The clearing still buzzed with whispers long after Damon's words shattered Lyra's heart.
"Rejected." The word echoed in her skull, over and over, until it no longer sounded real. She stood frozen, her body numb except for the burning agony in her chest.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone snickered. Another scoffed loud enough for her to hear. "Did she actually think the Alpha would keep her? Pathetic."
Each cruel word scraped like claws against raw skin.
Damon turned away as though she were already forgotten, his broad shoulders rigid with pride. His wolf, however, was not so easily silenced.
Ares snarled inside him, restless, furious.
You fool. She's ours.
She's nothing, Damon snapped back in the privacy of his mind. A weakling. She will break us.
She is our mate! Ares' voice thundered, primal and unforgiving. The bond is sacred. Rejecting her is rejecting the Goddess herself.
Damon clenched his fists, fighting to steady his expression. He wouldn't show weakness here, not in front of the council, not in front of his father. He had already made his choice.
Then you've doomed us both, Ares growled, retreating into the depths of Damon's mind.
Lyra barely noticed the exchange. Her world had shrunk to the jagged hole where her heart had been. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing the pain to stop, but the bond's break was merciless. It felt as though invisible claws were tearing her apart from the inside.
Evie's arms wrapped around her shoulders. "Lyra, it's okay. I've got you." Her friend's voice was steady, but her eyes blazed with fury as she glared at Damon.
"Evie," Lyra whispered, her throat raw. "Why would he—why would he do this?"
Evie tightened her grip. "Because he's an arrogant ass who doesn't deserve you. Don't listen to them."
But the whispers of the crowd swarmed around her like vultures.
"She's cursed."
"Should've known the Goddess wouldn't waste a mate on her."
"Moonless girl, what did she expect?"
Lyra's cheeks burned. Her lungs constricted, and suddenly the clearing felt too small, the air too heavy. If she stayed another second, she would collapse under the weight of their stares.
"I can't—" she choked, pulling away from Evie.
"Lyra, wait—"
But she was already running.
Branches clawed at her arms as she fled into the forest. The night air was sharp against her skin, the moonlight fractured by the thick canopy overhead. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.
She stumbled into a hollow clearing and sank to her knees, gasping for breath. Her heart still throbbed, the pain refusing to fade. She pressed her forehead against the cool earth.
"Why?" she whispered into the night. "Why would the Goddess give me a mate, only to take him away?"
No answer came. Only silence.
Her body shook with sobs until the sound of snapping twigs jolted her upright.
Lyra froze.
The wind shifted, and the acrid stench of blood and rot hit her nose. Not pack wolves. Rogues.
Her pulse spiked. Shadows slithered between the trees, eyes glinting in the darkness. Three figures emerged, wolves with matted fur and snarling muzzles.
One stepped forward, lips peeled back over yellowed fangs. "Look what we found," he rasped. "A little lamb all alone."
Lyra staggered back, her heart hammering. She had no training, no weapon, nothing but trembling hands and a body still raw with heartbreak.
"Stay away," she whispered, though her voice shook.
The rogues only laughed.
Another lunged, and she stumbled, falling hard against the ground. Pain shot through her elbow, but the greater terror was the hot breath snapping inches from her throat.
Her chest constricted with panic, but then—
Something inside her stirred.
A low growl, not external but internal, curled around her mind.
Get up.
Lyra gasped. It was the same voice she had heard at the ceremony, stronger now, fierce with rage.
I said, get up.
Her fingers dug into the earth. Her body trembled, not from fear but from something else—something rising inside her like a storm breaking.
The rogue lunged again.
Lyra's vision sharpened. Her nails lengthened, her heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the moon. A snarl escaped her lips, raw and primal.
The rogues faltered, confusion flickering in their eyes.
That's it, the voice urged. I am Selira. I am your wolf. And I will not let us die here.
Lyra's pulse roared in her ears. Her pain, her humiliation, her despair—everything condensed into a single burning thread of fury.
She rose, her body trembling with unfamiliar strength.
The rogue hesitated.
Lyra bared her teeth. "Come closer," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous.