Lyra hadn't sleep. Not a blink. Not a breath of rest.
She had spent the entire night combing through the frostbitten woods and twisted paths around their shack, calling out in hoarse whispers, praying to the moon goddess that her grandfather would be behind the next tree, the next stone, the next shadow.
He wasn't.
By the time the stars began to fade and the dark sky bled into gray, she had no choice.
She had to go.
The decree had been clear: Every household must offer a daughter to serve in the pack house. If they have no daughter, they must offer a son to be a warrior. Refuse and your entire bloodline is forfeit.
Her head throbbed as she trudged through the dirt path, cold wind slicing through her threadbare dress. Her feet, swollen and sore, bled into her worn-out slippers. She had started walking by 3a.m, just as the crows began to stir, just after giving up one final, tear-choked shout into the still air.
"Grandfather... please come back."
Silence answered.
Their crooked home, patched up with rotting wood and old cloth, had stood like a dying creature behind her, Their roof sagged in three places, the windows were more hole than glass. She hadn't dared stay. The carriage would arrive at the village square by six.
And if she missed it, her life, what was left of it would be over.
Now seated in the creaking, packed carriage with ten other girls, who looked like they had bathed and dressed for royal parade. Their dresses were simple but clean, hair braided or pinned neatly. Not like her in her shabby rough looking dress.
Lyra could feel her body threatening to collapse. Her eyelids drooped, the cold still trapped in her bone. Fever simmered in her skull, her breathing shallow and uneven.
All she wanted was to sleep.
But they wouldn't let her.
"She looks like a corpse," one girl said, her voice too loud, too sweet.
"Bet she won't last a day," another added with a cruel laugh. "Hope she doesn't keel over while serving the Alpha. That would ruin the floors. Not like she'll ever even get the chance."
They laughed, mocking her.
Lyra kept her head down, knuckles white in her lap. She just stared at the wooden floor.
'Don't speak. Don't react.'
That had been her rule since she was ten. Since they first whispered that she was cursed. Since they called her ghost with green eyes. Only because she had white hair with green eyes.
She is different, and in the Packs, different meant dangerous. Or worthless.
"What pack did she even come from?"
"She probably doesn't have a name. Slaves don't."
Another laugh. Louder this time. Meaner.
It seemed that Lyra would be the source of their entertainment throughout the whole journey. It's not like Omegas had names either. Maybe the first name but not the second name. And she Lyra Woods had one, a full two names.
She curled further into herself, aching from the cold that hadn't left her since the night before. Her limbs trembled. Her lips had turned an unhealthy shade of blue.
One girl deliberately coughed in her direction. Another covered her nose.
"Ugh, she smells like mold."
"Maybe they'll put her in the dung pits."
Lyra bit the inside of her cheek. Stay awake. Stay upright. She drifted in and out of sleep, her body shivering violently as the cold wind seeped through the cracks in the carriage. Each time her eyes fluttered shut, a jab from an elbow or loud comment pulled her back into the present.
"Hey, don't fall on me," one girl snapped when Lyra leaned sideways in her sleep.
"She's sick. Shouldn't she be sent back?" another hissed.
Even if she passed out, they might even toss her out before they even reached the Packhouse. And no one would care.
***
The carriage rattled to a halt just past the final hill. Gasps echoed around her.
The new Blackhowl Packhouse towered ahead. Once it belonged to the Silvercrest Pack, regal and proud. Now, the banners were replaced. A new banner hung proudly from the front gate, a red and black flag with the emblem of a snarling wolf.
Warriors lined the courtyard, their faces stoic, their weapons gleaming.
One of them opened the carriage door.
"OUT."
The girls rushed to comply, fixing their hair, straightening their skirts. Each of them looked like they were about to meet royalty.
Lyra climbed down last, her legs wobbling, her breath shallow. Her fever burned hotter now, but she said nothing. She couldn't afford to. She was so weak and sickly and she hated that.
The courtyard stone bit into her feet.
Assignments were handed out in the courtyard. The head steward, a broad-shouldered woman, Esme, she had a voice like thunder, pointed them and listed roles.
"You- Laundry."
"You- Cleaning."
"You- Kitchen."
"You - Nursery."
Then her eyes landed on her.
A pause.
"You... Garden." She sneered, "Try not to die in the dirt."
Lyra nodded once.
If anything, It was better that the kitchens. Better than fighting to keep up with the other girls with stronger hands and sharper tongues. And they were two of them assigned to the garden. The plump girl, Tessa and her.
She was weak.
But she was breathing.
***
High above, in the Alpha's private study, Alpha Kross Mortimer stood with his arms folded, staring at the flames licking the stone fireplace.
His Beta, Noah, held a parchment in his hands, freshly delivered.
"A letter from Alpha William of the Nightshade Pack," he said, glancing at Gamma Ryan, who leaned casually against the far wall.
"Read." Kross commanded.
Noah cleared his throat.
"To the great Alpha Kross of Blackhowl. Your victory over the Northern Packs was inevitable. The Southern Kingdom watches with awe and caution. I invite you to the Nightshade Pack as a guest and ally, Alpha William."
Silence.
Ryan gave a soft snort, "Coward's invitation. He wants to keep Kael from turning South."
Kross said nothing.
He never spoke more than needed. His words were sharp. Rare. And Final.
He turned to the fire, eyes gleaming gold.
"Burn it," he said.
Noah hesitated, "It might be wise to consider diplomacy..."
Kross looked over his shoulder and even that small motion was enough to silence Noah.
The Ravager inside him stirred. The shadows near the hearth twisted.
Kross closed his eyes.
He could feel it breathing inside his bones.
***
In the far garden, beyond the stable and the walls, Lyra and Tessa were changing into the clothes and shoes given to them before they went to the garden.
No one watched her.
Except something that couldn't be seen.
And in the study above, Kross opened his eyes and for a brief second the Ravager went still.
It had sensed her.
But instead of hunger, it recoiled.
Something made it retreat.
Kael had no clue.
Lyra finished dressing and went to the garden. It was not the serene, floral space of a noble estate. It was an overgrown, wild and in desperate need of attention. Weeds snaked through the vegetable rows. The soil was hard.
Tessa got to work immediately, grumbling about how hungry she was. Lyra tried to kneel and start pulling weeds, but her arms felt like they were filled with sand.
By the time she managed to tug out two dandelions, her vision darkened. her breaths came in shallow, painful gasps. She swayed. Then collapsed.
Tessa shouted something. Footsteps thundered. But Lyra couldn't hear.
The world was already slipping away.