Lyra’s POV

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since Elowen took the punishment meant for Kael—punishment I’d meant to carve into his skin, not hers. But she’d thrown herself between us, and now the memory still echoed in my head like a curse.

My own wound from that vampire’s bite had closed far too quickly. Too clean. Too unnatural. Wolves heal fast, yes—but not like this. Not overnight. Not when the venom that struck me was the same one said to have sent Alpha Thoren Dravenwood into his endless sleep.

Something inside me had changed.

I hadn’t told anyone. Not my father. Not my pack. Not even my wolf, though lately she felt like a stranger anyway—restless, pacing, her voice muffled behind static.

So I drove.

The Moon Monastery loomed against a steel-gray sky, its spires jagged as teeth. A cold wind curled around the cliffs, carrying the scent of pine and sage... and something else. Something spoiled.

Decay.

“Child.”

The voice rasped out of nowhere. I spun around.

An old woman stood just beyond the gates, cloaked in ash-colored robes. Her face was hidden, but her eyes gleamed like molten silver beneath the hood. Her scent wasn’t wolf. Nor human. Nor vampire. It was… wrong.

“Beware,” she whispered, her cold hand closing around mine. “You are light, but the dark has tasted you now. It will not stop until it devours you whole.”

I pulled my hand free, pulse quickening. “Who are you?”

Her mouth twitched. “The one who remembers what you’ve forgotten. Beware, daughter of moonsilver. The shadows know your scent.”

Before I could press her further, she turned and melted into the forest mist.

Uneasy, I shook it off and climbed the monastery steps. The heavy doors loomed ahead, carved with the sigils of the Moon Priesthood. I reached for the iron handle—

—and something slammed into the back of my head.

Darkness swallowed everything.

When I came to, ropes bit into my wrists, my body hanging between pain and numbness. My blindfold stank of iron and dirt, and the air pulsed with a rank mix of sweat and musk—wolf musk.

Claws tore through my skin. Again. Again. Again.

Each strike burned like fire. Ninety-nine lashes—each one peeling away more than flesh. It stripped my pride, my power, my wolf.

“You shouldn’t have punished her,” a gravelly voice said. “She’s precious. You angered the wrong man.”

“Wh—who are you…” My throat bled with every word.

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out his phone.

“She’s done,” he muttered.

And then came the voice from the other end of the line—low, familiar, steady. [Leave her there.]

Even through static and pain, I knew it. Kael.

My wolf knight. The man sworn to protect me.

He’d ordered this.

By the time they dumped me on the roadside, I was barely conscious, skin flayed and blood slicking the asphalt beneath me. But I crawled. Half-shifted. Flagged down a cab. The driver screamed when he saw me—half-wolf, half-woman—but I growled, “Drive. Hospital.”

The emergency ward reeked of antiseptic and fear. I lay on a gurney, staring at the flickering ceiling lights, listening to the nurses whisper.

“Did you see him? The man who brought that girl in—gorgeous. Never left her side.”

“And that other one? Torn up bad. Looked like a rogue attack. Poor thing.”

My fingers clenched around the IV line until I yanked it free.

I knew who they were talking about.

I staggered into the corridor, ignoring the pain that split my shoulder open again. And there they were. Kael. Elowen.

He was holding her hand. Stroking her hair. Whispering softly like she was something fragile and holy.

I turned away before either of them noticed me and walked out into the night, the cold biting harder than the wounds on my skin.

The next morning, Kael came to my room. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, his face unreadable, eyes shadowed. Guilt? No. Not guilt. Pity.

I said nothing. I didn’t trust my voice not to break—or to kill.

Then my phone rang. My father’s number lit up the screen like a curse.

“You will attend the art banquet tonight,” he ordered. “Elowen’s exhibit. The council will be present.”

“No.” The word fell flat. I hadn’t painted in years. Not since Elowen destroyed that part of me.

Back when we were both students, art was my whole world—until she accused me of stealing her work. She framed me, and everyone believed her. I quit painting after that. I never held a brush again.

“You will,” my father snapped.

Before I could hang up, Kael spoke. “It’s for Elowen’s exhibit?” He hesitated, then added, “Just go. Please.”

For him, not for me.

Still, I went.

The Luna Gallery shimmered beneath a glass dome, moonlight spilling across marble floors. Elowen stood at the center, draped in a white gown like some celestial idol, glowing in the adoration around her.

I stayed in the corner, crimson dress clinging to my bruises like war paint. No one spoke to me. No one dared. I was the ghost sister—the scandal no one wanted to acknowledge.

Elowen smiled sweetly, voice pitched for sympathy. “Such a shame the Dravenwood Alpha still sleeps. I deserve a man of power, not one trapped in dreams.”

The guests laughed politely, oblivious.

My chest tightened. Soon, that “sleeping Alpha” would be mine to wed.

Then my gaze drifted to the canvases on the wall—and my blood ran cold.

They were mine.

Not replicas. Not copies. My original paintings—the ones I’d hidden in the attic years ago. Every brushstroke, every flawed edge, every shadow. Mine.

She’d stolen them. All of them.

My claws itched to tear through silk and skin. I was already stepping forward when the hall doors burst open.

Kael’s Beta strode in, carrying gifts—designer tools, moonstone brushes, gemstones, and embroidered gowns. All for Elowen.

Applause rose like a wave. I felt like I was drowning beneath it.

I stumbled out to the balcony, the cool air slicing through the haze of fury.

Moments later, she followed.

“Still breathing?” she asked sweetly. “Pity your mother isn’t.”

My vision went white. “Elowen—”

Before I could finish, she gasped, threw her wine down her dress, and screamed.

“Lyra! How could you?!”

I froze. People rushed out, gasping. And then Kael was there—his gaze sharp, his voice cold.

“Enough!”

Something inside me cracked. I smiled—a dead, bitter thing—and poured my own drink over her, splattering red wine down her face.

“That’s for mocking my mother, you venomous thief.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as I turned and walked away, my heels striking like gunfire.

Kael caught up, gripping my arm. “Why do you always attack her?”

“You want to know why?” My voice trembled with rage. “She killed my mother. She framed me. She stole everything—my art, my name, and now you. And still, you defend her.”

He frowned, disbelief flickering. “You’re lying.”

I laughed. “Of course you’d think that.”

I tore my arm free. “Take your loyalty, Kael. I’m done fighting for scraps.”

That night, I saw their car leaving together. I should’ve ignored it. But I didn’t.

“Follow them,” I told the cab driver.

They stopped at the butterfly garden—Elowen’s fantasy playground, the place she said she’d want to be marked.

Through the window, I saw it all.

She rose on her toes, eyes glowing gold, and sank her teeth into Kael’s neck. Not playfully. Possessively. Claiming him.

And he let her.

He didn’t resist. He tilted his head, shivering as the bond sealed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

But she didn’t let him mark her back.

Instead, he touched the fresh wound, smeared the blood with his thumb, and smiled faintly.

“I’m yours,” he whispered.

Third Person’s POV

The bond still pulsed faintly against Kael’s throat, a soft, lingering warmth from the magic they’d shared—but it remained incomplete. Lyra hadn’t allowed him to return the bite.

From her hiding place beneath the silver-leaved willow, Lyra watched as Elowen slid into a waiting black car, her lips curved in smug satisfaction. Kael lingered behind, motionless beneath the moonlight, until Beta Cyrus emerged from the treeline, his scent sharp with irritation.

“You’re telling me,” Cyrus growled, his voice a low rumble, “that you let her mark you, and you didn’t return it?”

Kael’s tone was steady, far too even. “It was her choice.”

Cyrus’s brows knit together, disbelief cutting across his features. “Her choice? She’s not even your mate, Alpha. You’ve lost your mind. The Alpha of Luminara shouldn’t be marked by someone who won’t even wear his claim.”

“I don’t need her to,” Kael said, tilting his head toward the stars. “She wanted it her way, and I didn’t stop her.”

Cyrus let out a harsh breath, pacing in the shadows. “You’d hand her the stars if she asked for them.”

Kael didn’t bother to argue.

Lyra turned away before she could hear more. Her chest tightened, not just from his words—but from what the mark had stolen from her. Something in her soul felt emptied, like a wound she had sewn shut herself, only to feel the stitches tearing open again.

She didn’t follow them after that. She went home in silence.

By dawn, Kael had already brought Elowen back to Luminara territory.

That same night, the wind carried an unfamiliar scent—blood, ash, and ancient moon magic. Deep in the cursed woods beyond Solari’s borders, Kael had gone alone. His goal: the Scarlet Dawn Crystal, a relic sealed centuries ago. Elowen desired it. And Kael obeyed.

It was one of the things she had foolishly mentioned during the exhibit—how she would only bind herself to a man who could retrieve it.

Cyrus had tried to reason with him again. “That stone belongs to Luminara, Kael. It was locked away by the elders for a reason. You’re risking everything just to feed some she-wolf’s vanity.”

“I’ll bring it back,” Kael replied, eyes glowing with restrained resolve. “Even if I bleed for it.”

“The Moonstone isn’t some trinket you dig out to impress a lover!” Cyrus snapped. “Our ancestors died sealing it. That forest doesn’t forgive intruders—it devours them.”

But Kael’s expression didn’t waver.

“Those wards will tear you apart,” Cyrus warned. “The forest has a mind of its own. So does the stone. You might not come back.”

“I will,” Kael murmured. “Because she asked me to. And that’s enough.”

He did return. And he did bleed.

---

Lyra’s POV

That night, when I opened the door, the air reeked of blood and pine.

Kael stood in the doorway like a storm dragged through the dirt—mud-streaked, his ribs bound, blood caked across his temple. He didn’t bring a flower this time. No token of apology. I already knew why. He’d sent the prize ahead—to her.

“There was a rogue ambush,” he said finally, voice low, gaze averted.

I tilted my head slightly. “Of course there was.”

He nodded stiffly. “I’ll be gone for a while. Maybe a week. I need to heal.”

“Then rest,” I said quietly. “Take all the time you need.”

He hesitated, eyes narrowing as if searching for something beneath my calm. “You’re not going to ask what really happened?”

A faint, tired smile touched my lips. “No. I won’t need protection where I’m headed.”

He looked puzzled—and that was good. He didn’t understand that I was already saying goodbye. He only gave a small nod and limped away toward his quarters, leaving a trail of dirt and silence in his wake.

The next morning dawned too still, the sky painfully clear—as if mocking me.

I met my closest friends at the VIP lounge, calling it a small celebration. None of them knew it was my farewell. The laughter, the music, the champagne—it all sounded hollow, like echoes from a dream I no longer lived in.

“To Alpha Thoren!” someone toasted, raising their glass high. “May his wedding with Lyra be smooth and scandal-free!”

Lindsay snorted. “Oh please, if that man wakes up and realizes he’s married to you, he’ll probably faint from disbelief.”

I laughed softly, the sound empty. “Maybe he already has.”

Her expression sobered. “Becca, this isn’t right. Elowen? After everything she’s done? And your father—he’s using you as a pawn in a feud that isn’t even his fight.”

“It won’t matter soon,” I murmured into my drink.

Lindsay’s brow furrowed. “We’ll still see you, won’t we?”

I lifted my glass with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Of course.”

We both knew it was a lie.

That evening, I returned to the Solari Pack House. I planned to face my father—Alpha Mike—one final time. My heels echoed on the marble floors, the sound too sharp in a house that had never truly felt like home.

Before I reached his study, Elowen’s laughter drifted through a half-open door.

“…He actually let me bite him!” she was saying, her words blurred by wine. “Can you believe that? I practically own him now. Like a dog begging for a pat.”

More laughter followed.

“He must be head over heels,” someone teased.

Elowen scoffed. “Hardly. He’s convenient. Does what I say when I say it. When I’m bored, I call. When I’m not, he disappears.”

A pause. Then another voice asked, “And what about your engagement to the Solari heir?”

She laughed again, loud and shameless. “That corpse? Please. If I had the choice, I’d take the Alpha of Luminara instead. He’s richer, stronger—and stupidly easy to control. Did you know he sent me the Scarlet Dawn Crystal? Can you believe it?”

I blinked once, the corner of my mouth curving upward—not in amusement, but in cruel understanding. She didn’t even realize Kael and her “ideal Alpha” were one and the same.

Poor Kael. Loyal, reckless, bleeding Kael—he’d carved himself open for someone who saw him as nothing more than a novelty.

I turned away before bile rose in my throat. I didn’t bother seeking out my father. Instead, I walked through the sleeping compound, out into the cemetery where the yew trees whispered under moonlight.

My mother’s gravestone gleamed silver. I knelt beside it, tracing the carved letters.

“I won’t end up like you,” I whispered. “You waited for love until it killed you. I’ll survive, even if it means alone.”

At dawn, a message came through—a transfer notification. Gold. Enough to buy a lifetime of silence. Half the Solari treasury wired to my account. Payment for my obedience. For my departure.

I accepted it.

And with that, I cut every tie—Solari, Elowen, Kael, all of them.

The next morning, as I sealed the last box of my things, Kael appeared at the door. I handed him a small parcel.

“Give this to Elowen,” I said.

He eyed it warily. “What’s inside?”

“My old paints and brushes,” I replied. “She wants to be me so desperately—she might as well have the leftovers.”

He didn’t yet know that I’d already filed the paperwork assigning him as her wolf knight. He belonged to her now. He always had.

“And you?” he asked quietly, tightening his hold on the box.

“I’ll be fine,” I said with a small, unbothered smile. “Moving out isn’t as hard as people think.”

It was a lie. But it was also the last thing I’d ever say to him.

When he turned back, bandages stiff and blood crusted at the edges, his voice was low. “Where are you moving? Give me your address. I’ll come by once I deliver this.”

I met his gaze, unreadable. “I’ll tell you later.”

But there was no later.

As soon as he left, I took out my phone, broke the SIM card clean in half, and tossed it through the open window of the moving car. The wind caught it, carrying it into the trees—scattering every trace of me.

By the time he returned, I was already gone.