LYRA'S POV
(AGE SEVEN)
The assassin came during my birthday celebration.
I felt him before I saw him—a void in the crowd where pack bonds should be. Someone who didn't belong, whose scent was masked by magic.
I was cutting my cake when the knife flew.
My wolf and I moved as one. Shift, dodge, counter. The blade that should have pierced my heart embedded itself in the wall behind me.
Screams erupted. Guards rushed forward. But I was already on him.
My silver wolf form crashed into the assassin, pinning him before he could reach for another weapon. Through his mask, I saw his eyes widen.
He hadn't expected me to be this fast. This is controlled.
This is deadly.
"Lyra, stand down!" Papa's voice, commanding but not concerned. He'd been training me for this.
I shifted back to human form, standing over the would-be killer. Seven years old, naked as always after a shift, completely unbothered by it.
