003

I didn’t sleep after he left.

The mark still burned.

Not painfully. Just... persistently. A low thrum under my skin, as if it were tethered to someone else’s heartbeat. Not mine.

Maybe it never was.

The fire in the hearth had long died into embers, and the silence that crept through the room wasn’t comforting. It was thick. Restless. Like it was waiting for me to do something—anything—so it could snap its jaws around my throat.

Just like him.

Alpha Rael.

Even thinking his name made something twist in my stomach. There was no softness in him. No apology. He spoke like someone who had never been denied, who never needed permission. But there was something fractured in his eyes. A crack just beneath the gold, buried so deep he didn’t even notice it anymore.

The worst part?

That crack felt familiar.

I curled tighter into the too-large bed, pulling the covers over me like armor, like they could hold me together. The scent clinging to the sheets was smoke, pine, cold air, and him.

And I hated how my body didn’t hate it. Even my wolf—still flickering and silent somewhere deep in my chest—seemed to reach for it. For him. For the bond I didn’t choose.

The bond I couldn’t ignore.

--- The knock came just after sunrise.

Not Rael.

I knew it instantly.

The scent was sharper. Feminine. Controlled. The door creaked open before I could speak, and a girl stepped in like she owned the space. She was tall and lean, her dark hair pulled into a tight braid down her back. She wore hunting leathers and the expression of someone who'd gutted a beast before breakfast.

She looked at me the way a predator sizes up prey—and finds it lacking.

“You’re up,” she said. Flat. Efficient. “Good. Alpha said to get you something to wear. We leave in ten.”

I blinked. “Leave?”

“For the hall. Or do you need a drawing to understand?”

I didn’t move. Something in her presence warned me not to show weakness.

“Who are you?” I asked, sitting up slowly.

“Nyra,” she replied. “Beta-in-training. Don’t ask if I like you—I don’t.”

She tossed a folded bundle onto the foot of the bed.

“Get dressed. Cover the mark.”

Then she turned and walked out, no room for argument.

--- The clothes smelled like wolf.

Not just any wolf.

His.

I knew it before I even unfolded the tunic. My fingers trembled as I stared down at it. That scent—pine, rain, something raw and wild—it made my pulse stutter.

I didn’t want to wear something that reminded me of him.

But I didn’t have a choice.

I got dressed in silence, the fabric cool against my skin. The tunic fit awkwardly—too big in the shoulders, too tight in the ribs—but it covered the mark.

The mirror across the room showed a girl I didn’t recognize.

Pale. Marked. Haunted.

But beneath the layers of exhaustion, a glint of something else had surfaced.

Not fear.

Something sharper. Something wild.

--- The great hall smelled like old wood and older blood.

It was vast, with high-beamed ceilings and walls lined with iron sconces. At least fifty wolves stood inside—males and females of every rank and size, weapons strapped to thighs, shoulders, backs.

The moment I stepped in with Nyra at my side, the room went still.

I felt it before I heard it—the weight of their gazes. Thick as fog. Hot as judgment.

They could smell the bond.

Their stares scraped across my skin, and the mark beneath the tunic pulsed as if it knew it was being discussed. Dissected.

“That’s her…”

“She’s the one he marked?”

“She doesn’t look like much.”

“She’s not even wolf. She smells wrong.”

A growl echoed from the head of the room—low, sharp, final.

Silence fell.

Rael sat on the raised platform like a carved statue, black cloak draped over one arm, his golden eyes locked on mine.

The moment our eyes met, the mark flared. I looked away.

“Step forward,” he commanded.

His voice wasn’t loud—but it didn’t need to be. It slid across the room like smoke and steel. I walked.

My legs moved stiffly, every step echoing in the hush. Nyra didn’t follow.

Rael watched me descend the aisle alone, his face unreadable.

“This is Lyra,” he said to the room.

Lyra.

The word sounded like a stranger’s name.

“He found me and still didn’t know my name,” I wanted to scream. “How dare he speak it like he owns it?”

“She was found on the northern ridge. Wounded. Barely alive. She carries Moonveil magic in her blood. And yet—she bears my mark.”

Murmurs spread like fire.

“She has no memory of who she is. No known allegiance. But she is mine.”

That last word made my stomach twist.

Not yours. Not anyone’s.

But it wasn’t a declaration of love. It was a warning.

A claim.

“But until her origins are confirmed,” he continued, “she remains under observation. Protected. No one touches her unless I command it.”

A heavy pause.

I could feel the pushback.

The unspoken rage.

Then a man stepped forward—tall, broad, with silver threaded through his beard. A warrior. His voice was steady but hard.

“Alpha, with respect—if she’s from Moonveil, if she’s touched by their seers—”

“She stays,” Rael interrupted.

Not a snarl. Not a shout.

Just calm. Cold. Absolute.

“Until I say otherwise.”

The man bowed stiffly and backed away.

Rael rose.

Each step down from his platform was deliberate. Heavy.

He stopped in front of me—too close.

I could smell his scent again. Feel the warmth radiating off him like a sun I couldn’t look at too long.

He leaned in, voice just for me.

“You wanted answers.”

I nodded.

“You’ll start getting them today.”

I met his gaze. “And if I don’t want them from you?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Then you’ll get them from the ones who hate you more.”

--- He brought me to the archives.

Buried beneath the hall, the air was colder here. Stone walls lined with shelves. Scrolls. Tomes. Dust. The scent of ink and age and secrets.

“This is where we keep records,” he said. “Rogues. Exiles. Bloodlines. Mistakes.”

I looked at him sharply. “Which one am I?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”

He left me there.

Just like that.

With ink-stained history and the ghosts of things no one wanted remembered.

--- Hours passed.

My fingers sifted through pages older than I could comprehend. Names. Battles. Betrayals. Wolves who were burned at the stake for being caught mid-shift. Witch-blood. Hybrid-blood. Forbidden bonds.

A sketch made my breath stop.

A pendant.

Silver. Moon-carved. Identical to the one Rael had mentioned when I woke.

The name beneath the drawing had been half-burned from the page.

Only one word remained.

Lyra.

My hand trembled.

Was it me?

Why was my name tied to exile?

To seers? To Moonveil?

The mark on my skin burned hotter the longer I stared.

I turned to find someone behind me.