The forest had quieted, but Lyra's nerves hadn't.
Long after the patrol set up camp near the southern ridge, she remained awake, perched on a thick boulder with her back against a tree trunk, her senses on edge. The others slept lightly in a tight circle, their blades within reach and their distrust of her still fresh in their blood.
She couldn't blame them. Not entirely.
She was the outsider in every way: the unwanted bond, the wrong blood, the one with eyes they didn't trust.
But it wasn't them she was worried about.
It was him.
The one whose name made warriors flinch. The one who'd slaughtered her family, who thrived in the chaos between packs like a vulture feeding on rot.
Ronan.
She could feel his shadow creeping closer with every hour. His kind didn't need armies to start wars. They just needed fear and a reason.
And she had become that reason.
Her breath plumed in the cool air as the moon slipped deeper behind clouds, casting long, jagged shadows. She gripped the dagger tucked into her boot, not the one the Ravenguard had offered her. That blade she'd refused. This one was her own, its hilt worn smooth by years of survival.
Something shifted to her right.
A crack barely audible.
She was on her feet in seconds, crouched, eyes scanning the tree line. Nothing moved. No scent on the breeze. But her instincts screamed.
"Who's there?" she demanded, voice steady, sharp.
Silence answered.
She took a cautious step forward, then another, until
A blur of movement rushed her from the left.
Lyra ducked just in time, the attacker's claws slicing air where her throat had been. She spun, slammed her elbow into their ribs, and kicked their knee. The figure staggered back, snorting like a beast, not a man.
His eyes glowed faintly amber in the dark.
A rogue.
"Too slow, little wolf," he growled, circling her.
She didn't reply. She let her stance do the talking.
Another shape lunged from behind, but this time she rolled forward, grabbing a branch and hurling it to trip the second assailant. He went down hard, but a third rogue emerged, fangs bared.
They weren't here to scout.
They were here to test.
The rest of the patrol hadn't stirred yet either they hadn't noticed or were already down. She was alone.
Again.
The way she'd always been.
The first rogue swiped at her again. She caught his wrist, slammed her knee into his stomach, and drove her blade into his shoulder. He screamed, staggering back, but didn't fall. Blood sprayed her cheek.
"Alaric sends his little mate out here to die?" the second one mocked, licking blood from his lip. "Coward."
She didn't give him time to say more. She charged, slicing his thigh, then pivoting to avoid the claws coming for her back. It was chaotic, fast, vicious, unrelenting. Her muscles burned. Her breath rasped. But she refused to fall.
Not now.
Not here.
One rogue dropped, bleeding from the neck. The second limped back into the trees. But the third he didn't retreat. He only grinned, even as his blood dripped onto the dirt.
"You've got his scent all over you," he whispered. "Bet that bond tastes sweet."
Before she could lunge, a roar shattered the trees.
Alaric.
He crashed through the thicket like a storm. In one motion, he ripped the rogue from the ground and slammed him into a tree so hard bark exploded. The rogue yelped, then went limp.
The Alpha's chest heaved, his eyes glowing with a molten fury.
Lyra froze not from fear of the rogues, but from the raw power radiating off him.
He looked at her, and something shifted in his expression. Not relief. Not anger. Something else. Something dangerous.
"You're bleeding," he said, his voice low.
"Not mine," she replied, wiping her cheek.
He stepped closer, eyes scanning her face, her arms, her stance. She didn't move. Neither did he.
Then she saw it in his eyes. They weren't just angry. They burned.
Not like fire.
Like restraint stretched to its limit.
"Why are you here?" she asked finally.
"I felt it."
"Felt what?"
"The bond."
She blinked. "It doesn't work like that."
"It does," he growled. "When you're in danger, when your blood spikes... I feel it."
She stepped back, heart pounding for an entirely new reason.
"You said the bond was just for protection. You said"
"I lied."
The words hung heavy in the air.
He took another step. She didn't retreat this time.
"I told myself I was doing it to save you from execution," he said. "From being torn apart by a pack that hates your name. But that wasn't the whole truth."
His hand hovered near her face. He didn't touch her. Just stared.
"You get under my skin. You don't flinch. You speak like you're not afraid of me."
"I'm not."
"Liar," he whispered. "Everyone fears the Alpha."
"Not me."
They stood, inches apart, the silence more dangerous than the rogues ever were.
"You still don't want this bond," he said.
"No."
"And yet," he murmured, "you didn't break."
Her voice was steady. "I never do."
That look returned to his eyes something wild, wounded, hungry.
He turned away before it snapped.
"Get back to camp. I'll finish sweeping the perimeter."
She didn't move. "You came alone?"
"No. My Beta's nearby."
"Then where is she?"
He paused. "Waiting to see if I needed backup."
Lyra shook her head. "You were watching."
He didn't deny it.
"Don't follow me unless you plan to trust me," she said, walking past him.
He caught her wrist, gentle but firm. "Don't give me a reason not to."
Their eyes locked one more time, his still burning, hers still steady.
Then she pulled away and disappeared into the trees.
Back at the camp, the other warriors had stirred. The bodies were being buried. The wounded were treated. No one looked at her as she passed. No words were spoken.
But later, as she sat beside the dying embers of the fire, she felt eyes watching again.
Not with hate.
Not with suspicion.
Something else.
And when she looked
up, across the flames, she met Alaric's gaze from the other side of the clearing.
Still burning.
Still watching.
And for the first time... she wasn't sure who would break first.