When Fate Fails

Rememberance

Eight. Lyra kept reminding herself: just eight more days until my eighteenth birthday. Sitting on my small cot, Lyra carefully applied another herbal mixture to her fresh wounds when a loud, forceful knock shakes her door. Her father, Alpha Rhys of the Bloodmoon Pack, calls out with icy authority, sending a chill down her spine.

“Lyra, you still haven't finished preparing for your brother's Alpha Anointing Ceremony. My patience is wearing thin. If you don't cooperate, your punishments will continue.”

She fights back tears. It wasn’t always like this. Everything changed after rogues attacked and killed her older brother—not just her father, but every Bloodmoon Pack member began treating her this way.

FLASHBACK

Eight years ago, when she was nine, she wandered far from the packhouse. She had preferred her own company, exploring alone. That day, She heard the low growls of feral wolves—rogues—and realized too late how far she’d strayed. Frozen with fear, she stared at a dozen pairs of red eyes, foam dripping from their mouths. There was no humanity left in them—only monsters, packless for too long, finding each other and leaving destruction in their wake. They emerged from the shadows of the Dark Forest, right in front of her.

One rogue lunged at her and the others followed. She'd dropped the rocks and sticks she’d collected, and instinct took over—she ran for Bloodmoon territory. At nine, she didn't have her wolf yet, but as the Alpha's daughter, she could run faster than most. Just not fast enough to outrun full-grown wolves.

As the border came into view, hope surged within her. She screamed—blood-curdling, desperate—for help, praying to the Moon Goddess that someone would hear. But hope vanished as quickly as it arrived. She lost my footing, crashed to the ground, and sprained her ankle. Looking back in terror as the wolves closed in, she suddenly heard a powerful roar. Her brother Darius, in wolf form, charged from the other direction. He leaped over her, colliding with the nearest rogue. She watched in horror as he sank his canines into the rogue’s neck, ripping its throat out before tossing the body aside and facing the next attacker.

As Darius fought another rogue, the Bloodmoon warriors rushed in to help, followed by her other brother, Gabriel, and their father, Alpha Rhys. Her mother scooped me onto her back and carried me to the safety of the packhouse. As she tended to Lyra's swollen ankle, she suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching her chest as if she could squeeze the agony away. Then they heard it—a heart-wrenching howl from every wolf in the pack, signaling they had lost one of their own.

Lyra and her mother waited outside for her father and brothers to return. What they saw next made their blood run cold. Her mother released Lyra's hand and collapsed on the steps, sobbing into her hands. “No, no, no, not my baby!” she wailed, her entire body trembling with grief. Lyra's heart shattered as she saw Gabriel and my father carrying the lifeless body of Darius.

Her father, Alpha Rhys, handed Darius’s body to Jaxson, his beta, then turned to Lyra. “What happened?” he demanded, his Alpha voice booming, rage burning in his eyes.

“I was out exploring. I didn’t mean to wander so far, Father. I didn’t realize where I was until it was too late.” Her eyes pleaded for understanding—for forgiveness. Instead, his palm struck her cheek.

Another stinging slap from her father jolted her back to the present. “I apologize, Father,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but just loud enough for him to hear.

“Your brother will become the new Alpha in seven days, and there’s much to do. Remember, you’re no longer a member of this pack—you’re a slave. Obey my commands and you’ll get your daily meal. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She finished tending to the fresh whip marks she’d earned that morning for being five minutes late with breakfast. It never mattered how small the mistake—any excuse was used to remind her of her place. Even her little sister, Skylar, joined in the torment. She and her friends called Lyra names, tripped her in the halls, shoved her into walls. Once, when she’d longed for the relief of my cot after a brutal day, Lyra found it soaked in animal blood—Skylar’s latest cruel joke, staining it forever.

She grabbed the broom she kept by her door and started sweeping the long hallways of the packhouse, careful not to miss a single speck of dust. From scrubbing floors to polishing bathrooms, from setting up guest rooms to perfecting every public space, she cleaned until her muscles ached—preparing the packhouse for the wave of arrivals the ceremony would bring.

Gabriel had spent years training to become the new Alpha—a role thrust upon him only because Darius died saving her. Gabriel resented her for it. He never wanted to lead, never truly believed the position was his. Every step toward the title was a reminder of what they’d lost. Their father might have been Alpha, but it was Darius who held them together, the one who always saw reason.