[Lyra's Chamber]
"You should start taking care of yourself, my lady," Penny said softly as she helped Lyra clean up. Her voice held a warmth that stood in quiet contrast to the tension surrounding their lives. And yet, something had changed. Penny had noticed it—the Alpha, usually so cold and distant, had shown rare, unexpected concern for Lyra. She wasn't sure whether his attention would become a blessing or a curse, but she hoped—for both their sakes—it would be the former.
Lyra glanced over her shoulder, her gaze meeting Penny's. She then turned away slowly, still tangled in her thoughts. The bond she now shared with Casian was both a revelation and a mystery. She understood now—how he could anticipate her needs, how he seemed to hear her thoughts even when she hadn't spoken. It wasn't just Alpha instinct.
It was the bond.
He could hear her, even in her silence.
But she didn't voice the storm that churned inside her. Her mind spun with confusion—her fear of the future, the inexplicable connection with Casian, and the vulnerability she'd glimpsed behind his usual armor. There was too much she hadn't processed, too many things she hadn't allowed herself to feel.
Penny, unaware of the full depth of Lyra's emotions, continued her task with quiet care. She gently applied medicine to the wound on Lyra's back. Lyra flinched at the sting but didn't pull away. The intimacy of the moment—the gentleness in Penny's hands—was oddly comforting. Penny worked with the precision of someone who understood pain, even if her own was different.
"My lady," Penny said softly, hesitating. "These scars on your back… where did they come from?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and quiet.
Lyra stiffened. Her body tensed on instinct, the memories crashing into her like a tide. She turned away, her back curving slightly as if to shield the old wounds—wounds far deeper than skin.
She didn't want to remember the torment, the endless cruelty at the hands of her stepmother and her children. But the scars were always there, burned into her flesh by more than just violence—they were the marks of years spent in helpless silence.
Seeing the pain in Lyra's eyes, Penny's heart clenched. She didn't mean to pry. "It's okay," she said gently, "if you don't want to talk about it."
She smoothed the last of the salve over Lyra's skin, then sat back. Her voice dropped lower. "But please, don't let anyone harm you again. Not if you can help it."
Lyra turned slightly, puzzled by the weight in Penny's tone.
"There are threats," Penny continued. "Things stirring outside Shadow Pack territory. Someone's caught wind of you—of your connection to the Alpha. That means they'll come for you."
Lyra's breath hitched.
"The Alpha will protect you," Penny said, "but he can't be everywhere at once. And if something were to happen to you..." Her voice broke slightly. "Please. Be careful."
Lyra swallowed hard, her hands curling in her lap. For the first time, the danger felt real. She wasn't just Casian's mate—she was a target.
And if she didn't learn to defend herself, she'd be nothing more than collateral damage.
***
[Casian's Study]
"I don't think they'll want her back," Darius said flatly. "They're the ones who sold her."
His voice cut through the silence like a blade. He stood near the door, watching his Alpha with a careful eye. But Casian—calm, brooding, unreadable—gave away nothing.
He sat at his desk, fingers tracing the edge of a map that lay forgotten beneath his hands. His thoughts were far from strategy or borders. They were tangled up in her—Lyra.
The truth about her wasn't just painful. It was infuriating.
She hadn't been born mute. Her silence had been shaped by trauma—brutal, invisible wounds she carried in every step. And though the rest of the pack remained unaware, Casian had seen enough to understand the outlines of her story.
Lyra's very bloodline was a curse. The illegitimate daughter of Alpha Norman of Moonveil Pack, born of an omega, she'd been branded worthless before she ever opened her eyes. And when she turned eighteen—when every omega was supposed to bond with their wolf—Lyra remained hollow. No shift. No wolf.
Nothing.
Norman might have tolerated a mute daughter. But a wolfless omega? That was an abomination in his eyes. Lyra had never stood a chance.
Casian's jaw clenched. The ache in his chest grew sharper with each revelation. He had judged her, assumed her weakness—but now, he saw. She had survived the kind of pain that would've broken most.
He stood abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor as he paced toward the window, the night air pressing against the glass like a silent observer. The thought of sending her back—to them—made his blood boil.
She had wanted to leave. He had almost let her. But now…
Now he knew the truth. And sending her back wasn't an option. It was a death sentence.
Behind him, Darius finally spoke. "So… what now? Do we still go through with the plan?"
Casian turned, his eyes like ice. "No," he said sharply. "She's not going back. They already discarded her once. I won't give them a second chance."
Darius nodded slowly, absorbing the shift. He watched his Alpha, sensing the fury simmering beneath the surface—but also something else. Something less familiar.
Uncertainty.
"You planning to do something about the bond, then?" Darius asked, his tone neutral. "Or are you still pretending it doesn't exist?"
The question lingered, dangerous and loaded.
Casian's lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw tensed. "You know that's never going to happen."
His voice was cold. Final.
Darius exhaled quietly. The flicker of hope that had dared to spark in his chest dimmed again.
She was his mate.
And he was still going to reject her.
Even knowing everything. Even feeling everything.
"You're going to lose her," Darius said softly, but there was no judgment in his tone—only truth.
Casian didn't respond. His back was to the fire, his gaze locked on something far beyond the study walls. Something he couldn't reach. Something he wasn't ready to admit he wanted.
"I'll handle it," he said at last, voice low and detached.
But Darius wasn't convinced.
He saw the storm in Casian's eyes. He saw the walls going up again, brick by careful brick.
And he feared that by the time Casian was ready to tear them down… it might be too late.