Chapter 3

Lyra’s POV

Though Serena and Darius both scowled at me, with the baby’s cries subsided and his needs being fulfilled, they had no choice but to endure my presence.

I was moved to a chair, where I sat with my baby. After eating his fill, the baby fell asleep. I held him through the night, watchful, ready when he woke a few times throughout the night, looking for more milk. All night, I had barely closed my eyes, worried for my son.

In the morning, Serena and Darius whispered to each other near the door. Though they kept the voices low, I still heard some of their conversation. They were debating what to do with me.

Standing, I stepped toward them. They both stopped to look at me as I came nearer.

"Let me stay." My jaw ached from holding it still.

“I don’t need to say in any position of power,” I said. “I could be a maid, or a nanny.” Whatever it took to stay with Nicholas, my son.

"It costs me the appearance of weakness," Darius frowned, "keeping my ex-wife around."

"Then tell the pack she's the wet nurse. No one has to know who I am."

He hated that it was a good idea. I could see it — While Darius seemed somewhat thoughtful in his annoyance, hate flashed in Serena’s eyes.

“For the sake of my heir, you will stay on as a maid. You are hereby demoted to Omega, and you will serve the new Luna, Serena. One problem — one — and you're at the border by nightfall.” Darius said coldly.

"Agreed." I said. “For my son’s sake.”

“Don’t call him that,” Serena snapped. “I am that child’s mother now. Place him into his bassinet and I will show you where my servants stay.”

With regret, I turned and placed my son into the plush bassinet. Gently, I ran my hand over his head, silently promising that I would return soon. That knowledge was the only comfort that kept me from permanently gluing myself to his side.

Darius and Serena needed me for as long as my son did. For now, at least, my exile was cancelled.

I followed Serena back to the servants’ hallways and down to their rooms. Several rooms lined the hallway on either side, some of which appeared unused, but Serena took me to the very back. It seemed to be an afterthought in design, crammed up against what must have been the outside wall.

Serena opened the door, and the room beyond seemed like a broom closet more than a bedroom. A cot was shoved against the wall with barely enough space to walk around it.

“You will stay here,” Serena said. “I will send another servant to retrieve some bottles for you.”

“Bottles?” I asked, confused.

“You will pump your milk as much as possible, and they will be stored,” Serena ordered. “Do not grow comfortable here.”

Looking at her, at the hate in her eyes, I knew she was attempting to cut my connection to my son as much as possible. Her jealousy drove her more than any affection for the child. I doubted Darius and Serena even loved my son. They seemed only to care about his role as heir.

All the more reason for me to take my son and leave this place at the first opportunity.

For now, I had to convince everyone that I was an obedient servant, afraid of being cast out. With the heir celebration upcoming, the baby was being watched too much for me to make a move, and I had earned too much distrust to be given any benefit of the doubt.

But after the celebration, perhaps I could find a way. I make a plan. After all, I was the one who had designed the guard schedules and patrol routes. I knew how to avoid being seen.

This plan was risky. If I was caught, I wouldn’t just be exiled, I would be executed.

But for my son, to save him from this life, I was willing to take the risk.

Three days before the start of the celebration ceremony, the Alphas of neighboring packs began to arrive. One by one, they were welcomed through the gates of the pack house. The servants, myself included, worked tirelessly to deliver luggage to rooms and prepare meals and drinks for so many.

I tended to these duties between serving my son. To Serena’s displeasure, my son still preferred milk from the source rather than the bottle. I was still called to his side when he was hungry. Just like that first time, I still sometimes heard him, even when it was impossible for me to have actually done so.

I wondered if we had some kind of internal connection. I kept it secret, not wanting to give Serena more reason to be jealous.

After feeding my son, I hurried back to the Great Hall, where Darius was greeting each of the visitors. Yet, unlike before, when the servants were busy but content enough, caught up in the excitement of the celebration, even if it meant more work for them, now they looked pale. Frightened.

I had no idea what could have caused that fear – until I stepped through the side entrance of the Great Hall to see Darius greeting the most important of guests, Lycan King Kael Ashvorn.

The Reaper.

I froze in my tracks, feeling his aura press into me just from being near him. He exuded strength. Power.

Terror.

I had never seen the man before, but there was no denying who he was with his crest, a blood-soaked moon stitched into the black fabric of his cape.

From whispers, I’d heard he was fearsome, but no one had warned me about his appearance. High cheekbones, a strong jaw. Dark hair was shorn at ear length, with some of the bangs falling just before his ice blue eyes.

Wide shoulders narrowed at a tapered waist. Even through his black tunic, his muscles bulged, cutting a sharp figure. He was also the tallest man in the room, towering about Darius who looked up at him with the sort of tight-lipped smile that told me he hated him.

The Reaper’s cool returning gaze revealed nothing about what he thought.

Blushing, I turned to find busy work. What was I thinking, considering the Lycan King in such a way? The man was a tyrant. He was not to be… swooned over.

Darius spread his arms wide. "Alpha Kael. Welcome. My pack is honored beyond—"

"Your Majesty." One of Darius's men stepped forward — his captain, a thick-necked man who was far too handsy with some of the maids. He dropped to one knee and bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the cobblestones.

"The Holt Pack has long admired your strength. We consider this visit the greatest—" His voice dripped with flattery.

Then, in blink, the Reaper’s hand shot out. The captain’s head fell clean of his shoulders. A spray of blood shot out, coating Darius in a layer of bright red.

Darius’s eyes went wide, his face a sheet of white, behind the blood specks.

Kael looked down at the body the way a man checks something off a list. Then he looked at Darius. He tilted his head — slow, considering, the way you study a stain on your sleeve.

"I didn't ask him to speak," he said.

Darius's throat worked. He nodded quickly, and more than once. His hands were shaking at his sides and he couldn't make them stop.

I watched, unable to tear my gaze away. As the captain’s body slumped to the floor, the Reaper turned.

I couldn’t move, not even to look away, as if I was drawn by an invisible force.

The Reaper’s eyes met mine.

My heartbeat thundered so loudly I was certain he could hear it. Then, knowing I had stayed too long, I pulled myself away and ran from the room.

The next morning, after nursing my baby, Serena smirked at me. “Lucky you. You’ve been summoned. The Lycan King needs a new servant. The last one came down with a serious condition of not being alive. But that’s what happens to servants who can’t properly serve the Reaper.”

I wondered if I had actually been summoned, or if she was setting me up for death.

“You had better go now to serve him. If you want to stay on his good side.”

I stepped out of the room, feeling like I was walking toward the gallows as I moved toward the guest wing. Serena and her handmaiden followed a distance behind, as if they wanted to watch the moment of my end.

Outside the door, I stopped, terror filling me. I couldn’t die. My son needed me. But ignoring the will of the Lycan King would not help me free my child.

I told myself: two more days. My son is in that nursery and I am going to save him. Nothing in this hallway can change that.

So, with a steadying breath, I opened the door to his chambers and stepped inside.

The room was a mess. Vases shattered. Paintings ripped to shreds. All of the furniture was broken. Chairs without legs, tables smashed in half. The air reeked of alcohol and blood.

The Reaper sat on the last unbroken chair, facing me. He wasn’t looking at me, but his aura still pulsed out of him in waves, stealing my breath and making me tremble.

Goosebumps rose on my eyes, and I fought the fear to run.

“I’ll start cleaning,” I said, and moved to do my duty.

I cleaned the room inch by inch. I swept the crystal, righted what could be righted. My palms were wet. I kept my breathing even. I focused on surfaces.

The cleanup took a while, while the Reaper stayed quiet.

As I finished, I exhaled with relief, believing I might survive the encounter.

“Come here,” the Reaper said.

Low. Unhurried. The voice of a man who had never once needed to ask for anything twice.

“Pour me a drink.”