Under the rising blood moon, Lyra's hands bled as her wolf rattled its cage, one snarl too loud, and the pack would tear her apart.
Above her, the sacred courtyard of Moonfang Pack breathes smokes and whispers of ancient wolves.
All around it were flames bowing low as if afraid to burn bright. Red cloths twist around the old stone pillars that adorn the courtyard.
The Ancient runes of the courtyard are carved deep into the pillars, which pulsed with a ghostly glow.
The runes of the courtyard whisper forgotten oaths to any wolf who dares listen.
Somewhere beyond the pillars of the courtyard, the subtle beat of a ritual drum could be heard like a heartbeat in every wolf's chest
With each heartbeat beat pack members remembered that this particular night was a special one.
The blood moon's magic chooses who will rise and become the Alpha's fated mate.
Lyra kneels at the edge of it all with her hands stinging in the wash bucket, the water is dark with dirt and soap rubbed on her cracked knuckles.
She dips a rag and scrubs the dirt on the marbled floor while her thin dress sticks to her knees.
Winds creep under the cloth, stealing that little warmth she has left.
The sound of boots and feet was behind her, and shadows poured through the courtyard gates.
Pack members came in with their wolves in human skin, with their presence brushing dust on the ancient marble.
Mothers carried their pups, and elders moved slowly like smoke between pillars wrapped in red.
The circle of the sacred courtyard became filled with all eyes lifting to the swollen moon above.
While all this was happening, Lyra was still scrubbing the floors, her rag slipped deeper into filthy water, her palms bleeding.
Silk rustled in the courtyard like secrets as the elite girls of the pack made their way in.
With silver blood in their veins, moonlight caught their hair.
Their laughter is soft, rapped at the edges like hidden fangs behind painted lips.
They all move as one with their wolf fang pendants hanging cold against their warm skin, a show of power no omega can dream of.
Their eyes finally met Lyra, with her knees on raw marble and hands deep in filthy water.
One of them lifts their chin with her silk dress brushing the air around it, so that she won't catch a scent.
They all wrinkled their nose, flicked their jeweled wrist in a sign of disgust.
One said, "Dirt must know its place." Another girl's shoe hit, the bucket Lyra was using to clean purposefully, and the water splashed on her.
They all giggle at her while moving away to the circle of the courtyard.
Lyra bows lower, breath caught in her chest, her wolf silent, afraid to breathe.
Lyra, still silent, keeps her eyes on the floor. Her dress is gray, too big at the shoulders, but too tight at her ribs.
A year's near the hem drags over her knee whenever she shifts.
Her hair stuck to her forehead in dark strands, a bruise hid under her left eye, half shadowed by loose curls.
She breathes through her mouth so the smell of soap and cold iron does not choke her.
Another girl's silk brushes her elbow, Lyra tried to flinch back, rag slipping from her hand to dirty water, and the stain spreads.
She wants to pick it up, but her fingers tremble. Her cracked nails scraped the marble instead.
She dips her hands back into the cold water, and she scrubs harder with agony inside of her.
While she was in the courtyard, Maelin, one of the daughters of the elite beta in the pack, and an elite girl, came out.
She was perceived to be the one who was going to be chosen by the moonstone to be the Alpha's fated mate.
She came up to Lyra and said, "Look at this." Her voice was sweet, but as sharp as her claw.
Her wolf pendant swung above Lyra's head. She said, "A stray mutt, scrubbing where we walk".
Lyra's lips tremble, she tries to speak but she couldn't as her heart raced for what trouble Maelin might bring.
Maelin came closer to her, lifted Lyra's chin with a single finger. Her nails are polished like bloodstone.
She said to her, "Did you think the Blood Moon shines for you, Omega?" Her laugh drips poison.
Behind her, the other elite girls giggle, covering their mouths with dainty hands.
Lyra's eyes burn with remorse. She tastes salt, fear. She shakes her head, voice trapped behind her teeth, she was devastated, but her inner wolf said otherwise.
"Pathetic," Maelin whispers closely to her dropping her chin back. "Your dirt stains our sacred ground."
The whole courtyard was silent. Then Maelin turns, leaving her alone down on the floor.
The pack watches. Lyra stays kneeling, rag drifting in dirty water.
They pack members pass her with their heads tilted, words slipping like knives within them.
"Omega filth," someone spits near her ear.
A boy bumps her shoulder hard but she doesn't look up, she keeps her face low and keeps on cleaning
Fingers point, eyes roll, whispers grow thick like smoke, they said she is not supposed to be around the courtyard.
"She'll incur the curse of the Blood Moon on us," an elder hisses to another.
Lyra wipes her cheek with her sleeve. Mud smears her skin. She tucks her hands close, heart thumping wildly.
They walked on, voices fading, with their gaze brewing shame and disgrace.
Inside of her, the wolf in her kept stirring with a low growl pressed against her ribs.
Her wolf said to her, "They see you crawling, it whispers, voice like a wind through bones. They spit on you because you bow too deep".
Stand, the wolf begs. Let me out. One snarl, Lyra. Just one.
But she can't because of her omega status in the pack. Her heart pounds too loudly.
Shadows cling to her back. She felt their eyes, their sneers, their words that slipped like knives; she was afraid and felt unsafe.
We are more than this, the wolf rumbles. I am claw and tooth. I am storm, but Lyra was quite aware of how she was placed in the hierarchy of wolves in the pack. Lyra catches her breath after a while. She swallows her sob. If she speaks, they'll hear her break.
One day, her wolf promises. That day they will bow.
Two elders who were in the courtyard drifted from the pillars, with their robes brushing marble like whispers of old ghosts.
Their eyes find Lyra an omega who they perceived as small, trembling, with dirt on her knees.
"Stay back, little shadow," one said to her, with a cracking tone and with his voice low.
His finger points to the moonstone, cold light pulsing at the courtyard's heart. "Your kind stains its glow."
The second elder continued and said. "An omega's touch calls rot. Do you wish the moon to turn her face from us?"
Lyra lowers her eyes with a pitiful look up her chin, her mouth was dry.
The moonstone hums, soft as a heartbeat, just out of reach. She feels its pull, but their words cut deeper into her soul; she was not permitted to look upon its gaze.
"Scrub floors, girl," the first says. "That is your blessing. The stone is for wolves who matter."
Lyra's breath seizes for a moment. Her inner wolf curls tighter, silent under her ribs.
The moonstone, which she was not to gaze upon, gleams.
Lyra's hands were still in the dark water. The rag became heavy, and it was full of dirt.
Her breath was heavy as her eyes slipped past the flickering flames of the courtyard and the silk hems and wolf fang pendants.
She knows she shouldn't. But something drags her gaze like a hook in her chest, like it's a voice that tells her to come to it.
They sat in the pharaoh's circle. It was made of old stones worn smooth by kings long buried under moonlight.
Furs thick as shadows drape the seats where warriors stand guard, silent and hard. The runes carved deep in the stone hum at her bones.
The circle showed the moonfang pack of their history and their connection to the blood moon.
A chill dances down her spine, it was irresistible like the pain she was bearing.
Her wolf pressed up behind her eyes, restless, pacing, and she felt a conflict from within.
Immediately, Lyra's lips part. The air tastes like iron and ash. Then she feels it, the circle, but the weight beyond it is too enormous for her to carry.
Across the courtyard, where the old palace walls catch the moon's silver, a shape stands half-shadowed.
Lyra sees him. Just enough. Broad shoulders. A stillness so deep it swallows the night's noise, with an aura that cannot go unnoticed.
The Alpha. She shouldn't see him. Her chest aches. Something in her stomach twists, warm and wrong and wanting
She doesn't know if he looks back, but her pulse says he does; she becomes scared of what will happen if the elders see her gazing upon the Alpha of the pack.
Her throat tightens. She dips her head fast, but inside, her wolf claws at her ribs, whispering, howling for another glimpse.
Her hands find the rag again. She scrubs harder, water turning red where her skin breaks. But the weight of him stays, burned behind her eyes.
Inside her, the wolf in her keeps snarling. A low, rough sound that rattles her bones.
The Alpha's circle glows in her mind, stone, fur, power thick in the air. Her human heart stutters with fear, but the wolf's heart pounds, hungry and raw.
She remembers the shape across the courtyard, the Alpha's gleam, the cold fire which she saw in his shadow.
Her inner wolf hates that the circle shuts her out.
Hates the gleam that calls her near yet pushes her low. She claws at Lyra's ribs, snapping at the thin line that holds her caged.
Lyra's eyes, till heavy, drifted to where they should not, past the silk hems, past the circle of snarling whispers to the heart of the courtyard.
The Moonstone sits there, pale and breathing cold light, with a synergy of energy known to all wolves
They say an omega's eyes burn if they linger too long on the glorious gleam.
They pack elders say the stone curses the unworthy, silvers their bones with frost until they break like old wood.
But despite all these, Lyra's eyes stay. Her wolf presses against her ribs, fur brushing bone.
The air shifts like a hush in the circle, the flames bow lower. Even the drums falter, skipping a beat like a stuttered heart, the energy of the moonstone was around the courtyard that night.
Lyra's breath clouds before her lips. The Moonstone hums, low as thunder in the deep earth.
She sees her reflection inside, blurred, small. A smear of dirt and ragged cloth in sacred light.
A hiss, sharp and hidden, someone has seen her looking.
A wind curls around her ankles, tugging at the torn hem of her dress. The stone's glow flickers, like it tastes her stare and finds her lacking.
A soldier's boots scrape marble, rough and close. His snarl rips the hush like claws through silk. His shadow falls over her shoulder.
Lyra's heart drums against her ribs. Her wolf snarls inside her chest, a threat she cannot speak because she knows that she smells trouble.
She drops her head, lets her rag slip into filthy water, and shifts back, spine low, breath shallow.
The soldier's growl hangs heavy. She knew that if the soldier got to her, it would be trouble for an omega like her.
But her eyes find the shadows, slip under silk hems, vanish behind the swirl of elders' robes,
Behind her, the Moonstone glows cold. The runes on the pillars pulse, whisper oaths only the worthy may touch, something only Lyra can dream of.
Whispers crawl after hean omega who watches the Moonstone risks ruin for them all.
Yet Lyra's heart beats slower, steady as if a secret promise curls like smoke between her ribs.
The elders step forward into the Alpha's circle, their shadows look so tall under the swollen blood moon.
Their robes sweep the marble, red threads whispering secrets to the stones.
One of them lifts his hand, silver rings catching firelight. The courtyard stills, breath held with a moment of suspense, wolves silent in skin and bone.
"When the blood moon crowns," the elder's voice rolls like thunder caught in old wood, "the Alpha's mate shall rise. None unworthy may defile the circle."
Drums answer and follow their proclamation with one beat, then another, echoing through ribs and spines.
Flames tremble, bowing low to the runes carved deep in old pillars of the courtyard.
Mothers hush their pups in a sign of respect, and warriors bow their heads. The elite girls smile like knives, wolf fangs flashing behind soft lips.
Tonight, the blood moon hunts. Tonight, its power will sift through fur and flesh, seek a heart pure enough to stand beside the Alpha's throne, to be his fated mate.
Lyra's breath knots in her throat. She feels the circle's pull more often, heavy, forbidden, sharp as fangs on her skin.
The elder's arms rise, voice cutting the night: "Let no shadow trespass. Let the moon judge true."
The blood moon became very visible to the wolves of the pack as it climbed slowly, spilling its red glow over fur, stone, and bone
Clouds drift back like torn silk, afraid to touch their faces.
A hush ripples through the sacred courtyard felt by every wolf, both omegas and betas.
Even the drums fade, only the crackle of flame remains, licking the edges of carved runes.
Under the pillars of the sacred courtyard, wolves stand as men, but their eyes gleam wild, gold and silver caught in the moon's red snare.
Mothers clutch pups tighter for such an auspicious moment, warriors press fists to chests, hearts pounding like hunted prey.
Lyra kneels near the shadows, breath tangled in the cold. The moon's light touches her hair, finds her raw knuckles. She flinches, but her eyes lift, pulled by the power bleeding from the sky.
Above, the blood moon throbs like a wound upon the pack. It spills whispers into the runes, makes them shiver, glow pale, then fierce. The stones answer with sighs, old, hungry, waiting.
A low wind curls around the circle, dragging ash and sparks. Fire bends low, afraid. The Alpha's circle glows brightest, as if the moon pours every drop of power there.
At this point, every pack member adored the power that the blood moon poured out upon them.
Somewhere behind Lyra, a growl rolls over marble, a warning, a promise. She doesn't turn. The moon's pull is too deep, sinking fangs in her chest.
The pack breathes as one. Tonight, the blood moon chooses. And the shadows listen with precision and prejudice.
Lyra wipes her brow, trembling, breath catching in the cold.
She had one last glance at the blood moon as it pulsed, a red drum in her veins.
Shadows curl behind the pillars; a figure watches, still as stone.
Her wolf shivers under her skin. In her bones, she knows nothing stays the same after tonight. She lifts her eyes to the moonstone, whispering softly — "Tonight the moon remembers me."