Hybrid: Claimed by the Alphas

(Lyra's POV)

I've always felt like a stranger in my own skin. Like I'm living a life that's not mine. The full moon hangs low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over everything. I try to shakes off the restless energy coursing through my veins, but it's no use. I feel it every month, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. How could I have pure silver hair when my parents and brother has black? it has always been a mystery to me, everywhere I go people always look at me and wonder.

"Lyra!"

My mom's voice jolt me awake from my deep thoughts

"Lyra come out and help me in the kitchen, you've been in your room ever since you came back from school, everything okay?"

I heard my mom's worried voice from my room

"I'm okay Mom, I just wanted to rest a little bit"

"You sure?"My Mom asked

"Yes Mom, you don't have to worry,I'm fine"

"Ok dear"

I went out of my room few minutes to meet my mom In the kitchen,I can't wait to see what we'll have for lunch, I'm so hungry!

"Mom what's cooking?"

"Mashed potatoes" I heard her say from the side.

"What!" she can't be serious! she knows I hate mashed potatoes, she couldn't just cook something else. Before I could say anything my mom beat me to it.

"I know you're gonna say you don't want mashed potatoes but we can't keep eating spaghetti everyday and besides it's been long we ate mashed potatoes"

"But mom.............." I tried to protest but she gave me a Stern look. It seems I really have no say in this,her mind's made up.

"Quit putting on a grumpy face, help me peel the potatoes"

I went over and started peeling the potatoes when...........

"Ouch" I yelled as the knife cut my finger

"Oh my goodness! how did you hurt yourself?"

Isn't it obvious, I mentally muttered, with a healthy dose of sarcasm.....

"Don't worry anymore about the potatoes Lyra, I'll take care of it, go treat your wound"

I sighed, rinsing my finger under the sink. The cut wasn’t deep, but for some reason, my whole body felt… off. Dizzy. Heavy. Like something was pressing down on me.

And then—it hit me.

A blinding pain exploded in my skull, sharp and unbearable. I gasped, dropping the towel as my knees buckled. My hands flew to my head as if trying to keep it from splitting apart.

Thud.

I collapsed to the floor.

Then, the world around me faded.

And I saw it.

FLASHBACK

I was small. A little girl, barely five.

The night was cold, and the moon above me was full—just like tonight.

I clung tightly to a man—his silver hair just like mine, his golden eyes filled with urgency.

"Daddy!" My tiny voice trembled.

He crouched down, his hands firm on my shoulders. "Lyra, listen to me." His voice was soft, but there was something desperate in it.

The sound of thundering footsteps filled the night. People in black cloaks rushed toward us, their faces hidden in the shadows.

They were coming.

My father’s grip on me tightened. "No matter what happens, you have to be strong. Do you understand?"

Tears welled up in my little eyes. "But, Daddy—"

He placed a trembling hand over my heart. "Hide. Don’t come out. No matter what you hear. Promise me, Lyra."

I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. But I nodded.

He kissed my forehead and pushed me behind a thick tree, covering me with leaves. "Stay quiet. Stay hidden."

Then—he ran.

And then—

A scream.

A bloodcurdling, soul-shattering scream.

His scream.

And just like that—the memory shattered.

BACK TO REALITY

"LYRA!"

A voice. Shaking me.

My eyes snapped open, my chest heaving.

My little brother Noah stood over me, his face pale with panic. "What’s wrong with you?!"

I blinked, my body trembling. The headache was gone, but the memory?

It wasn’t just a dream.

It was real.

Noah was still staring at me, his eyes wide with worry.

"Lyra, what just happened? You scared me—"

But I wasn’t listening.

My heart pounded in my chest. My father—he wasn’t the man I grew up calling ‘Dad’.

The memory was too real. Too vivid. And my mother had to know something.

I shot up to my feet, ignoring Noah’s protests, and stormed into the kitchen.

"Mom!" My voice was sharp, demanding.

She turned, startled by my sudden entrance. "Lyra? What’s wrong?"

"Who is he?" I snapped.

Her brows furrowed. "Who?"

"My real father." The words tasted foreign on my tongue, but deep down, I knew they were true. "Tell me the truth, Mom. Who was he?"

Her hands froze mid-motion, still holding the wooden spoon she’d been stirring with.

A flicker of something crossed her face. Guilt? Fear?

But then—it was gone.

She shook her head, forcing a small, unnatural laugh. "Lyra, what are you talking about? Your father is your father—"

"No, he’s not!" I slammed my hand on the counter, my breathing ragged. "I remember, Mom! I remember a man with silver hair—just like mine! He called me his daughter!"

For a split second, I saw it again. That look in her eyes.

She knew.

She knew exactly what I was talking about.

But she quickly turned away, her back now facing me. "You're imagining things, Lyra."

"Stop lying to me!"

My voice broke, frustration bubbling into something close to desperation.

"Just tell me the truth!"

But my mother—the one person who was supposed to be honest with me—just kept stirring the damn pot of mashed potatoes.

"There's nothing to tell, Lyra"