LYRA
The pack is very festive today. Every hand is on deck, preparing for the Blood Moon Ceremony. I'm assigned to work on the Ceremonial Hall with a few omega girls.
"I heard Alpha Grayson from the Eastern Pack is coming over tonight to find his mate," whispers a girl with copper hair to my left.
"The Moon Goddess willing," replies another, her voice lilting with excitement. "Can you imagine being mated to an Alpha? The power, the status..."
"The bedchamber," giggles a third, and they all dissolve into hushed laughter.
"Our Alphas will be there," someone murmurs, and my hand falters. "All three of them. Alpha Kalem hasn't attended a ceremony in months."
"It's the Blood Moon. Even he wouldn't miss it. I can't wait to meet my wolf and find my mate."
I inch closer, and the conversation immediately drops to silence. I glance up to find three pairs of eyes staring at me, then they move away from me, as if any contact with me might contaminate them. The copper-haired girl turns her back entirely.
This is how it always goes. Conversations wither when I approach, laughter dies and smiles fade. I am the curse, the bad omen, the shadow that darkens doorways. I return to my bucket, moving it a few paces away, enough to give them space to resume their whispers. Sure enough, the hum of conversation picks up again, this time at a volume they surely know I can still hear.
"I don't know why she is assigned here with us, though," copper-hair says, her voice dripping with disgust. "Not after what happened."
"It wasn't her fault," someone offers weakly.
"Wasn't it? Three men are dead. Alpha Knox killed his own guards because of her. Vaughn, Pieter, and Beck—good men, loyal men. And for what?"
"They say she is cursed. That trouble follows her like flies on a corpse."
"Maybe it's a Thorne thing. That would explain it."
I keep my head down, pretending not to hear. My brush scrubs harder and faster, as if I could erase their words along with the scuff marks on the floor. My throat tightens around a knot of emotion, not sadness anymore but something harder and more jagged. I've heard it all before, the whispers, the theories, and the blame. After a while, you start to believe them. Maybe I am cursed. Maybe those men did die because of me.
It is supposed to be my happiest day, the day I finally meet my wolf and meet my mate, but all I feel is dread. Every unmated she-wolf is excited, even the omegas, especially those turning eighteen this season. If they get lucky enough to find a high-ranking male wolf who accepts them, they leave their omega status forever. But for me, no matter what happens tonight, I might end up getting rejected, or worse, not meeting my wolf. Because even the moon goddess despises me.
The sudden clack of heels against marble silences everyone. We all look up to see Madam Maggie approaching, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun, her mouth in the usual thin line of perpetual disappointment. Her eyes scan the room, evaluating our progress. When they land on me, they narrow slightly.
"Lyra," she calls, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Come here."
I stand, wincing as my knees crack in protest. My skirt is soaked at the hem from kneeling in soapy water. I wipe my hands on the rough apron as I walk toward her, conscious of every pair of eyes following me.
"Alpha Kalem's chambers. They need to be cleaned thoroughly. And take his breakfast to him. He has just... come out."
My stomach drops to my feet. The blood in my veins seems to slow, then rush all at once. "Alpha Kalem?" I repeat, my voice embarrassingly small.
"Yes," she says impatiently. "Is there a problem?"
"No, Madam Maggie." I swallow hard, trying to wet my suddenly dry throat. "I'll go right away."
She studies my face, perhaps noting the pallor that I can feel spreading across my cheeks. "See that you do. And Lyra?" She leans closer, her breath smelling of mint and cigarettes. "Do not trigger him. Clean quickly, serve the food, and leave. Alpha Kalem does not appreciate idle chatter."
I nod, unable to form words. Out of the three triplets, he unnerves me the most. Kade's cold fury is terrifying, Knox's volatile rage is unpredictable, but Kalem's silence is a different kind of monster. He barely speaks, but his eyes... they watch me with such an intensity that it feels like he is peeling back my skin with his eyes. He makes me feel very transparent.
I know what Maggie means by "he has just come out." Kalem has been absent from the public for days, secluded in his chambers. It's a known hushed fact that Kalem deals with some kind of old injury, a sort of invisible wound that takes him away from the world. When he is in that state, he likes to be left entirely alone. And then, he just... comes back. And today, he needs his room cleaned, his food brought, and his bath prepared.
I balance the breakfast tray carefully, but the weight feels heavier than it should, and my palms are slick with sweat. The grand corridors stretch long and empty as I walk toward Kalem's wing. The west wing is beautiful, but today it feels like a maze designed to trap me.
By the time I reach Alpha Kalem's door, my arms ache from carrying the tray, and a bead of sweat trickles down my spine despite the morning chill. I stand there for a moment, gathering courage. The door is slightly ajar, so I push it open gently and step inside.
Alpha Kalem's study spreads before me, a vast space lined with bookshelves that reach to the ceiling. Early morning light pours through tall windows, catching dust motes that dance in golden shafts. The room smells of old paper, ink, and something deeper; a scent uniquely his, like cedar and night air. Books are everywhere, stacked on tables, spilling from shelves, even piled on the floor.
And there he is, seated behind a massive desk of dark wood, surrounded by open books and ancient scrolls. His head is bent over his work, but I know he is aware of me, nothing escapes his notice. His hair, black as midnight and just as untamed, falls across his forehead. The silk robe he wears is also black, draped over his powerful frame with careless elegance.
When he finally looks up, I feel it like a physical touch. His eyes meet mine through slim reading glasses that somehow intensify rather than soften his gaze. For a moment, I stand frozen in the doorway, the tray growing heavier in my hands, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and lips.
He is beautiful in the way dangerous things often are, a beauty that warns rather than welcomes. After what feels like an eternity but is probably only seconds, he returns to his reading without a word. I take this as permission to enter and force my legs to carry me forward.
"Good morning, Alpha Kalem," I say, my voice smaller than I intend. "I've brought your breakfast."
He makes no response, not even a nod. Just turns a page in the ancient tome before him, his long fingers handling the fragile paper with surprising gentleness.
I move to the small table near the window where he typically takes his meals. My nerves make me clumsy. I set down the tray too hard, and the silverware clatters. I wince at the sound. "I'm sorry," I murmur, though he hasn't complained.
I arrange his breakfast with shaking hands. The spoon slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a metallic ping that seems to echo in the silent room. When I bend to retrieve it, I nearly knock over the water glass. I catch it just in time, but a few drops spill onto the pristine tablecloth.
"I'll get another spoon," I say to the silence, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Still, he says nothing. I wonder if he has even noticed my fumbling, but when I glance over, I find his eyes on me, watching and observing. I look away quickly. I move to the windows next, drawing back the heavy curtains to let in more light. The fabric catches on something, and I tug too hard. The curtain rod rattles ominously but holds.
"The weather is lovely today," I say, desperate to fill the silence with something besides the sound of my own awkwardness. "Clear skies for the ceremony tonight."
Nothing.
"The Ballroom Hall will look beautiful. We've been preparing since dawn."
Silence stretches between us like a living thing, growing teeth and claws with each passing second. I finish with the curtains and turn back to find him watching me, his book now closed, his full attention now fixed on me like a spotlight. He sits with arms folded across his chest, one finger tapping rhythmically against his chin. His glasses are off, set neatly beside an inkwell.
I feel stripped bare beneath that gaze, every thought and fear exposed. Unlike his brothers, who would tell you exactly what you've done wrong, Kalem makes you confess it yourself.
"Will you be attending the ceremony tonight?" I ask, my voice strained. "Everyone is very excited. It's been some time since all three Al—" I stop myself, realizing I'm babbling. My nerves make me talkative. "I should let you eat while it's hot."
I turn to leave, relief flooding me at the thought of escape. I've almost reached the door when his voice cuts through the room.
"Tell me, Little Thorne, about your visits to the library."
I freeze with one hand, already reaching for the doorknob. My heart stutters, then races. Blood drains from my face so quickly that I feel dizzy. I turn slowly and mechanically, like a doll with rusted joints.
"Library?" I repeat, the word barely audible.
Kalem's lips curve in what might be a smile on anyone else. On him, it's just a small change, like a crack in stone that doesn't shift the mountain.
"Yes, the library." His voice is soft, almost gentle. All the more terrifying for its calm. "The east wing, third floor. Usually between midnight and dawn, when you believe everyone is asleep."
My mouth opens, closes, opens again but no sound comes out.
"What is it that you read with such urgency, I wonder?" He rises from his chair with fluid grace, and though he makes no threatening move, I press back against the door. "What knowledge are you seeking in those ancient texts?"
"I...I just like to read," I stammer. "Stories, mostly. Nothing important."
"Hmm." He tilts his head slightly, studying me as one might study an unusual insect. "And that's why you hide it? Why you slip through the shadows like a thief? Because you enjoy... stories?"
Each question sinks into me like a hook, drawing truth to the surface against my will. I feel caught, cornered, seen in ways I've tried so hard to avoid.
"I didn't want to disturb anyone," I say. The lie is weak even to my own ears.
Kalem approaches slowly. He stops an arm's length away. My eyes remain on his feet. "Give me your eyes, Little Thorne."
He is close enough that I must tilt my head back to meet his eyes, far enough that we don't touch. The distance feels both too vast and not nearly enough. I can't even hold his gaze; I keep my eyes on his chest.
"Do you know what I find fascinating about you, Little Thorne?" His voice has that hypnotic quality that pulls words from others, secrets they never meant to share. "It's not your peculiar scent, though that is... unusual. It's not the mystery of your past, though that raises questions. It's the walls you build, so high and so carefully constructed. What are you hiding behind them, I wonder?"
My breath comes quick and shallow now. I press my hands flat against the door behind me to stop their trembling. "Nothing," I whisper. "There's nothing to hide." My eye flicks up to his.
"Everyone has secrets." His green eyes hold mine, unblinking. "Even insignificant little traitors with books they shouldn't read and places they shouldn't go. Elias was just as curious, just as eager."
A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. Does he know about my reading of the Historia Sanguinis: The Heretic Wolves of the Northern Wilds?
"The Blood Moon reveals all truths eventually," he says, his tone conversational, as if we're discussing the weather. "Secrets have a way of bleeding through, especially on such nights."
I swallow hard, feeling trapped in the orbit of his attention. This is Kalem's power, it's not in fists or fangs, but in the way he makes you question yourself, in how he seems to know your thoughts before you've fully formed them. He studies me for a moment longer, then steps back. The invisible pressure eases, just slightly.
"You may go," he says with a slight nod, as if granting a tremendous favor.
I don't wait for him to change his mind. I fumble for the doorknob, twist it, and slip through the opening. My heart pounds wildly against my ribs, like a bird trying to escape its cage. The corridor stretches before me, and I walk quickly, then faster, until I'm nearly running.