Moonbound Sins

Two

Lyra’s POV

If funerals are supposed to be the end of things, then nobody told Bloodfang Pack.

Because the morning after burying my father, the entire house buzzed like a hive of angry, overdressed bees. Wolves hustled through the corridors with trays of food, rolls of parchment, armfuls of clothes that looked like they belonged in a medieval closet raid. Voices snapped and hummed, the air thick with the kind of energy that made me feel like the main course at a very judgy dinner.

And me? I was still in pajama shorts, sitting cross-legged on the bed with my hair in a knot and my wolf stirring somewhere deep in my chest like she’d just discovered the concept of espresso.

I hadn’t shifted yet, still technically a late-bloomer in wolf terms but whatever had woken last night hadn’t gone back to sleep. My skin prickled. My senses hummed. Even the air smelled louder, if that makes sense. And beneath it all sat the irritating memory of Damian’s voice “You belong by my side when I say you do.”

Seriously, who says things like that? Who just casually sentences people to belong to them? Alphas, apparently. Broody, jaw-clenching, unfairly hot Alphas with voices like velvet knives.

“Lyra.”

I jumped. My door was wide open, because apparently privacy in this house was more of a myth than dragons. One of the elder women, strict bun, eyes sharp enough to cut glass, stood with a folded black dress over her arm.

“You’ll be presented formally at the council this evening,” she announced, like I’d been waiting all my life to hear it. “You’ll wear this. You’ll sit where you’re told. You’ll speak only if asked.”

I stared at the fabric. Heavy. Long-sleeved. Mourning black, but cut to reveal a sliver of throat and collarbone that made me suspicious. “So… like a funeral, but fancier?”

Her brows pinched. “Like an Alpha’s daughter.”

Right. No pressure.

After she left, I flopped back on the bed, dress draped across my stomach, glaring at the ceiling beams. My city friends would die laughing if they saw me. Lyra, who once sang karaoke on a bar counter wearing neon wings, now being strong-armed into high-wolf couture like some kind of gothic Barbie.

The day dragged with rituals and whispers. Wolves bowed in corridors, though the bows felt stiff, not respectful. The few smiles I caught were small and secretive, like people amused at a joke I wasn’t in on. By the time the sun slipped low and shadows stretched long across the floorboards, I was wound so tight with nerves that I nearly ripped the dress trying to get into it.

And then, of course, Damian showed up at my door like the universe wanted to test how much self-control I had left.

“Ready?”

That was all he said. One word. But his eyes lingered on me—on the dress, on the hair I’d finally managed to wrestle into a braid, on the shoes that pinched at my toes. And that look? It made my insides spark like a fuse about to reach dynamite.

I pasted on my brightest smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

He didn’t comment. He just stepped back and let me pass, falling into step beside me like a shadow I hadn’t asked for.

The council chamber looked like a medieval courtroom: long table carved from dark oak, wolf motifs etched into every chair, torches throwing long, dramatic shadows against the stone walls. Elders lined the table, their gazes sharp and heavy. My arrival quieted the room in that way that makes you wonder if you forgot to put pants on.

Damian led me to a seat at his right, the position screaming important, watched, trapped. His hand brushed my elbow as I sat barely there, maybe accidental, but enough to make my wolf shiver awake again.

Introductions began. Names I half-remembered from childhood rattled off like a list of potential executioners. Each elder looked me over as though I were a horse up for auction assessing teeth, posture, potential. I resisted the urge to neigh.

Finally, the head elder, a wiry man with eyes like frost, cleared his throat. “Lyra, daughter of the late Alpha Theron, you return to us in a time of transition. Blood must be honored. Bonds must be secured. The Pack cannot abide uncertainty.”

Translation: You’re not just here to cry pretty. You’re here to be useful.

I opened my mouth, intending something light like, Happy to be of service, please don’t eat me alive, but Damian’s hand slid to the table near mine, his fingers brushing close enough to still my tongue. His gaze warned: Don’t.

So I smiled instead. Small. Polite. Probably a little crooked.

That’s when the doors opened.

And in walked trouble.

Kieran Blackthorn.

I’d heard the name whispered earlier in the day some cousin from another pack, a warrior with connections, a potential ally. But whispers hadn’t prepared me for the actual man.

Tall, leaner than Damian but just as dangerous in his own way, Kieran moved with the kind of grace that came from knowing exactly how many people turned their heads when he entered a room. Dark blond hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes like pale smoke. And a smile oh, gods, that smile that cut through the solemnity like it had been crafted just for me.

“Forgive my late arrival,” he said smoothly, bowing to the council before letting his gaze land, and linger, on me. “I came as soon as I heard Bloodfang mourned its Alpha. My condolences.”

If Damian was shadow and iron, Kieran was silk and firelight. Everything about him glowed warmer, brighter, easier to look at. Which probably made him more dangerous.

Because while Damian’s attention burned steady and silent, Kieran’s lit up the air like a sparkler, playful, deliberate, impossible to ignore.

The council welcomed him, murmurs of approval circling the table. He was seated across from me, his smile never once dimming.

And just like that, I understood: I wasn’t just here as a grieving daughter. I was here as a chess piece.

A bond. A bargaining chip. A prize.

Great. Just great.

The meeting droned on territory disputes, supply counts, whispered mentions of unrest at the borders but all I could feel was the weight of two gazes: Damian’s steady, grounding, suffocating; Kieran’s light, teasing, insistent. Between the two, my heart had no idea what rhythm to choose.

When it was finally over, wolves dispersed in murmurs of duty and politics. I rose too quickly, nearly tripping on the hem of my dress. Smooth, Lyra. Always graceful.

“Allow me,” Kieran said, appearing at my side with a speed that suggested he’d been waiting for me to stumble. His hand caught my arm, steadying, warm. “The floor seems determined to eat you alive.”

I laughed, high and awkward, because what else do you do when a ridiculously attractive stranger saves you from face-planting in front of an entire council? “Yeah, it does that sometimes. Vicious floor. Needs to be disciplined.”

His smile deepened. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Damian appeared a heartbeat later, expression flat, gaze sharp on where Kieran’s hand touched me. “She doesn’t need assistance.”

The tension between them was immediate, thick as smoke. Kieran’s hand lingered a second too long before he released me. “Of course. My mistake.”

But his eyes flicked to mine as if to say, Was it, though?

Damian guided me out with a hand at the small of my back, his touch searing through fabric. Neither of us spoke until we reached the corridor, where torchlight painted his jaw in shadows.

“You’ll be careful with him,” he said finally. Not a question. Not advice. A command.

I tilted my head, letting my smile turn sharp. “Careful’s not really my thing.”

His gaze darkened, a storm threatening to break. “It is now.”

I should have bristled. Should have snapped back with something witty. But my wolf stirred again, responding not with defiance but with something terrifyingly close to obedience.

And I hated how much I liked it.

That night, lying awake in my too-small bed, the echoes of the day spun circles in my head: the elders’ eyes, Kieran’s smile, Damian’s warning.

For years, I’d been invisible. City girl, bartender, occasional karaoke star. Now I was center stage in a play I hadn’t auditioned for, with two leading men circling like predators.

And somewhere deep inside, my wolf stretched, yawned, and whispered: Finally.