The mark on Lyra's collarbone hadn't yet scabbed over, and already the whispers had turned sharper. In the corridors of the packhouse, in the training yard, even among the kitchen staff, her name passed lips with a mixture of contempt and curiosity. Some wolves looked at her with resentment. Others with unease. But none are welcome.
That was the price of being bound, marked, and still breathing.
She kept her head down as she entered the sparring arena, a stone-ringed pit where warriors trained, sweated, and bled. Today wasn't a formal trial. It wasn't even scheduled training. It was something else entirely. A summons.
She spotted the one who had called for her instantly.
Tall. Coiled muscle. Pale blonde hair braided back in a warrior's knot. Eyes like sharpened steel.
Rhea.
Once a frontline Ravenguard soldier. Once Alaric's favored second. And once, rumored to be much more than that.
Lyra felt her instincts rise, her body alert, her mind wary. She didn't need to be told that this meeting wasn't about training. It was a test, unofficial and unspoken. One she couldn't walk away from.
"Thought you might chicken out," Rhea said, leaning on a wooden staff, her tone clipped and cold.
"I don't scare easy," Lyra replied, stepping onto the training sands.
Rhea's lips curved just slightly. "No, you wouldn't. You're too new to understand what fear really means here."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Is that what this is? A lecture?"
"No." Rhea tossed her staff to the side and stepped forward, boots crunching on gravel. "It's a warning."
The air thickened.
"You wear his mark," Rhea said, eyes flicking to Lyra's collarbone. "That doesn't make you his equal. And it sure as hell doesn't make you one of us."
"I never said it did."
"Good," Rhea shot back. "Because we've buried stronger she-wolves than you, and most of them never had to be dragged into a Bloodbond like some stolen prize."
Lyra didn't flinch. "If this is about Alaric, take it up with him."
"Oh, I did," Rhea said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Years ago. I fought beside him. Bled with him. Though I knew what we were. Then he throws that all away for a rogue girl with a sharp tongue and a target on her back."
Lyra stepped closer, their faces inches apart. "Maybe he got tired of someone who only knew how to obey."
Rhea's gaze burned. "You think defiance makes you powerful?"
"No. But it keeps me alive."
The two circled each other now, like opposing magnets drawn into inevitable collision.
"You don't understand this pack," Rhea said, voice lower now. "You don't understand him. Alaric doesn't bond out of affection. He bonds to control. And if you think you're different, you're already losing."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "And you? Are you warning me because you care… or because you're still bitter he didn't choose you?"
The silence that followed was dangerous.
Then Rhea moved.
Not with claws, not with brute force but with speed and precision. She lunged forward, sweeping Lyra's legs from beneath her. Lyra hit the sand hard, air whooshing from her lungs but she recovered fast, rolling back to her feet in a crouch.
The sparring had begun.
Rhea struck again, fists flying in a flurry of calculated blows. Lyra blocked two, absorbed one, and ducked under the fourth. She wasn't a trained warrior, not like Rhea, but she had grit. She fought dirty, using her smaller frame to slip in under Rhea's reach, elbowing her ribs hard.
Rhea grunted but didn't stop. "This isn't a challenge," she said through gritted teeth. "I could drop you with one hit."
"Then why haven't you?" Lyra snapped, dodging a strike to her jaw.
They clashed again, locked at the arms. Rhea held her there, breathing harshly. "Because I want you to listen. The wolves here won't wait for the trials. They'll break you before then quietly, from the inside. And if Alaric's attention slips for even a second, they'll tear you apart."
Lyra held her ground. "Then let them come."
"You're stubborn," Rhea muttered, shoving her back with enough force to make Lyra stumble.
"I'm alive," Lyra shot back. "And that's more than I can say for some of your former favorites."
Rhea's mouth tightened, the insult hitting its mark.
But instead of striking again, she stepped back. Her body relaxed not in surrender, but in withdrawal.
"I didn't call you here to beat you," she said at last. "I called you here because no one else will warn you, and you need to hear it from someone who knows."
Lyra wiped a smear of sand from her cheek, breathing hard.
"Then say it plainly."
Rhea's eyes lost their edge for a flicker of a second. "There's no winning this bond. You survive it, or it consumes you. Just don't let it turn you into something you hate."
Lyra stared at her, the ache in her limbs forgotten for the moment.
"I'd rather die than become someone I don't recognize," she said quietly.
Rhea gave a short nod. "Then maybe you'll make it longer than I thought."
With that, she turned and walked away, the clinking of her boots against the stone fading into the morning light.
Lyra stood alone in the sparring pit, her breath finally settling.
The pain in her arms, the fire in her chest, the sting of truth in Rhea's words all mingled in her bones like steel being forged.
No one here would give her respect.
But that was fine.
She'd earn it, one bruise at a time.