Chapter 6: The Trial of Fang and Fire.

Kael’s POV

"She isn’t fighting me. She’s fighting herself."

That was the first thought that tore through me as Lyra lunged, claws flashing under the crimson moon. Her strikes were wild and untamed, each one fueled by rage and something darker crouching inside her. When my claws met hers, sparks flew through the air, but I wasn’t testing her strength; I was testing her control and gods, she was losing it.

The Hollow Wolf flickered in her every movement, in the way her shadow stretched across the earth and snapped at me even when her body hesitated. It circled her like a second skin, made of smoke and hunger, pulling her deeper with every strike.

The pack howled around us, a cage of voices and every growl demanded her blood. The elders stood like stone pillars, their gazes sharp and unblinking. I could feel her father, Dorian Vale’s eyes burning into my back, the Oathblade in his grip like a second heartbeat.

He wanted me to do his work for him and to equally finish the curse he had been waiting eighteen years to erase.

But I wasn’t his blade and I wasn’t his hand. She was mine. Lyra roared and leaped, her claws catching my shoulder, raking across her skin and muscles. Pain flared, hot and sharp, but I twisted, slamming her into the dirt. My hand pinned her throat, claws digging just enough to remind her I could end it now.

“Control it,” I hissed in her ear. “Fight me, not it.”

Her eyes burned white, hollow and endless and for a heartbeat, I thought she was gone, swallowed by the shadow. Then she snarled, while her body arched, throwing me off with a force that wasn’t hers alone. I rolled across the dirt and came up on my feet with my chest heaving. The Hollow Wolf grinned through her face.

“She can’t hear you,” Rowan shouted from the crowd, his voice slick with triumph. “She’s already lost!”

The pack cheered him, a chorus of hate. Kill her, tear her apart and end it now, but I wasn’t watching them; instead, I was watching her.

Lyra’s breath came ragged, her claws trembling as if she was fighting something inside her own bones. For an instant, her gaze flickered, amber wolf eyes beneath the white glow and I knew she was still there.

“Lyra,” I said, low and sharp. “Listen to me. You’re not its puppet unless you let it be.”

Her lips peeled back, a growl tearing from her chest. Then, a voice cut through the chaos. “Stay back! Let me help her!” The witch Eira stumbled forward from the crowd, with her hands raised and her braid falling loose around her pale face. She clutched something small and silver, a charm etched with runes.

My stomach dropped; it was not a charm of protection nor a spell of healing, but a binding sigil.

“No,” I snarled, but it was too late. The runes flared and Lyra’s body convulsed.

Her scream shredded the night. As the pack gasped, some fell back in awe, while others were laughing at the sight of their “cursed Alpha’s daughter” writhing in the dirt. Lyra’s claws gouged the earth, her body jerking as the charm tightened invisible chains around her.

“Stop it!” I roared, spinning on Eira. My claws were bared, while my voice thundered. “That’s not saving her; that’s binding her!” The crowd erupted as confusion tore through their ranks. Whispers hissed like snakes: Binding? Witches? Betrayal? Eira froze, with guilt slashing across her face and her lips parting in silent denial, but the truth was written in the way her hands shook and in the fear that flashed across her eyes when I named what she had done.

Lyra’s gaze found her and the burning through the agony and the betrayal in her eyes was worse than any wound.

“You knew,” Lyra choked, her voice broken, raw. “You knew what I was.”

Her friend’s tears spilled, but Lyra’s howl drowned them out, a sound thick with rage and heartbreak.

That was when Rowan moved. The Oathblade spun through the air, silver runes gleaming as it landed between us, burying itself in the dirt with a hiss of smoke.

“Use it!” Rowan shouted at me, his grin wide and wild. “Finish it now, Blackthorn! Kill her and save us all!”

The pack roared, voices rising and demanding blood. The silver runes burned as the blade was humming with power, waiting for me to pick it up, but I didn’t.

I stared at it, then back at Rowan, as my lip curled into a snarl. “No.”

The clearing stilled. “No one tells me when to end her,” I said, my voice cutting like steel. “If she dies, it won’t be by your command or your father’s or the pack’s, but it will be by mine alone.”

Gasps echoed as the pack recoiled, some in rage, while others in fear. Dorian Vale’s face twisted in fury, but he said nothing.

Lyra’s chest heaved, her claws digging into the ground, her eyes flickering again between white and amber. I could see her fighting and clawing her way back from the edge.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “Fight me, Lyra and not it. Show them you’re still you.”

She bared her teeth, her whole body trembling for a heartbeat. I thought she’d lunge and tear my throat out in front of them all, but then, her claws slashed toward me and stopped a breath from my skin. It was her control, not the shadow’s, but seriously hers.

The elders stirred, as murmurs were rippling through them, proof... But before judgment could fall, the ground split open. The Hollow Wolf erupted out of her, no longer a shadow but a beast of its own. Twice the size of any wolf, its body was smoke and fire, its eyes white voids that burned like suns. Its howl split the night, shaking the earth and rattling bones.

The pack screamed and scattered, some shifting fully into wolves, while others retreated in terror. Immediately, the Elders shouted, their staffs glowing, but even their power trembled under the monster’s presence.

Lyra collapsed, gasping, her human body pale and trembling as though it had been gutted. I grabbed her, dragging her back as the Hollow Wolf lunged, tearing through the circle. Warriors screamed as claws raked across flesh, as fire spilled from its jaws.

It wasn’t looking at them at all, not really. It was looking at her, always at her.

The mate bond seared, pulling me tighter to her even as death tore around us. My blood roared as I shielded her, my claws flashing against shadows that I couldn’t cut and then I knew.

"The prophecy was wrong. She wasn’t the Hollow Wolf."

She was its cage. The beast ripped through the clearing, the pack’s howls drowned by fire and shadow. Lyra’s body trembled in my arms and she voiced a broken whisper against my chest.

“Kael… make it stop…”

But how do you stop a monster that was never hers to control?