---
Chapter 3 – The Bond Beneath the Skin
Lyra didn't remember falling asleep.
But she awoke wrapped in warmth, cradled against silk sheets that smelled of smoke and moonlight. Her body ached in places she hadn't realized were tense. The room was dim, lit by violet lanterns that flickered like dying stars. Shadows curled along the walls, alive yet silent.
She sat up slowly, the silk blanket slipping off her bare shoulders.
Not naked.
But different.
The tunic she wore was new—stitched in deep plum thread, lined with Abyssian symbols along the hem. Soft. Expensive. And not hers.
She scrambled to her feet.
The door creaked open before she reached it.
"You're safe," said a voice—low, unreadable. The Abyss Prince stood in the doorway, framed by cold firelight, his cloak dusted with rain. His presence filled the room instantly. Dark, ancient, commanding.
Lyra swallowed hard. "I don't remember getting here."
"I carried you." He stepped closer, eyes like eclipses. "You were marked. The bond was pulsing wildly. Your body couldn't handle it. So I… calmed it."
She stared at him. "You touched it."
His silence was answer enough.
Her chest ached. The mark—it didn't just burn anymore. It throbbed with every beat of her heart, tethered to something she couldn't name. A connection deeper than magic, older than blood.
"Why me?" she asked. "Why now?"
He studied her, gaze moving slowly from her mouth to the shimmer of the bond on her skin.
"I've searched for centuries. The prophecy said she'd be hidden among humans. Scarred. Untouched by pack or power." His eyes locked with hers. "You smell of both sorrow and fire, Lyra. You are mine. You always were."
She backed away, hitting the edge of the bed. "No. I'm not a thing you can own."
He didn't flinch.
"I don't want to control you," he said softly. "But fate does. And it never asks for permission."
Lyra trembled. "Then maybe fate is cruel."
His expression flickered—pain, just for a moment. "Yes," he whispered. "It is."
Before she could respond, the wall behind them shuddered. A cold wind surged through the chamber, and violet runes lit across the stone.
Someone was trying to enter.
The Abyss Prince turned, cloak flaring, shadows leaping to obey him.
"Stay here," he said.
Lyra stood. "I'm not hiding."
He looked back at her, eyes glowing. "Then fight beside me."
She hesitated—then nodded.
He tossed her a blade from his hip. It pulsed as it hit her palm, fitting perfectly.
"Remember this feeling," he said. "This is what it means to be bonded."
The door burst open, and the room exploded with light and smoke.
Figures poured in—cloaked in red, faces masked. Hunters.
Lyra didn't think—she moved.
Every step, every slice, the bond pulsed harder. She and the prince moved like mirrors, like breath and heartbeat.
The blade guided her. His presence steadied her.
When it was over, they stood surrounded by fallen enemies.
Blood hissed against the runes.
He turned to her, breathing hard. "You're awakening."
She dropped the blade. "What am I becoming?"
The Abyss Prince took her face in both hands, eyes fierce.
"Mine," he growled, voice low, almost broken. "You're becoming mine."
And then—
He kissed her.
Not gentle. Not soft.
But like he was claiming a throne that had waited lifetimes.
And Lyra?
She let him.