Four
1358 Words
Lyra’s POV
The first time I stepped into the grand hall as something other than a ghost at the edge of memory, I thought my lungs might give out.
Hundreds of eyes. All on me.
The ceiling stretched high overhead, beams carved with wolves chasing moons. Candles flickered in long rows, their light catching on polished stone, gold, silver. The pack house, I realized, was a cathedral masquerading as a fortress. And tonight, I was the sermon.
“Walk,” Damian’s voice murmured at my back, low, clipped, Alpha-steady.
So I walked. My boots clicked too loud on the stone floor, my heart louder still.
The wolves of Bloodfang Pack watched me with curiosity sharpened into knives. Some whispered, some sneered, but most were unreadable stone faces in dim light.
I wanted to run.
Instead, I smiled.
Big, bubbly, city-girl smile. The one that said I’m harmless, I’m fun, I’m exactly what you didn’t expect. My voice followed, light and flippant, before my nerves could stop me.
“Wow. No pressure. Just every wolf I’ve ever known staring at me like I might trip on my own shoelaces. Which, by the way, I might. So please clap if I fall, make it look intentional.”
A ripple of laughter broke across the hall.
Real laughter.
The tension cracked. Shoulders eased. Even the grim-faced elders tilted their heads like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen.
I leaned into it, spinning my suitcase like a stage prop, flashing a grin. I talked to the children near the front row, teased the old warrior whose scowl could cut glass, winked at the women who muttered behind their fans. My father’s funeral had been a dirge; tonight, I gave them something lighter.
And the more they responded, the bolder I became.
Inside, my wolf pressed close to my skin, unsettled. She knew this was a game, a mask. But she also liked the sound of laughter it reminded her that we weren’t prey, not yet.
When the elders finally declared me “acknowledged,” the applause rose awkward but genuine. I bowed dramatically, biting back the urge to stick my tongue out at the woman who’d once called me defective.
And then I looked at Damian.
He stood at the edge of the dais, arms folded, expression carved from ice. To everyone else, he was Alpha stone, unshakable. But I saw it the tiny flicker in his eyes when my laugh rang across the hall. Hunger, sharp and fast, gone before anyone else could notice.
My stomach flipped.
Oh, no.
The evening blurred into wine, speeches, and too many handshakes. Wolves tested my grip, my smile, my posture. I was a spectacle. A curiosity.
And then he appeared.
Kieran Blackthorn.
If Damian was storm and iron, Kieran was sunlight wrapped in silk. Blond hair perfectly combed, teeth white as polished bone, smile tuned to just the right frequency.
He swept through the crowd like a storybook prince, all golden charm.
When he stopped in front of me, taking my hand and brushing it with his lips, I swear half the room sighed.
“Lyra,” he said warmly. “I was beginning to think the rumors weren’t true. That the Alpha’s daughter was a myth.”
I laughed, too brightly. “Surprise. I exist. And I’m very bad at myths.”
More laughter. His smile widened.
“You do yourself a disservice. Already, you’ve brightened the room.” His gaze held mine, too long, too polished. “The city made you into something extraordinary.”
My cheeks burned, not from flattery but from the weight of Damian’s stare burning a hole into the side of my skull.
Kieran leaned closer. “We should talk. Away from the noise. There’s much I’d like to learn about you.”
Something in me prickled. His words were sweet, but hollow—like lines rehearsed a hundred times. My wolf didn’t trust him.
Still, I smiled. “Maybe another time. Tonight’s a lot.”
He chuckled, squeezing my hand before releasing it. “Another time, then.”
When he walked away, whispers followed. Wolves nudged each other, muttered about alliances, about suitors.
And Damian? He didn’t move. But the set of his shoulders told me all I needed to know.
Later, in the training yard, the mask came off.
I hadn’t meant to end up here with him. But when the crowd thinned and the wine soured in my stomach, I slipped outside for air. Damian followed, silent as a shadow.
“You enjoy being the center of attention,” he said flatly.
I spun on him. “I survived it, didn’t I? That’s a win.”
His jaw tightened. “You flirted with Kieran.”
I blinked. “Flirted? I smiled. That’s not flirting, that’s basic human courtesy.”
“You laughed.” His eyes glinted. “He’ll think it means something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Alpha,” I shot back, heat rising in my chest. “Should I have scowled at him instead? Maybe snarled? That would’ve gone over great.”
In two strides, he had me pinned against the wooden post of the sparring ring. His hand braced beside my head, body crowding mine, eyes dark and unyielding.
My breath hitched.
“This isn’t a game,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “These wolves are watching for weakness. Kieran is watching for opportunity. And you—” His gaze dragged over my face, my throat, down to where my heart raced under my skin. “—you have no idea how dangerous that smile of yours is.”
My pulse roared. His nearness was suffocating. My wolf pressed hard against my ribs, wanting out, wanting him.
“Then teach me,” I whispered, reckless. “Show me how dangerous wolves can be.”
Something broke in his control.
He grabbed my wrist, twisted me around, pressed me face-first against the post. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just absolute. His breath burned against my ear.
“Wolves don’t play fair,” he growled.
A shiver ripped through me.
His hand slid down my arm, forcing me to loosen, to shift my weight. “You think strength is enough? Wrong. Control is everything. Position is everything. One wrong move, and you’re dead.”
His body caged mine, solid, immovable. I could feel every inch of him, heat radiating, danger thrumming. My wolf howled inside me, clawing at my skin.
“Fight me,” he commanded.
I twisted, shoved back with everything I had. He barely moved. His hand caught my chin, yanking my head back, exposing my throat.
The position was primal. Dangerous. Intimate.
I froze.
“See?” His voice dropped, rough velvet. “In a fight, hesitation kills you. In politics, it ruins you. You can’t afford either.”
His breath brushed my neck. My skin burned.
“Do it again,” he ordered, releasing me only to spin me around, forcing me to face him. “Come at me.”
I did. Reckless, clumsy, but fueled by something hotter than anger. He caught me every time, twisting me into holds that left me gasping, pinned, breathless. Each correction came with a touch—his hand gripping my hip, his arm locking mine, his chest pressing me into the dirt.
By the end, I was shaking. From exhaustion. From something else.
He loomed over me one last time, pinning me flat on the ground, his weight holding me there. His eyes burned down into mine, hunger barely leashed.
“This is survival,” he said, voice raw.
But all I heard was the unspoken word behind it.
Mine.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. My wolf pressed so hard I thought my bones would c***k.
When he finally pushed off me, leaving me sprawled in the dirt, my body screamed at the loss.
He straightened, composed again, Alpha mask firmly in place. “Training continues tomorrow,” he said. “Be ready.”
And then he walked away, leaving me in the dirt with my heart pounding, my body on fire, and one terrible, undeniable truth.
I wanted more.
- Writer
