5

Chapter Five — The Law of Teeth and Silence

They didn’t call it a capture.

They called it escort.

That was the word murmured as I was led through the inner keep the following morning, flanked by four wolves whose hands never strayed far from their weapons. No chains this time. No iron biting into skin. Just the invisible weight of authority pressing against my spine, reminding me that running would be pointless.

The Blackthorn Pack was awake.

I felt it the moment I stepped beyond the private corridors—hundreds of minds brushing against mine, some curious, some hostile, some sharp with hunger. The bond hummed uneasily, responding to the proximity of Ronan even though he walked several paces ahead of me, back straight, shoulders tense.

We entered the Great Hall.

Stone pillars rose like ancient sentinels, carved with scenes of wolves bowing, kneeling, fighting, dying. Torches lined the walls despite the daylight spilling in through high arched windows. The room was already full—pack members standing shoulder to shoulder, their attention snapping to me the instant I crossed the threshold.

The noise died.

Every conversation. Every breath.

I felt like prey walking into a den.

Ronan stopped at the center dais, finally turning to face me. His gaze was unreadable—Alpha-neutral, distant, controlled. It hurt more than his anger would have.

“This is a formal assembly,” he announced, voice echoing. “All laws apply.”

A ripple of tension moved through the crowd. Formal meant judgment. Formal meant blood.

I lifted my chin, refusing to shrink. My wolf stirred, alert and wary, her presence coiled tight in my chest.

Stand, she urged quietly.

I was standing.

The Councilors entered next—three wolves cloaked in silver and black, their power heavy and suffocating. The one I recognized from the night before took his place beside Ronan, gaze cutting to me like a blade.

“Lyra Vale,” he intoned. “You stand before the Blackthorn Pack accused of unregistered awakening, assault on pack members, murder of a Council-appointed executioner, and defiance of the mate bond.”

A murmur rippled through the hall.

“Murder,” I repeated softly. “He tried to kill me.”

“That is not relevant,” the Councilor replied coldly.

My hands curled into fists.

Ronan’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“The bond has been confirmed,” another Councilor said. “Proceed.”

I didn’t understand what that meant until Ronan stepped closer.

Too close.

The air between us snapped like static. Heat flared low and fierce, rolling through my veins as something ancient and inexorable surged awake. The bond—quiet since morning—roared to life.

It was like being struck by lightning from the inside.

I gasped, knees buckling as sensation crashed over me: Ronan’s strength, his fury, his restraint, his wolf slamming against mine with a force that stole my breath. Images flickered—claws, blood, moonlight, command.

The pack felt it.

Gasps echoed. Wolves stiffened. Some dropped to one knee instinctively.

“Mate bond acknowledged,” the Councilor declared. “Public and undeniable.”

“No,” I choked.

The word tore from me, raw and furious.

I shoved against the bond, against the pull that demanded closeness, submission, acceptance. Pain flared, sharp and punishing, but I didn’t stop.

“No,” I said again, louder. “I reject it.”

The hall erupted.

Outrage. Shock. Fury.

“You can’t—”

“She dares—”

“That’s impossible—”

Ronan went still.

For a heartbeat, I thought I’d broken him.

Then his eyes snapped to mine, gold blazing. “Lyra—”

“I won’t be owned,” I said, voice shaking but unyielding. “Not by fate. Not by you. Not by anyone.”

The bond screamed in protest, tearing at my chest like claws. I tasted blood, barely registering the trickle at the corner of my mouth.

The Councilors surged to their feet.

“She rejects sacred law!”

“She’s an abomination!”

“Execute her now!”

I expected Ronan to grab me. To force compliance. To silence me.

Instead, he turned—slowly—to face the Council.

“She is under my authority,” he said.

“That is not enough,” the lead Councilor snapped. “A rejected mate is a destabilizing force. She must be destroyed.”

The word destroyed echoed, heavy and final.

Ronan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t bare his teeth.

He did something far more dangerous.

“I claim her,” he said. “As mine.”

The hall fell into stunned silence.

“As what?” the Councilor demanded.

Ronan’s gaze flicked to me—apologetic, furious, resolute. “As property.”

The word hit me harder than any blow.

Gasps tore through the pack. Rage flared in my chest, hot and suffocating.

“You don’t get to—”

“I do,” he cut in sharply, finally turning back to me. “And this is the only way you live.”

The Councilors conferred in sharp whispers. Finally, the lead one inclined his head.

“So be it. She lives under Blackthorn claim. But know this, Alpha King—if she destabilizes the packs, her blood will be on your hands.”

Ronan nodded once.

The judgment was made.

I stood there shaking, the echo of property ringing in my ears.

They led me away before I could say something unforgivable.

They took me underground.

Not a dungeon—something worse.

A place where young wolves trained. Fought. Broke.

“This is the trial chamber,” Mara said, her voice carefully neutral. “Every wolf proves their place here.”

“I’m not a wolf,” I snapped.

She looked at me then, really looked—and something like pity flickered across her face. “You are. You’re just labeled wrong.”

They stripped me of my cloak. My shoes. Everything that made me feel human. I stood barefoot on stone stained dark with old blood.

“Omega,” someone sneered from the crowd gathering above. “She won’t last a minute.”

Omega.

The word settled over me like a sentence.

Mara’s voice carried. “By pack law, all Omegas must submit during dominance trials.”

“I won’t,” I said.

Mara hesitated. “Then you’ll die.”

The gates opened.

A Beta entered—twice my size, muscles coiled tight, eyes already feral with anticipation. The pack roared.

“Yield,” he growled.

“No.”

He lunged.

Pain exploded as I hit the ground, breath knocked from my lungs. His knee pressed into my spine, his weight crushing.

Submit, the room screamed.

I felt it then—the pressure of dominance, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t physical. It was will. He was trying to break me from the inside.

My vision tunneled.

I tasted blood.

And something in me snapped.

Enough.

My wolf surged forward—not wild, not frantic. Focused. Controlled.

Mine.

Power unfurled from my core, silent and crushing. The Beta stiffened, a strangled sound tearing from his throat as he was driven to his knees by a force he couldn’t see.

I stood.

The pack fell silent.

The Beta bowed his head, shaking.

“I yield,” he whispered.

Shock rippled through the chamber.

An Omega had forced a Beta to submit.

Ronan was on his feet, staring.

I didn’t feel triumphant.

I felt exposed.

They whispered after that.

Moon-marked.

Unnatural.

Blessed.

Cursed.

A servant later—young, trembling—dropped a tray when she passed me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered frantically, eyes wide with fear. “I didn’t know—your scent—it’s—”

She fled before I could ask what she meant.

That night, I overheard guards talking.

“The prophecy—”

“—she fits the signs—”

“—unmaking the Alpha—”

Sleep dragged me under.

The Moon Goddess came.

She stood wreathed in silver light, beautiful and terrible, her voice echoing like it came from everywhere and nowhere.

You resist what was given.

“I didn’t ask for it,” I said.

You were made for it.

Fear clawed at my chest. “For what?”

She smiled.

To balance the world.

I woke screaming.

My wolf’s voice was clearer now.

We are not weak, she said.

For the first time, I believed her.

Ronan came to me after.

“You’re suppressing yourself,” he said quietly. “I can feel it now.”

“I don’t want to become what you fear,” I replied.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “Neither do I.”

The feast was meant to calm the pack.

It failed.

Music played. Laughter rang hollow. Eyes followed me everywhere. When the knife flashed, I barely had time to turn.

Instinct took over.

Blood sprayed.

The body fell.

Silence crashed down as I stood there, breath ragged, staring at the lifeless form at my feet.

My hands were red.

Again.

And this time, I hadn’t even thought.