BOUND TO A CURSED KING

Lyra Hale fastened the silver fastening of her dress, her hands shaking a little. The silk was warm and pleasant on the body, and the tightness was suffocating. She heard a weak, flickering echo of the strength of her wolf growling in the back of her mind. Months of giving her blood to Alpha Isaac Blackwood had exhausted her, and now, on the night she had been waiting all her life, she was weak and small. Breath, Lyra, breathe, her closest friend, Maren Vale, said as she moved up, and pulled her shoulders back. “You’ve done everything right. All the drops of blood you gave me... it was to him. For tonight. You’ll be fine.” Lyra tried to smile, and it failed her under her expectation. “I… I hope you’re right, Maren. I’ve given so much. Months of my life… all for him.” Maren smiled and her green eyes melted, she stroked Lyra lightly on the face. “It’ll be worth it. He’ll mark you tonight. You’ll finally be his mate.” Lyra nodded, clinging to the words like a life-line. Her wolf twitched in her chest, and felt the tension, but it had just the force to react. Nevertheless, there was a sliver of hope blazing in her. She hoped that she would not have wasted everything she had given up to-night. They had left the small house of Lyra and moved out into the cold night. The lamps in the Crescent Ridge streets gave out the golden pools of light upon the cobblestones. The ceremony took place in the center of the pack grounds which was a big open square with elders and pack members around and who had been anxiously awaiting this time. Lyra felt her heart beat aching as they came near. The eyes of the whole pack were on her--their expectation, their interest, their opinion. She attempted to give her attention to Maren, who was holding her hand. “Remember, this is your night. Nothing else matters.” Lyra gulped and nodded. Her wolf stirred, and trembled, but she did not notice it, and had to stand erect. This was the night she was going to be united with Alpha Isaac. To-night she would at last be rewarded with her devotion. The ceremony was opened by the Elder coming forward, his silver robes moving a little as he held up a hand. His voice was heard all over the square, quiet, but authoritative. To-night we meet to see the marking of the doomed mate. The omens have been interpreted, and the friendship will be shown in the light of the moon. Lyra’s breath hitched. This was it. Her heart throbbed in her bosom. She had a sense of its wolf within, could feel its pulse, though faint, but alive. The Elder started the ritual, naming and reading the scents, the signs of every maiden. Lyra’s knees shook. She stopped her breath and watched Isaac get up, his normal commanding presence crowding the square. His golden-brown eyes were sweeping the crowd, and as they went by, he caught her momentarily. And then the moment which was to mark her life: the Elder pronounced the signs, and pointed to Lyra. She could feel her chest tightening, and a rush of hope surged through Lyra. She made a step, and her fingers shook. This is it, this is it, she said to herself. Isaac stood still a moment, glancing at her. And then… he shook his head. “What?” The voice of Lyra was caught in her throat. “He… he can’t…” The square appeared to become mute, and Isaac appeared to stiffen his face. He didn’t step toward her. He didn’t acknowledge her. He instead walked off, passing her, his cloak swinging, and walked up to Maren. The shriek of the audience was thunderous. Lyra’s legs felt like lead. Her fists were closed to her body and her nails were sinking into her palms. No... no, this is not happening, she said to herself, in a very low voice. Isaac was down on his knees, before Maren, and with the smooth, practised movement of a hand raised her. “You are my mate,” he declared. His voice was smooth, uncompromising, as a blade of a sword. Lyra fell forward, with anger and disbelief flashing through her. Isaac! she cried, and her voice rang through the square. Everyone stared at her but she did not mind. “How… how could you? I’ve served you all my life! I’ve given you everything! And you—” The eyes of Isaac were cold and unflinching. I did not ask you to do any of it, Lyra, I said. “And I don’t love you. My smell of mating... it is hers now. The words struck her a physical blow. The vision of Lyra was unclear with the tears in her eyes. Her wolf whimpered pathetically in her breast, and she experienced a gnashing, tearing pain that ran through her body. Her wolf was dying, part of it, she could feel it, a black hollow ache that was eating her up inside. “I… I have given you all, I have given you all! she stammered, shaking her head, hardly able to stand. “How… how can you do this to me?” Isaac was as calmly cruel as a mask. And you were never mine to keep, Lyra. You never belonged to me.” Her knees buckled. Her world tilted and twisted. The feeble remains of her wolf were already starting to react to the betrayal instinctively, aching and contorting within her. She tried to stand upright but the energy rippled through her body too violently that her human body could hold. Her body started changing before she could scream. Her hands were turned into claws, her teeth were sharpened, her senses were keen, and there came a low guttural howl out of her throat. The audience was in shock, and as Lyra changed into a half-wolf, half-human being, the audience retreated. With each beat of her heart pain pierced her body. “Maren, help me... she said, but her voice was smothered in the growl and howl which now filled her throat. Then suddenly, as it had started, she was taken by darkness. Her hands and legs relaxed and she fell down on the cobblestones.