The Alpha did not scream when she cut his throat.
That was the first thing Lyra noticed.
Blood sprayed hot against her cheek as her blade sliced cleanly through flesh, silver humming softly as it met bone. The man collapsed to his knees, choking, his hands clawing at the air as if the moon itself had betrayed him.
Lyra stood still. Calm. Silent.
She always was.
By the time his body hit the ground, the forest had gone unnaturally quiet. Even the insects knew better than to make a sound on nights like this.
Another Alpha dead.
Another pack broken.
Another step closer to him.
Lyra wiped her blade on the fallen Alpha's cloak, her expression empty as she listened for footsteps. None came. They never did. Fear traveled faster than screams.
She tilted her head toward the moon, letting its cold light soak into her skin.
"One day closer," the voice inside her whispered.
One day closer to Alpha Kael Blackmoor.
⸻
They called her the Moon Reaper.
A myth whispered to frighten young wolves into obedience. A shadow that slipped through guarded borders and left nothing behind but corpses and unanswered questions.
No one knew her face.
No one knew her name.
Because she did not have one.
Lyra had been taught that names were luxuries—things for people who deserved to exist.
She did not.
She was a weapon.
And weapons did not need identities.
⸻
She returned to the hidden compound before dawn, her boots silent against stone. The coven elders were already waiting, their pale eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.
"You were slow," one of them said.
"The Alpha fought well," Lyra replied flatly.
Another elder stepped forward, her voice sharp as bone. "Did you hesitate?"
Lyra's jaw tightened.
"No."
It was the correct answer.
The elder studied her closely, then nodded. "Good. Your hatred grows stronger."
It had to.
Hatred was the only thing keeping her alive.
⸻
That night, they showed her the vision again.
Flames.
Screams.
Blood staining snow.
Her mother's body crumpled in the dirt, throat torn open. Her father on his knees, begging. A sigil burned into their flesh.
Blackmoor.
"Remember who did this to you," the elders whispered in unison.
"Remember who must die."
And every time, Lyra remembered.
She remembered the face she had never truly seen.
The Alpha had been bred to kill.
⸻
Three nights later, the impossible happened.
Alpha Kael Blackmoor announced he was seeking a new healer for his pack.
Lyra felt it the moment the message reached the coven.
A pull.
A burn.
A wrongness in her chest that made her stagger.
The elders smiled.
"It is time," they said.
"You will enter his den."
"You will earn his trust."
"And when the bond awakens…"
Lyra swallowed hard.
"…you will kill him."
⸻
But deep inside her, something twisted painfully.
Because for the first time in her life…
The thought of standing before Alpha Kael Blackmoor did not feel like victory.
It felt like home.
As she grappled with the weight of her fate, a flicker of doubt crept into her mind. How could she betray the one who had unknowingly captured her heart while she was bound by duty?