Lyra's legs barely carried her through the forest. Her body shook with exhaustion, blood drying sticky against her arms. Still, Kael never slowed, his hand firm around her wrist as he led her deeper into the shadows.
The night air felt thicker here, charged with the presence of wolves she couldn't see. Growls rumbled from the treeline, eyes glinting as rogues slunk closer, surrounding them.
Fear curled in her stomach, but Kael's aura rolled out like a storm, silencing them. His dominance pressed against the clearing, forcing even the boldest to lower their heads.
"This is her," Kael said, his voice low but carrying. "My mate."
A ripple of shock swept through the rogues. Some sneered, others muttered under their breath. A mate? For their king? That had never happened.
Inside Kael's chest, his wolf Veyron surged forward, hungry and demanding.
Claim her, Veyron snarled, claws scraping at the edges of Kael's mind. Mark her now. Make her ours before she slips away.
Kael's jaw tightened. Not yet. She's frightened. If I force her, she'll break.
She's ours. The bond will calm her. You deny us both.
Kael shoved Veyron back, though the beast's growl lingered, hot and frustrated. His gaze flicked to Lyra. She hugged her arms around herself, wide-eyed, trembling. The sight cut deeper than he expected.
"Bring her inside," he ordered.
Rowan stepped forward, tall and broad, his dark hair tied back, his sharp eyes hard with distrust. His loyalty to Kael was unshakable, but now his gaze lingered on Lyra with open suspicion.
"You bring her here," Rowan said, voice clipped. "A stranger. Worse—a rejected pack pup. And you call her mate?"
Kael's growl was instant, low and warning. The rogues around them stilled, waiting.
"She is mine," Kael said softly, dangerously. "That's all you need to know."
Rowan's jaw tightened, but he bowed his head. "As you command, King."
Lyra swallowed, unease coiling inside her. She didn't know what terrified her more—the rogues' hungry stares, Rowan's icy disapproval, or Kael's unwavering claim.
They led her into the camp, a collection of rough tents and fire pits tucked into the trees. The rogues moved like shadows, scarred and hardened from lives outside the laws of packs. Their gazes followed her every step, suspicion sharp in their eyes.
"Sit," Kael ordered when they reached a tent draped with furs.
Lyra lowered herself stiffly onto a rug, her body aching. She had barely caught her breath when a woman entered—tall, with copper hair braided over one shoulder, her hands carrying the scent of herbs.
"This is Nessa," Kael said. "Our healer."
Nessa's eyes softened when they fell on Lyra. She knelt beside her, brushing gentle fingers across Lyra's bruised skin. "You're hurt."
"I'll be fine," Lyra murmured, though the sting of cuts and bruises told another story.
Nessa smiled faintly. "You're strong. But strength doesn't mean ignoring wounds." She dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and began cleaning Lyra's arm.
As she worked, her brow furrowed. A faint shimmer pulsed beneath Lyra's skin, like moonlight woven into her veins. Nessa tilted her head, whispering almost to herself. "Strange…"
Lyra tensed. "What is it?"
"Your energy," Nessa said slowly. "It's not like other wolves. There's… more. Something ancient."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"
Nessa hesitated, meeting his eyes briefly before focusing on Lyra again. "I don't know yet. But I've never seen anything like it."
Rowan, standing guard at the entrance, scoffed. "Or maybe she's cursed. You bring this unknown into our den, and she'll be our undoing."
Kael's growl shook the tent. "Enough."
Rowan's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing more.
Lyra's chest tightened. Everywhere she went, she was either pitied, mocked, or mistrusted. Even here, where she had no choice but to follow, she was an outsider.
Kael crouched before her, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "They may doubt you. But I don't. You are mine, Lyra. Nothing will change that."
Her throat ached at his words. His certainty was overwhelming, smothering, and yet… part of her longed to believe it.
But before she could respond, exhaustion dragged at her body. Her eyelids grew heavy despite her will to stay awake.
"Rest," Nessa said gently. "Your body needs it."
Kael brushed his thumb across Lyra's cheek, startling her. His touch was roughened by scars, yet tender. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake."
Lyra wanted to protest, to demand answers, but her strength was gone. Darkness pulled her under.
And then—she was no longer in the tent.
She stood in a vast field of silver light, the moon hanging full and radiant above. The air shimmered, thick with divine presence.
A figure emerged from the glow. Tall, cloaked in flowing silver, her hair like spun starlight, her eyes ancient and knowing.
The Moon Goddess. Selene.
Lyra fell to her knees, her heart thundering. "Goddess…"
Selene's voice was both gentle and fierce, echoing like a thousand whispers. "Child of the Moonblood… your fate begins."
Lyra's breath caught. "Moonblood?"
But the Goddess only smiled, cryptic and sorrowful. "The rejected shall rise, and the fates of kings will bow to you. Choose wisely, child, for the world will burn or be reborn through your path."
The light flared, swallowing Lyra whole.
She jolted awake, gasping, her skin glowing faintly with moonlight that quickly faded.
And in the shadows of the tent, Kael watched her with eyes that missed nothing.