The camp bristled with unease. Rogues stiffened, hands hovering near blades as a heavy, unfamiliar aura pressed down on them.
Lyra knew that power before she even turned.
"Damon…" she whispered.
He strode into the clearing, every line of his body coiled in fury. His golden eyes burned, his wolf's energy bleeding through his skin. Behind him, the air shimmered with Ares's rage.
Kael stepped forward, his dominance unfurling like a storm. "You're trespassing."
Damon's gaze snapped to him. "Where is she?"
Kael's mouth curved in a dark smirk. "Safe. With me."
A growl ripped from Damon's chest. "She's mine."
"No." Kael's voice was low, lethal. "She's mine."
The air between them thickened, two predators circling, testing, daring the other to strike. Wolves around them shifted uneasily, sensing the storm about to break.
Lyra's heart pounded. Her body trembled, but not with fear—with something hotter, fiercer. Selira rose within her, claws scraping, voice a snarl.
Enough of this.
Lyra staggered forward, her vision flashing silver as Selira burst free, her presence rolling like fire. "Stop!" she shouted, her voice deeper, wilder. "I am not a prize for you to claim."
The earth seemed to shiver beneath her words. Both alphas froze, shock flickering across their faces.
Her wolf growled, loud and unrestrained. I bow to no one.
Gasps rippled through the rogues. Even Kael stilled, his golden eyes blazing with something unreadable. Damon's chest heaved, torn between fury and awe.
"Lyra…" he breathed, his wolf surging toward her.
But she shook her head, chest rising and falling with ragged breath. "You both speak as though I'm not even here. I am not weak. I will not be fought over like some—some bone!"
Her words rang out, sharp as a blade, silencing the camp.
For the first time, both alphas looked less like kings and more like men caught off guard by the fire they had nearly ignored.
---
That night, while tension still crackled in the camp, shadows moved at the edge of the treeline.
Evie.
She crept through the brush, her dark braid catching moonlight, her breath steady despite her pounding heart. She had tracked Lyra for hours, ignoring the danger of rogue lands. She wasn't leaving her friend behind—not to rogues, not to Damon's foolishness.
A blade whispered free of its sheath behind her.
Evie spun, knife in hand, only to find Rowan standing there, eyes narrowed.
"You shouldn't be here," he said flatly.
Evie smirked, though her pulse hammered. "And yet, here I am."
His gaze swept over her—sharp, assessing, with a flicker of irritation. "Brave or stupid?"
"Both," she shot back. "Now move. I'm taking my friend."
Rowan's jaw ticked, his wolf bristling. But instead of stopping her, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "If Kael wanted her gone, she'd already be dead. Think before you act, girl."
Evie's grip tightened on her knife, but her gaze didn't waver. Sparks danced in the space between them—danger and something else neither wanted to name.
---
Later, Lyra curled beneath furs, exhaustion pulling at her. Her body trembled with aftershocks of Selira's eruption. She had never felt her wolf so vividly—never heard her so loud.
Sleep claimed her quickly.
And then the air shifted.
Silver mist swirled, and from it stepped a woman cloaked in tattered robes. Her eyes glowed white, her hair wild with age. Elder Myra. The seer whispered about in hushed tones across packs, known for prophecies half-mad, half-true.
Her voice rose in a haunting chant:
"The moon's child wakes,
blood of silver in her veins.
Two kings will break,
and through her, the world is chained."
Lyra's pulse thundered as the words echoed. Myra's milky eyes locked onto hers.
"The Moonblood rises… and darkness follows."
The vision shattered, leaving Lyra gasping awake, sweat chilling her skin.
And outside her tent, both Kael and Damon turned sharply toward her scent, their wolves restless with a need they couldn't name.