CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER 1

BLOODMOON PACK

A proud smile touched Lyra’s lips as her bruised fingers carefully smoothed Keon’s black tie.

She studied him again, the way she always did, searching for even the slightest imperfection. Making him look perfect had become second nature and tonight, after everything, it was finally worth it.

She stepped back half a pace and studied him in the mirror, searching for anything out of place.

“You’re doing it again,” Keon said, watching her reflection.

Lyra’s smile grew wide enough to show the dimples he used to tease her about. “Doing what?”

“Fussing.”

She shrugged, still watching him. “I know. You get restless before these things. Just breathe. You’ve got this… and I’m so proud of you, Keon.”

He gave a short sound that might have been a laugh and stepped out of her reach to get a better look at himself.

The mirror showed a man who looked every inch the future Alpha. Something she had made possible.

“I’m grateful,” he said after a moment. The words came out strained, almost distracted. “For the help. Getting to this night.”

Lyra caught the awkwardness in his tone the way she always did. She had been catching it for three years now. Ever since the exile. Ever since his father had stripped him of title, money, and servants and sent him to the border to prove himself.

She had followed without being asked. She had worked double shifts at shops, farms, written his reports by night, and poured her own strength into healing him after a winter rogue attack left him half-dead in the snow.

He had come back to his father’s pack looking like a powerful heir. She had come back drained, smaller but still completely his.

She told herself the distance in his voice was only nerves. Or leftover trauma from that year. Loving him had made it easy to believe either one.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said gently. “This is your night.”

Keon adjusted the cuff of his sleeve one last time and didn’t look at her again.

Lyra’s smile stayed in place, but a tired sensation settled behind her ribs. She smoothed her long gray dress and followed him toward the door when he moved.

Tonight he would stand in front of the entire pack and name his future Luna.

She already knew whose name she expected to hear.

Hers..

He stepped out first. Lyra followed behind, matching his longer stride without thinking.

The courtyard was already filled with wolves, servants, elders… His future subjects.

The sight of them made anxiety coil in her chest. She smoothed her dress for the umpteenth time and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Keon stopped so suddenly she almost bumped into him.

He turned. His eyes moving over her in one disdainful glance. He scrutinized her simple dress, the tired lines at the corners of her mouth, the faint bruises still glaring on her knuckles.

“You should head down to the lower courtyard,” he said. “The ceremony is starting.”

"The lower courtyard?" Lyra blinked, surprised. "Keon, the high balcony is where the fated mates stand."

"Just go down, Lyra," he said flatly, turning his back on her. "There isn't enough room on the balcony."

Before she could process his sudden dismissal, the horn blared, signaling the start of the ceremony.

He swept past her without hesitation, marching out toward the grand terrace.

Lyra stood there for a moment, panic seeping into her heart. She soon forced her trembling legs to move toward the lower courtyard. She squeezed through the crowd near the side steps, her wolf pacing uneasily inside her.

He’s just nervous, she told herself desperately, he is overwhelmed. That’s all.

Keon stepped out onto the high balcony above them. The crowd quieted, their voices died completely when he raised both hands.

“Wolves of the Bloodmoon,” his voice carried across the plaza. “I return from my trial not as a boy, but as a warrior who has bled for his land. I have proven my right to lead. And tonight, under the full moon, I claim the partner who will stand beside me as your future Luna.”

Lyra’s breath caught. She took one small, confident step forward. For every night she suffered, every job she worked, every sleepless night she wrote his reports for him, this was the moment it was supposed to mean something.

Keon’s gaze swept the packed courtyard once.

Then he spoke, voice ringing with pride.

“Step forward, Evelyn.”

For a heartbeat Lyra’s mind simply refused it. She stood still among the lower crowd, still half-smiling, still waiting for him to correct himself.

He did not.

The air left Lyra’s lungs in a single, agonizing gasp.

From the front row of the upper gallery, her step sister, Evelyn stepped into the moonlight.

She looked radiant, gorgeous, dressed in a shimmering red gown. Her gemstone necklace caught the light. A necklace Keon had gotten with the reward money he received for the very military reports Lyra had written.

Evelyn glided up the marble steps, her lips curved into a smug, triumphant smile as she looked towards Lyra’s direction and carefully took his hand.

Gasps echoed. Whispers broke out instantly.

"Evelyn?" someone murmured nearby. "What about Lyra? Wasn't Lyra with him in the borderlands?"

Keon turned toward the crowd, his grip tight on Evelyn’s slender hand. He neither acknowledged Lyra nor looked in her direction.

"A true Alpha requires a partner who matches his majesty and commands the room," Keon announced, his voice clear over the murmuring crowd. "Lyra was a loyal, obedient servant through my exile. She cooked my meals, scrubbed my cabin floor, and tended my hearth while I trained for the throne. For her domestic service, I offer her my thanks. But a maid belongs in the quarters, not on the throne." 

A wave of cruel chuckles rippled through the upper ranks of the pack.

Evelyn leaned her head against Keon’s shoulder, her eyes flashing with malicious delight as she cast a victorious glance down into the crowd, straight at Lyra.

"Therefore," Keon declared, "I, Keon, heir to the Bloodmoon Pack, claim Evelyn as my true partner and mate!"

The invisible thread of the fated mate bond and soul-deep connection she had nurtured for years snapped with violent, merciless force.  

Lyra collapsed.

Her knees slammed hard into the floor, the breath tearing from her lungs in a strangled gasp.

An excruciating wave of agony ripped through her chest, down her spine, and straight into her wolf, who howled in absolute devastation.

Blood pooled behind her teeth as she bit her tongue to keep from screaming out loud.

The sheer agony of the broken bond felt like her chest was being cut open from the inside out. Pale, shaking, and sweating profusely, she looked above her to see the crowd burst into cheers as Keon pulled Evelyn into a deep, public kiss.

The pack celebrated their new Luna, completely ignoring where Lyra lay broken.

Nobody offered a hand. Nobody stepped forward to help her up. To the pack, she was exactly what Keon had labeled her: an insignificant servant girl whose usefulness had expired.  

With the last ounce of willpower she possessed, She dragged herself upward and stumbled outside the yard, vanishing into the darkness, bleeding, broken, and utterly alone.