunlight in years.
He didn't look at me.Not even as I approached the altar where fate demanded we meet. Not even as I stood a few paces from him, alone in a sea of wolves who would've torn me apart if the sacred rites didn't forbid it.
The High Priestess stepped forward, her long white robe trailing behind her, her silver circlet glinting in the moonlight. She raised her hands, her voice loud and unwavering.
"The bond has been sensed by the Moon Goddess," she said. "Lyra of the Hollow Moon Pack, step forward and present yourself to your mate."
The words pierced straight through my spine.
I stepped forward.
Each movement felt like walking through water, the silence around me thick and endless. My heart thundered in my chest, not out of affection. I had never even spoken to Draven before tonight but out of dread. The kind of dread you feel when standing at the edge of something irreversible.
I kept my chin raised, though every nerve in my body screamed at me to run. I had heard the stories. The rumors. The broken souls who had crossed him. The way he ruled with precision and ice. I had known my life would change when I received my mate mark… I just didn't know it would feel like this.
He finally looked at me.
His gaze rose slowly, like a wave of winter wind curling around my skin. And then he smiled.
Not kindly.
It was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. A cruel, elegant smirk that made my stomach twist. A smile wolves give before they kill not for survival, but for pleasure.
"You," he said, his voice smooth and sharp as a blade, "are the Moon's biggest mistake."
The words hit like a physical blow.
I didn't flinch. Not with my body. But inside, something fragile cracked. And my wolf, my voiceless, distant wolf, buried so deep within me I'd almost forgotten her.
The High Priestess hesitated, casting a wary glance between us. Her lips parted to continue the ritual, though her voice lacked the earlier conviction.
"Alpha Draven, do you accept the bond?"
Silence fell again.
Draven took one step forward.
So close I could feel his energy coil around me cold, heavy, choking. He stared down at me with nothing but disdain in his eyes. His scent, strong and sharp like cedar and ash, clawed at my senses. There was no warmth in it. No recognition. No connection.
Only the weight of judgment.
"I, Alpha Draven of the Nightbane Pack," he said, loud and clear, "reject you, Lyra of Hollow Moon, as my mate." It shattered me.
Not like a slap. Slaps are surface-level. This! this rejection drove into the core of me, cutting through flesh and bone, straight into the place where my soul and wolf were meant to meet. My knees trembled. My body screamed. But I refused to fall. I gripped the altar with shaking hands, digging my nails into the stone, anchoring myself to something, anything to keep me from collapsing.
Gasps rippled through the temple. Some delighted. Others shocked. A few even horrified.
But no one intervened.
My mouth opened, but no words came. There was nothing left. My wolf had vanished entirely. It was like Draven's rejection had burned her out of me. A bond severed before it had the chance to root. I had become something even less than I already was.
He leaned in close, voice low, cutting.
"You were never mine," he whispered. "You were just… a joke the Goddess forgot to end."
I swallowed the scream building in my throat. I swallowed the shame, the fury, the despair.
And in its place, I felt something ancient stir.
Not grief.
Not helplessness.
Fire.
It curled in my chest, small and fierce, like the embers of something long forgotten. It didn't speak. It didn't roar. It simply woke and waited.
The High Priestess opened her mouth to conclude the ritual.
But before she could utter a word, another voice deep, rough, and commanding cut through the cold night air
"I'll claim her."
Time froze.
I turned, breath catching in my throat.
From the far end of the temple, a shadow detached itself from the crowd. A man stepped forward, tall and calm, his cloak rippling behind him like smoke caught on wind. He wasn't surrounded by warriors. He wore no crest, no mark of allegiance. But the way the wolves moved instinctively away from him… that was power. True, terrifying power.
And those eyes.
They glowed gold in the dark.
"If Draven won't have her," the stranger said, voice smooth as obsidian, "then I will."