FIVE YEARS AGO
Lyra stood in Garrett Blackwood's office, hands clasped in front of her, trying not to shake.
She was twenty-three. Still wolfless. Still useless in the pack's eyes.
The Alpha sat behind his massive desk, looking at her like she was an insect he'd found in his soup.
"You're aware," Garrett said slowly, "that you have no value to this pack."
The words shouldn't hurt. She'd heard them her whole life. But they still cut.
"Yes, sir."
"No dog. No strength. No useful skills." He leaned back in his leather chair. "Normally, I'd have removed you when you turned eighteen. But I've reconsidered."
Hope sparked in her chest. Dangerous, stupid hope.
Maybe he saw something in her. Maybe he'd give her a chance to prove herself. Maybe—
"You have one use," Garrett added. "Political. I need an agreement with the Reed family—what's left of it anyway. They hold border land I want. A mating between you and my son would guarantee that land."
The hope died quickly.
"A mating?" Lyra's voice came out small. "But Ronan—"
"Will do as he's told." Garrett's voice was iron. "As will you. Unless you'd prefer exile?"
Exile meant death. She had no pack, no family who wanted her, nowhere to go. Her aunt and uncle had made it clear—the only reason they kept her around was pack duty. The moment she was removed, they'd lock the door in her face.
She'd be alone. Hunted. Dead within a week.
"I'll do it," Lyra whispered.
"Smart girl." Garrett's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The ceremony is in three days. Don't embarrass me."
Three days later, Lyra stood in the mansion's great hall wearing a white dress that wasn't hers.
It had belonged to Ronan's mother—dead ten years now. They'd changed it to fit Lyra's smaller frame, but it still hung wrong. Too free in some places. Too tight in others.
Like everything in her life, it didn't quite fit.
The hall was packed. Every pack member in present. Witnesses to the political transaction disguised as a mating ritual.
Garrett stood at the front, looking pleased. He'd gotten what he wanted—the Reed family's border area in exchange for taking their worthless daughter off their hands.
Ronan stood beside his father.
Lyra's breath caught.
He looked like a statue cut from ice. Perfect. Cold. Remote. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping. His hands were fists at his sides.
He didn't look at her. Not once.
Five years since that night at the Harvest Moon meeting. Five years since he'd given her his handkerchief and looked at her with brief kindness.
She'd kept that handkerchief. Hidden it away like a gem. Sometimes she'd take it out and remember that one moment when someone had been kind to her.
Stupid. So stupid.
The officiant droned through the routine words. "Do you, Ronan Blackwood, take this woman as your mate, to bond with her under the eyes of the moon and pack?"
Silence stretched.
Everyone waited.
Ronan's jaw clenched tighter.
Finally, he spoke. "I accept the political necessity." His voice was flat. Empty. "Nothing more."
The words hit like a physical blow. Lyra felt tears burning behind her eyes, but she blinked them back.
Don't cry. Don't show fear. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
"And do you, Lyra Reed, take this man as your mate?"
What choice did she have?
"I accept," she whispered.
The minister raised his hands. "Then by the power placed in me by pack law, I bind you together. Let the bond form."
Magic rushed through the hall.
The bonding bond snapped into place.
It felt wrong.
Not the warm, loving connection mates were meant to feel. Not the finish, the rightness, the sense of coming home.
This was cold. Mechanical. A bond rather than a choice.
Like shackles clicking shut around her arms.
Ronan flinched when the bond formed. His hand went to his chest, over his heart. Pain flickered across his face.
Then it was gone, buried under that icy control.
"It's done," Garrett stated. "Congratulations to the newly mated pair."
Scattered, obligatory praise.
No one cheered. No one celebrated. It was a business deal, and everyone knew it.
Ronan turned and walked away without a word to her.
Lyra stood alone in her stolen white dress, the cold bond thrumming in her chest like a wound.
That night, she moved into Ronan's wing of the house.
He gave her a room at the opposite end of the hall from his bedroom. As far away as possible while still being literally in the same space.
"Stay out of my way," he said without looking at her. His first words to her since the wedding. "This is business. A government arrangement. Nothing more."
He started to leave.
"Ronan, wait—"
"Don't." He stopped but didn't turn around. "Don't make this harder than it is. We both know what this is. What you are."
"What am I?" The question came out broken.
"A means to an end." His voice was cold. So cold. "The price I pay for land my father wants. That's all."
He walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway of her new jail.
Lyra closed the door and slid down to the floor.
The link in her chest ached. She pressed her hand over her heart, trying to understand why it hurt so much when she'd known—she'd KNOWN—this was just politics.
But some stupid part of her had hoped.
Hoped that maybe he remembered that night five years ago. Hoped that maybe some small kindness remained. Hoped that maybe, given time, he might look at her like she was worth something.
Foolish.
Hope was always stupid.
For two months, they lived like ghosts roaming the same house.
Ronan left early for his military training. Returned late. Spoke to her only when absolutely necessary—brief, cold words about plans or pack business.
Never her name. Never eye contact. Never anything that admitted she was more than furniture.
The pack whispered. Laughed.
"Even as his mate, she's worthless."
"I heard they sleep in different rooms."
"Poor Ronan, stuck with the Null. At least it's just politics. At least he doesn't have to actually love her."
Lyra tried to make herself useful. Helped in the kitchens. Cleaned. Organized. Stayed unseen.
But the link kept aching. A constant reminder of the link that should mean everything but meant nothing.
Then one morning, everything changed.
Lyra woke up sick.
At first, she thought it was just worry. The constant worry of living where she wasn't wanted.
But it didn't stop. For three days straight, she couldn't keep food down. Everything smelled wrong. Her body felt strange.
Finally, she went to the pack doctor.
Doctor Chen ran tests. Checked her blood. Examined her carefully.
Then looked at Lyra with surprise.
"Congratulations. You're pregnant."
The world stopped.
"That's impossible," Lyra breathed. "We haven't—we don't—"
"The mating bond is powerful," Doctor Chen said gently. "Especially in the first few months. It doesn't take physical intimacy to create life. The magic links you whether you want it to or not. The bond... it seeks completeness. And sometimes that means a child."
Pregnant.
She was carrying Ronan's child.
Terror and joy warred in her chest.
Terror because Ronan didn't want her. Didn't want this link. Would he hate the baby too?
Joy because... because maybe this changed things. Maybe a baby would make him see her differently. Maybe he'd look at her with something other than cold apathy.
Maybe their child could be the bridge between them.
Maybe she could finally have a family. Someone who loved her. Someone who wanted her.
She waited until evening. Rehearsed the words a hundred times.
Ronan came home late, as always. Exhausted from training. He barely looked at her as he headed for his room.
"Wait." Her voice cracked. "I need to tell you something."
He stopped. Didn't turn around. "What?"
"I'm pregnant."
Five seconds of quiet that felt like hours.
Then Ronan turned slowly. His face was completely blank. "How?" "Doctor Chen said the bond—"
"I know how bonds work." His voice was ice and anger. "I'm asking how you let this happen."
The words hit her. "I didn't LET anything—"
"This complicates everything." He ran a hand through his hair, looking angry and trapped. "A child ties us together permanently. My father will expect—we can't—I can't—"
He stopped. Took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully managed.
"My father needs to know about this."
"Wait, shouldn't we talk about—"
"There's nothing to talk about." He wouldn't look at her. Wouldn't meet her eyes. "This changes the political picture. He'll need to change his plans accordingly."
"That's all this is to you?" Lyra's voice broke. "A political complication?"
"What else would it be?"
"Our child! Your son or daughter!"
"A consequence of a bond I never wanted." Ronan's jaw clenched. "I'll tell my father. He'll decide what happens next."
He walked away.
Left her standing alone in the hallway, one hand on her still-flat stomach, tears running down her face.
But that night, alone in her room, Lyra made a promise.
She put both hands over her belly, over the tiny life growing inside her.
"I'll love you," she whispered. "Even if no one else does. Even if your father can't. I'll love you enough for both of us."
"You'll never feel unwanted. Never feel worthless. Never feel like you don't fit."
"I'll be everything my parents couldn't be. Everything this pack refuses to be."
"You're mine. And I'll protect you. Always."
The baby couldn't hear her. Couldn't understand.
But Lyra felt the link—not the cold mate bond with Ronan, but something new. Something warm and fierce and unwavering.
The link between mother and child.
And for the first time in her life, Lyra felt like she had something worth fighting for.
Someone who needed her.
Someone who would be hers completely.
She fell asleep with her hands on her belly and hope—dangerous, stupid hope—blooming in her chest one more time.
She didn't know then that hope would be crushed.
Didn't know that in three months, Ronan would formally reject her and their unborn child.
Didn't know that the happiness she felt now would turn to ashes.
But tonight, she had hope.
And tomorrow, she'd start prepping.
Preparing to be a mother to a child who deserved better than this pack.
Better than this life.
Better than her.
She'd find a way.
She had to.
Because this baby was counting on her.
And Lyra Reed might be useless to everyone else.
But she'd be everything to her child.