Caelan knows the exact moment she crosses his border.
It is not instinct.
It is not sight or sound.
It is pain.
A sharp, breath-stealing pressure tears through his chest, as if something buried deep inside him has suddenly twisted awake. His wolf slams forward violently, claws scraping, teeth bared.
There.
Caelan staggers a step before catching himself, fingers digging into the arm of his chair. The council hall blurs at the edges as his senses narrow, lock, fix.
Someone has entered his territory who should not exist.
"Alpha?" an elder asks.
Caelan doesn't answer.
His gaze snaps to the doors just as they open.
She steps inside.
The world tilts.
The first thing he notices is not her face.
It's her pulse.
He sees it jump at her throat, steady but fast—like she's braced for violence. His attention latches onto it with disturbing intensity. His wolf snarls, pressing hard against his ribs, flooding his blood with possessive heat.
Mine.
The thought is instant. Unchecked. Wrong.
Caelan's jaw locks.
He does not know this woman.
He has never seen her before.
So why does his body react like she's been ripped out of him?
She doesn't bow.
That alone should have angered him. Instead, it ignites something far more dangerous—interest sharpened into obsession. His eyes track every step she takes, cataloging her movements, her scent, the way her shoulders square as if expecting him to strike.
He takes one step toward her.
Then another.
Without realizing it, he has closed half the distance between them.
"What is your name?" he asks.
His voice is calm.
Inside, something is screaming.
"Lyra."
The name hits him like a blade slid between his ribs.
Caelan inhales sharply, fingers twitching as a wave of disorientation crashes through him. His wolf surges hard enough to make him dizzy.
Say it again.
Say it again.
"Where are you from?" he demands instead, needing sound—any sound—to anchor him.
"Not here."
The bond reacts violently.
Heat coils low in his gut, sharp and humiliating. His teeth grind together as his control fractures by degrees. He is Alpha. He does not lose command like this.
And yet—
He cannot stop staring.
Her scent floods him now—dark, unfamiliar, threaded with something that feels like memory rotting under his skin. It claws at him, drags at him, pulls him closer without permission.
His gaze drops again.
Her throat.
Why does that part of her feel so important?
"Alpha," someone warns quietly.
Caelan barely hears it.
"Say your name again," he orders.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Lyra."
The bond snaps tight.
Pain explodes behind his eyes—images flashing too fast to grasp. Moonlight. Blood. A scream cut short.
Caelan jerks back like he's been struck.
The council erupts into murmurs.
He straightens violently, fury flooding in to smother the chaos. "Enough."
His wolf snarls, pacing, unhinged.
"You will remain in this fortress," he says coldly, voice rougher than he intends. "You will not leave my sight."
She steps closer.
Close enough that he can feel her heat.
The bond screams.
Caelan's breath stutters. His hands curl into fists so tight his nails bite into his palms. Every instinct in him demands he grab her—pin her—claim something he doesn't understand.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asks softly.
The question cuts deeper than accusation.
"I don't know," he admits hoarsely.
The truth terrifies him.
She smiles then.
Not warm.
Satisfied.
"Good," she murmurs. "I was hoping it would hurt."
Caelan watches her leave.
He does not blink.
That night, he doesn't sleep.
He stands at the window of his chamber, staring down into the courtyard where she passed hours ago, replaying the moment again and again until it borders on madness.
Her voice.
Her pulse.
The way his wolf still claws at his ribs.
He drags a hand through his hair, breath uneven.
"I don't know you," he growls into the empty room.
The bond answers anyway.
A constant, aching pull—unrelenting.
When he finally lies down, he dreams.
Moonlight through trees.
A woman on her knees.
Blood on his hands.
He wakes choking on guilt he cannot place.
Across the fortress, Lyra lies awake, eyes open, listening to the echo of his unrest through the bond.
She presses her fingers to her throat, right where his gaze lingered.
"Good," she whispers into the dark.
"Break for me."