The night air in the Bloodfang Pack's clearing was sharp with frost and the scent of dominance. Wolves lounged in half-shifted forms around the fire while the Alpha's voice cut through the smoke like a whip.
"Again," Kaine growled.
Lyra's knees hit the ground before she could think. The packed dirt was cold and rough beneath her bare skin. Around her, the others watched—some with pity, most with cruel satisfaction.
Her hair, white as moonlight, caught the fire's glow. It made her look too bright, too different. That was part of what Kaine hated. Her beauty wasn't the kind that bent easily to command.
She swallowed hard, her green eyes lowered. "Yes, Alpha."
He circled her. In wolf form his coat was pitch black, eyes gold like coins catching flame. In human form, that same darkness lived in his gaze. He'd once whispered that she was his fated mate, that the Moon had chosen her for him. But that was before the whispers started—before the pack began to call her cursed.
"You think you can lead with that weak heart of yours?" Kaine's voice was low, meant only for her ears. "A Luna must break what's soft, or be broken."
Each word landed heavier than claws. She kept her gaze down, silent. To defy him meant punishment. To obey meant losing another piece of herself.
Through the narrow thread of pack telepathy, his thoughts brushed her mind—a cold, invasive presence.
You belong to me, Lyra. Remember that.
The connection made her flinch. She could usually hear only him this way; no other wolf's mind came through as clearly. But tonight, something different stirred behind the pain—a faint, musical whisper that wasn't Kaine's at all.
My child… endure.
The voice was softer than a breeze, gone before she could grasp it.
Kaine noticed her stillness. "What are you staring at?" he snapped, fingers digging into her chin. "You hear me, don't you?"
"Yes, Alpha." Her voice was barely a breath.
When he released her, she swayed. The pack's laughter followed as she stumbled back toward the shadows by the dens. Her body ached, her spirit more so. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, feeling for the bond that should have been warmth and safety. Instead it burned—cold fire beneath her skin.
She found a quiet patch beyond the firelight, where the forest began. The trees stood like sentinels, branches silvered by the waxing moon. She could almost hear them whisper through the telepathic hum of the night. The forest didn't mock her. It listened.
She closed her eyes and let her wolf surface. The change came with a shimmer of light, and then she was on four legs—smaller than most, but graceful, her fur pure white, her eyes the green of new leaves. The cold no longer bit at her. The forest welcomed her.
For a few precious heartbeats, she ran. The wind combed her fur, her paws beat a rhythm that drowned out the pack's laughter. In this form, she almost remembered who she was before Kaine's voice had filled her world.
But the bond dragged at her again, an iron thread pulling her back. She stumbled, snarling softly. Pain bloomed in her chest as Kaine's command seared through the link. Come back. Now.
Her wolf whimpered. The Alpha's call couldn't be disobeyed—not by anyone tied to him.
She turned reluctantly toward the clearing. But before she took a step, that other voice whispered once more, clear and certain:
You are not his to command.
The world seemed to still. The moonlight deepened, painting her white fur in silver fire. For the first time, the Alpha's pull faltered.
Lyra's breath caught. She looked up at the moon and felt a surge of warmth pulse through her, so fierce she gasped aloud. In her mind's eye, she saw a woman of light—tall, crowned in silver, eyes the same green as her own.
Find me, the vision said. When the time comes, you will remember what you are.
Then the image was gone, leaving Lyra trembling under the weight of it.
Behind her, a distant howl echoed—Kaine's, sharp with anger. She knew what awaited her if she delayed. Yet, standing there in the moonlight, she realized for the first time that she was afraid of staying more than of running.
She turned toward the trees again. This time, she didn't stop.