1
Chapter One
A Mate in Name
The first thing Lyra heard every morning was the bell. It rang through Mooncrest Pack before sunrise, loud enough to wake even the wolves who had spent the night drinking in the lower quarters, and by the time the second bell sounded, the servants were expected to be moving. Lyra was already awake.
She stood outside the Alpha's residence with a tray balanced carefully in her hands, staring at the enormous wooden doors in front of her. Another morning, another day of pretending she belonged here. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside.
The residence was quiet at this hour, the halls still dim and the polished floors reflecting the faint light from the tall windows. Lyra moved softly, setting the breakfast tray on the long table in the dining room. She had barely finished arranging the plates when footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to find one of the senior servants standing in the doorway.
"You're late."
Lyra glanced toward the windows. "The bell only rang a few minutes ago."
"You were supposed to be here before it."
Lyra looked at her for a moment, then returned to the tray. "If you wanted it earlier, you could have said so yesterday."
The woman's expression hardened. "You should learn your place."
Lyra almost laughed. Her place. It was all anyone in Mooncrest seemed to want to remind her of. She picked up the empty tray. "I know exactly where my place is."
The woman stepped aside. "Apparently not."
Lyra walked past without answering. She had learned long ago that arguing with people who had already decided to hate her was a waste of breath, and besides, she had more important things to worry about. She had to see Draven. She always did. No matter how many times he ignored her, no matter how cold his eyes became whenever they met hers, some foolish part of her still believed that if she could just speak to him alone, he would listen. He had listened once. He had looked at her like she was the only person in the room, before everything changed.
She was carrying the tray back toward the kitchen when laughter drifted from the dining room, and she stopped. A familiar laugh. Vivienne. Lyra turned slowly and saw her through the half-open doors.
Vivienne Devereaux sat beside Draven at the table, dressed far too elegantly for so early in the morning, her white hair fallen over one shoulder and one hand resting casually on his arm. Draven did not move it. Lyra's fingers tightened around the tray. Vivienne noticed her first, and her smile widened.
"Lyra." She said the name as though it were an insult.
Draven looked over, and his green eyes met Lyra's. For a second, neither of them spoke. Then his expression hardened. "Why are you still standing there?"
Lyra swallowed. "I was bringing the tray back."
"Then take it away."
She nodded and turned to go.
"Wait." His voice stopped her. "When you're done, report to the east wing. The rooms need cleaning."
She looked back at him. "I already cleaned them yesterday."
"And?" His tone was cold. "Do it again."
Lyra stared at him. She wanted to ask why he spoke to her like she was nothing, why he let the whole pack treat her like a servant when he knew exactly what she was to him. His mate. His true mate. But she said none of it. She simply nodded.
"Yes, Alpha."
The title seemed to please him. Vivienne smiled. Lyra walked away, and she had made it halfway down the corridor when she heard Vivienne's voice behind her.
"She's becoming quite comfortable."
Lyra stopped but didn't turn around.
"She knows what she is," Draven answered quietly.
A servant. That was what he meant. Lyra's jaw tightened and she kept walking, refusing to let them see that their words hurt. She had survived worse. She had survived losing her parents, being alone, being accused of betraying the man she loved. She could survive this too.
What she couldn't survive was leaving Mooncrest without knowing the truth. Her parents had died when she was young, and everyone had given her the same explanation: Darkclaw, and Theron Ravencrest. Their enemies had found her parents, murdered them, and left her behind. Lyra had believed it for years and had built her anger around it, her hatred and her need for revenge. One day she would make them pay. She just needed to survive long enough to get there.
In the servants' quarters she set the tray down, and her hands trembled slightly. She looked at them. For a strange moment she felt heat beneath her skin, and she frowned, but the sensation vanished almost immediately. She rubbed her palms together. Probably exhaustion. She had been working since before sunrise, and that was all.
She picked up the cleaning supplies and headed for the east wing. She didn't notice the faint red mark appearing beneath the skin of her wrist, and she certainly didn't hear the distant howl that echoed from the forest beyond Mooncrest, a howl that made every wolf in the territory go still.
Except Lyra.
