The morning air in Bloodveil was heavy with mist and the scent of damp pine. Crows circled high above the keep's towering stone walls, their cries sharp and distant, like omens that had long grown tired of warning anyone.
Lyra stood at the window of her room, fingers resting against the frost-laced glass. Down in the courtyard, wolves were training—blades clashing, snarls echoing across the stone—but her eyes weren't on them. They were fixed on the rising fog that blanketed the forest beyond the walls, where memory still burned.
She hadn't slept. Couldn't.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cain's face from the night before—shadowed by firelight, his golden eyes unreadable. The calm in his voice had scraped against something primal in her, something that didn't know whether to run or bite.
"You think that bond protects you?"
"It doesn't."
And yet, here she stood. Alive. Marked. Trapped in the den of the wolf who'd shattered her past.
She pulled on the dark cloak Aisla had brought her—too fine for a rogue, too worn for a Luna. A quiet message: you are not one of us, but you belong to him.
Lyra tied the cord at her throat and stepped into the hall. Her boots made no sound as she moved—an old instinct from the days she had to sneak just to survive. Now, every guard she passed either averted their eyes or glanced sideways, uncertain whether to nod in deference or suspicion.
The Alpha's chosen. His claimed.
His pet.
Let them whisper.
She moved through the east wing, past the mess chamber where warriors laughed too loudly, past the training hall where iron struck iron and tempers flared. Eventually, the scent of wolves gave way to something else—something older. Dust. Magic. Blood.
It called to her like a thread tugging in her chest.
A corridor veered off from the main path—narrow, half-lit, ignored. She followed it without hesitation.
There, behind layers of dust and soot-stained stone, was a wall that looked just like the others. But her wolf stirred when she drew near, hackles bristling beneath her skin.
Something was waiting behind it.
She pressed her palm to the stone.
Nothing happened.
Lyra gritted her teeth and forced herself to reach inward—to the bond she loathed, the one Cain had awakened with a single touch. Her mark burned, searing just beneath her collarbone.
The wall shuddered.
A faint seam split down the center with a sound like breaking ice. Stone peeled back like mist, revealing a narrow spiral staircase that descended into shadow.
She hesitated only a heartbeat.
Then she stepped inside.
The air below was colder. Still. Too quiet.
Each step down felt like a descent into the bones of the keep. The scent of pine vanished. Magic lingered here, heavy and ancient. The kind that remembered blood.
At the bottom, she found a chamber—round, vast, and untouched by time. No torches lit its walls, yet it pulsed with a low silver glow, faint as moonlight under water.
Symbols covered the stone—etched deep into the floor and walls. She recognized a few. Old runes. Names of ancestors. Sacrifices. Invocations never meant to be spoken aloud.
But at the center of the chamber…
A stone altar.
Its surface was dark, slick with old stains.
Blood.
She approached slowly, breath catching when she saw what was carved into it.
Names.
Dozens. Hundreds. Some scratched out. Others still glowing faintly in silver fire.
Her fingers hovered over them until they froze.
Silverfang.
Her name.
Her bloodline.
She stared, heart pounding. The runes around it shimmered—delicate, ancient script just barely legible.
"Chosen Vessel. Do not destroy."
Her knees nearly buckled.
This wasn't a battlefield casualty list. This was a ledger.
A selection.
She hadn't been left alive by accident.
She had been spared.
Not by mercy. Not by Cain's hesitation.
By design.
Someone had marked her before she died.
Before the final howl.
"You shouldn't be down here."
His voice cut through the silence like a blade. Cold. Certain.
Lyra didn't turn. Didn't flinch.
But her fingers curled into fists.
Cain stepped into the chamber slowly, the silver runes lighting his face like a ghost. He didn't look surprised to find her. If anything, he looked… tired.
"You knew," she said, voice low. "You knew I wasn't just some stray."
He didn't deny it.
"I suspected," he said, watching her carefully. "Not many wolves survive without a pack, without a scent. And none of them have eyes like yours."
She turned, the weight of the altar at her back.
"Then why let me stay? Why play this game?"
"Because I need to know who you really are."
"I already told you," she snapped. "My name is Rae."
"No," he said quietly. "It's not."
The silence stretched.
She could feel her pulse in her throat.
"I saw the records," she said. "The order that wiped out my pack. You didn't sign it."
Cain's jaw flexed. "No."
"Kael did."
His expression changed at that. Just slightly.
"You never saw the original," she said. "The directive came through your father. You believed it."
"I was barely Alpha," he murmured. "The Council claimed your pack stole territory. They said Silverfang was hiding something dangerous. I didn't question it."
"Then you're a fool," she hissed. "Or a coward."
His golden eyes darkened. "And you're alive."
Her breath hitched.
"Would you rather I finished the job?" he asked, voice rough. "That night… I saw you. Bleeding. Broken. I thought it was mercy to leave you."
"It wasn't mercy," she whispered. "It was fate. It was a curse."
They stood there, silence roaring between them. The bond burned beneath their skin.
She hated that it throbbed in time with her heart.
Cain's gaze dropped briefly to her collarbone—where the mark lay hidden beneath the cloak.
"When I touched you… the bond surged. That doesn't happen with strangers."
"No," she said. "Because I'm not a stranger."
He looked at her then. Not like an Alpha sizing up a rogue. Not like a killer eyeing prey.
But like a man who didn't know how to undo what he'd broken.
"I should kill you," she whispered.
"I know."
"But I won't."
"Why?"
"Because you're not the one I need to destroy."
He stepped closer, his voice tight. "Then who is?"
"Kael."
Something flickered in Cain's eyes. Recognition. Fear. Rage.
Then he said the words that turned her blood to ice:
"Kael is coming to Bloodveil."
The chamber seemed to still around them.
Lyra blinked. "What?"
Cain's jaw tightened. "He sent word yesterday. The Council's hosting a summit. Moonblood's lands are shifting east. He asked for a private audience. Here."
Her heart pounded. "And you said yes?"
"I had no choice. The Council's watching him—and me. Refusing would raise questions."
Her head spun.
Kael of Moonblood.
The bastard who forged the order.
The one who orchestrated her pack's extinction.
He was coming here. To Bloodveil. To her.
"Why does he care about you suddenly?" she asked.
Cain hesitated.
Then, quietly:
"Because he wants to meet my mate."
Lyra's breath caught.
"Me?"
Cain nodded, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
"Does he know who I am?" she asked.
"I don't think so. Not yet."
"But he will."
Cain didn't speak. He didn't have to.
They both knew the truth. Once Kael saw her… everything would unravel.
"Then I have to leave," she said, backing away. "If he sees me here—"
"No."
Cain caught her wrist, too fast to avoid. His touch ignited the mark again, heat rushing through her chest.
"You're not running."
"Let go."
"Lyra—"
She yanked her hand free, breathing hard.
"You don't own me."
"No," he said, quietly. "But I'm the only thing standing between you and him."
She froze.
"I don't care what your name was before," Cain said. "I don't care what you've lost. But if you think Kael came all this way just for politics, you're wrong. He's hunting something. And if you're what he's looking for—"
"I'll kill him before he touches me."
Cain looked at her.
Not with fear.
With something closer to awe.
"Good," he said.
And then, softer:
"Because I'll help you."
Lyra stared.
The words didn't make sense.
"You want to help me kill the Alpha your Council supports?"
Cain's voice was low. Lethal.
"I want to kill the bastard who used me to wipe out an innocent pack."
Their eyes met.
Something shifted.
Not forgiveness.
But alignment.
A crack in the wall that stood between enemy and ally.
Between monster and mate.
Lyra turned to leave. Her heart thundered. Her body ached with the weight of new war.
And as she stepped into the hall, Cain's voice followed her like a promise.
"Stay close, Rae. The storm hasn't started yet."
She didn't answer.
But for the first time…
She didn't walk away in silence.