Golden ( my own brown skin girl)

Lyra could still remember the very day she first met Mason Sylvester, the moment that had altered the course of her life forever. She had been nineteen, young and impressionable, full of the naivety that comes with the belief that a fated mate could fix everything and Mason on the other hand, who wasn't far off in age was rather more mature and definite.

He had the belief that a mate was just another obligation he needed to fulfill as a alpha. The annual Crest Pack Harvest Festival had been in full swing, the scent of roasted meats and wood smoke filling the air as wolves from neighboring packs confluence at Crest pack in celebration.

Lyra had been wandering through the crowd, her heart light as feather, her family close by, when she first caught his scent—a mix of pine and leather, a smell that seemed to wrap around her senses like ribbons on a box, filling in the right places.

Mason had towered over everyone at the festival, his presence commanding attention without slimmest of effort. Tall, lean, but muscular, with sharp green eyes that had immediately locked onto hers.

Everything ladies dream and now Lyra's soon to be reality. It had felt like the universe itself had shifted, pulling them together with an invisible thread. When their eyes met, the bond was undeniably instantaneous—a spark of recognition that left her breathless.

She hadn’t been prepared for it, not the overwhelming surge of emotions that flooded her the moment he took her hand and introduced himself.

His voice had been smooth, deep, with a quiet confidence that made her heart race uncontrollably.

“I’m Mason, Alpha of Crest Pack,” he had said, his lips curling into a slow, easy smile. “Let's not waste our time on the complexities of courtship, I think we’re meant to be.”

Lyra had blushed, her stomach twisting with both excitement and anxiety. And from that moment on, it was as if the world had shifted to revolve around him. She had been swept up in a whirlwind romance, the kind of love that consumed her wholesomely. Mason was everything she had dreamed of in a mate—strong, capable, and protective.

For the first year, it had been perfect. They were the dream couple, admired by their pack, envied by others. Lyra had reveled in her role as his Luna, confident that they would one day lead the Crest Pack into a new reign of prosperity.

Their love had been passionate and exotic, the kind that left her breathless at night and filled with warmth during the day. She remembered how they used to spend nights under the stars, talking about their future, the children they would have, the home and life they would build. Mason had always been gentle with her, his hands firm but tender, his words full of promise and grace.

He had spoken of the family they would create, how their children would carry on their legacy. It had been a dream that seemed so close, so tangible. Lyra had been sure that fate had smiled upon her.

But fate, she was soon going to learn, is cruel.

---

Lyra sat at the window of their home, the soft glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the walls and floor. The silence was thick, suffocating. She ran a hand over her stomach, her chest tight with the familiar ache of emptiness.

Another month had passed, another month with no child. Each lonely month more resounding than the last. She had stopped counting how many times her hope had been dashed, how many mornings she had woken up praying that this time would be different. It had been 5 years of marriage without a child.

“Lyra, you’re home early,” Mason’s voice cut through the silence as he made his way into the room. He didn’t bother with a greeting, his eyes already darting to some invisible point outside the window.

Lyra turned to look at him, her heart leaking at the sight of his familiar detachment.

“I finished the preparations for the festival early,” she replied softly, her voice carefully neutral. “Jessy helped as always.”

Mason barely acknowledged her answer, his face unreadable as he took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a hanger. There was a time when he would have come over to her, wrapped his arms around her collars, kissed her softly on the forehead. But those days seemed long gone now.

“Have you spoken to the healer again?” Mason asked, his tone flat, his expression unreadable. The question stung, though Lyra knew it wasn’t meant to, besides it wasn't the first time he'd asked. But it was the way he said it. He didn’t even look at her when he said it, as if the subject of their inability to conceive was just another item on his mental checklist.

“Yes,” Lyra said quietly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “She said it might just take more time, but a child will definitely come.”

Mason nodded. “Right. Time.” His response was hollow and cold, and Lyra felt her heart twist painfully behind her chest. The strain was there, unspoken but palpable between the couple. He didn’t say the words, but Lyra knew—he was disappointed. Disappointed in her. Disappointed in the union. Maybe she was a mistake.

She stood, feeling the need to escape the intense atmosphere.

“I’m going to check on the preparations again,” she muttered, moving toward the door. But before she could leave, Mason spoke again.

“I’ll be late tonight,” he said, still not looking at her for acknowledgement. “Pack business.”

“Of course,” Lyra whispered, though she knew it wasn’t true. She had heard the rumors, the whispers among the pack. Mason wasn’t always handling pack business late into the night—he was with someone else.