Lyra's pov:
Winter has never been my favorite season.
Not for the cold. Not for the snow.
For what it brings with it.
Hunting becomes harder, prey grows scarce, and rogues take it as an invitation—an opportunity to attack when everyone is weaker, slower, distracted.
And then there are the memories.
Winter always reminds me of that night.
The one I never speak of.
The one I wish I could forget.
But it lingers… like frost that never fully melts.
I must have drifted too far into it, because the sound of my father's voice pulled me back.
"Lyra."
I blinked, turning toward him. "Huh?.. yes, Father."
His expression was already set—half disappointment, half patience. The look he reserved only for me.
"I know how much you hate attending the council," he said, his tone softer now. "But I am getting older, Lyra. You need to start understanding these matters."
The council.
Of course.
My jaw tightened slightly.
A political gathering disguised as peace.
And the worst part?
The vampires.
"I'll go," I said, the words leaving my mouth with more reluctance than I intended.
"Finally," he exhaled, clearly relieved.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Honestly, how bad could it be?
I would go, stay for an hour—two at most—and leave. No conversations. No unnecessary interactions.
And definitely no vampires.
Simple.
"Tomorrow," he added quickly, as if afraid I might change my mind. "Make sure you look presentable… and not like you were forced into attending."
A small laugh escaped me. "That might be hard to do. Sorry."
He sighed, though the faint smile at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"Try," he said anyway.
I nodded half-heartedly, already dreading it.
Tomorrow.
Great.
—
On the other side…
Far from the forest, beyond territories that had learned to coexist without trust, stood a mansion that did not belong to the living.
It was vast.
Silent.
Guarded.
Dark in a way that had nothing to do with the absence of light.
Inside, Varek stood near the tall windows, his figure still against the night.
"It's tomorrow?" he murmured, almost to himself. "Why does it feel like these gatherings happen every week instead of once a year?"
There was no answer—only the quiet presence behind him.
"Life is becoming repetitive," he continued, his tone laced with boredom. "And fast."
A pause.
"How tedious. Don't you agree, Daniel?"
The butler straightened immediately. "Yes, Master. It has become… predictable."
Varek's gaze remained fixed ahead, distant, unreadable.
Predictable.
If only that were true.
His thoughts shifted, darker now.
What would the meeting be about this time?
Empty negotiations?
False promises?
Or another step toward betrayal?
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
And the werewolves—
Would they pretend again?
Or reveal what they truly were… just as they had that night?
The memory lingered, unwelcome but ever-present.
Fire.
Blood.
Loss.
His father had never truly recovered from it.
Losing a mate was not something one simply moved past.
And so, Varek had taken over everything.
Responsibility.
Power.
Control.
All of it.
His expression hardened slightly.
"Prepare everything," he said quietly.
Daniel bowed. "Of course, Master."
As the room fell silent once more, Varek's crimson eyes darkened.
Tomorrow.
Another meeting.
Another performance of peace.
But beneath it—
Something was shifting.
Something inevitable.
And though neither of them knew it yet…
Everything was about to change.