The announcement came at dawn.
The pack had gathered in the great hall, the stone walls echoing with the clamor of voices. Torches burned against the gray morning, throwing restless shadows across banners bearing the Nightwalker crest. Warriors stood tall in their leathers, their eyes gleaming with pride, while women clustered around Leona, their voices spilling over in giddy excitement.
At the center of it all stood Alpha Gideon. His massive frame dwarfed those around him, his presence commanding silence the moment he raised a hand.
"It is time," his voice boomed, rough as grinding stone. "Leona, daughter of my blood, jewel of this pack, will soon be presented at the Gathering of Alphas."
The room erupted in cheers, howls of approval shaking the rafters.
Leona stepped forward, her gown of deep crimson shimmering in the torchlight. Golden curls framed her face, her lips curved in a smile of practiced sweetness. She lowered her lashes demurely, playing the perfect image of grace — though Lyra, watching from the far corner with a tray in her trembling hands, knew that behind that smile lay a heart sharpened like a blade.
"She will find a mate worthy of her beauty and power," Gideon continued. "A union that will strengthen NightWalker Pack and secure our future."
Leona turned her head slightly, letting the hall bask in her radiance. Women whispered of her unmatched beauty, of the fortunate Alpha who would claim her. Men muttered of the power such a union would bring.
Lyra stood in the shadows, clutching her tray so tightly her knuckles ached. She dared not meet anyone's eyes. She moved quietly among the gathered, refilling goblets, picking up scraps, invisible but always noticed when she faltered.
"Careful, slave," sneered Talia, one of the younger she-wolves who trailed after Leona like a shadow. She "accidentally" tipped her cup so the wine spilled across the stone floor. "Clean it up, before our Alpha's daughter stains her shoes."
A ripple of laughter spread through the circle of women.
Lyra knelt at once, dabbing at the floor with the rag she carried, cheeks burning though she kept her eyes down. The cold seeped into her knees as the laughter pressed down on her like a weight.
"She'll die without ever knowing a man's touch," someone whispered just loudly enough.
"Who would want her?" another replied, chuckling. "Not wolf, not woman — just a hollow thing."
The laughter grew sharper, crueler.
Lyra's hands stilled on the stone. A pain deeper than humiliation cut through her chest — a loneliness so vast it echoed like a hollow cavern inside her. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, forcing herself not to cry. She would not give them that.
"Enough," Leona said sweetly, though her eyes gleamed with malice as they flicked to Lyra. "We wouldn't want her filth to ruin the celebration."
The room fell obediently silent, and Gideon's voice thundered once more, speaking of alliances and strength, of honor and bloodlines. Not once did his gaze stray to the frail figure kneeling in the corner.
Not once.
---
The day stretched long. Preparations consumed the household. Leona's gowns were laid out — silks of emerald, sapphire, and ivory, each more dazzling than the last. Servants rushed about with perfumes, jewels, and ribbons. Lyra moved among them, always at the edge, fetching, carrying, scrubbing until her hands stung raw.
No one thanked her. They only reminded her of her place.
"Hold it steady, useless girl!" a seamstress snapped when Lyra's arms trembled under the weight of a gown.
"Don't breathe on it," another warned. "Your stink might cling."
By the time night fell, Lyra's body ached, her fingers blistered, her hair damp with sweat. She crept back to her narrow cot in the cellar, too weary even to eat.
But sleep did not bring peace.
---
That night, the dream came.
She stood in a forest unlike any she had ever seen — vast, endless, the trees towering like black spires against a sky heavy with fog. The ground was damp, soft beneath her bare feet, the air cold enough to bite her lungs. Shadows moved between the trunks, whispering, watching, but never showing themselves.
And then she saw him.
A figure emerged from the mist, tall, broad-shouldered, his presence filling the forest with a weight that made her breath catch. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but his eyes — his eyes were clear as ice, piercing blue that cut straight through her.
She froze. She could not move, could not look away.
The man's gaze burned into her, both terrifying and magnetic. He stepped closer, the darkness curling around him like a cloak.
"You…" His voice was low, rough, carrying a strange familiarity she did not understand. "Why do you call to me?"
"I—" Her throat tightened. The words would not come.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing the air as if he reached for her, though distance still stretched between them.
Something inside her chest responded. A violent thrum, as though her very blood sang toward him, as though invisible chains bound her to this stranger she had never known.
She should have been afraid. She should have run. But her feet would not move. The forest itself held her still, rooted her where she stood.
"You are mine," the voice whispered, not aloud but deep inside her skull. "Bound by fate. By blood. By the moon itself."
Her lips parted in a silent gasp.
The world shuddered — the fog thickening, the shadows stirring, the blue of his eyes blazing brighter, brighter—
Lyra woke with a strangled cry.
Her body jerked upright, her breath ragged. Cold sweat clung to her skin, her heart hammering so hard it hurt. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm.
The cellar was silent, the only sound the faint drip of water from the ceiling. She looked around wildly, but there was no one. Only her cot, her ragged blanket, the darkness pressing in.
And yet she could still feel it. That gaze. Those eyes. Burning into her even across dream and distance.
She curled into herself, trembling.
*What was that? Who was he?*
She pressed her palms against her eyes, willing the vision to vanish, willing her heart to slow. But it was useless. The echo of his voice still throbbed in her mind:
"Youaremine."
Lyra lay awake until dawn, the words shackling her more tightly than the chains of the pack ever had.
She did not know that her fate had already been sealed.
And far away, in a land she could not yet imagine, a man with eyes like ice stirred from restless sleep, his own heart pounding, though he did not know why.
---