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I had been walking on air all day.
Owen had asked to speak with me. Owen. I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head. Maybe, just maybe, this was it. Maybe he’d finally see me…not as just the Alpha’s daughter, or the girl who hovered around him quietly…but as the one who had always been there. The one who loved him. The one who would have given him everything. When I spotted him across the clearing, my heart jumped. He looked like a storm…jaw clenched, arms crossed, his entire body radiating tension. Still, I smiled. I tried to believe there was something behind the cold mask he wore. Something soft. Something that maybe, just maybe, had started to care. I took a tentative step forward, heart thudding. “Owen,” I breathed, reaching out. He stepped back like my touch would poison him. “Don’t,” he snapped, voice flat and sharp. My hand dropped. My chest tightened. "Lyra," he said, and even the way he said my name sounded like an inconvenience. “We need to talk.” “I’m listening,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice from cracking. His eyes were everywhere but on me. He stared at the trees, the ground, even the clouds…but not once did he meet my eyes. Like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t even worth looking at. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, arms still crossed. “About our packs. About you. About this… mistake.” My lips parted slightly, confusion setting in. “Mistake?” “This…whatever this was supposed to be. The bond. You,” he spat. “None of it makes sense. And it never will.” My throat tightened. “Owen…” “You’re a charity case,” he cut in. “Everyone knows it. You trail behind me like some pathetic shadow, always watching, always hoping. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting.” A sharp sting hit the back of my eyes, but I held it in. I wouldn't cry. Not yet. Not in front of him. “My father’s pack is struggling,” I said, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “But that doesn’t mean I am. I’m not weak.” “You're nothing, Lyra.” His voice was like a blade. “Your pack is a disaster. Your bloodline is tainted by failure. And you? You’re dull. Predictable. Forgettable.” I blinked hard, forcing back the moisture in my eyes. My chest burned. My lungs felt tight. Still, I stood straight. “I don’t understand,” I said softly. “Why now? Why are you saying this now?” He finally looked at me. There was no warmth in his eyes. No remorse. Only disgust. “Because I’ve wasted enough time pretending,” he said. “Selena’s back.” The world dropped out from under me. “She left you,” I said quietly, the words barely forming. “She walked away from you. You broke down because of her. I was there. I…” “And I’d still choose her a thousand times over you,” he said, mouth twisting into a cruel grin. “You were a placeholder. A distraction. I never wanted you.” I took a shaky breath. My eyes were wet, the tears now threatening to fall, but I held them back. I refused to let him see them. “I was good to you,” I whispered. “I stayed. I waited. I tried.” “And I hated every second of it,” he snapped. “You’re always waiting around like a lost pup, clinging to the smallest shred of attention like it’s love. It’s pathetic.” I felt Nira growl within me, but her strength was faint…crushed beneath the weight of our shared heartbreak. “You’re rejecting me,” I said. “Aren’t you?” “I should’ve done it a long time ago,” he said, and then leaned closer, his voice low, venomous. “I reject you, Lyra of the Blueclaw Pack. I reject you, your weak blood, your desperate little heart, and everything you thought this was. I want nothing to do with you…not now, not ever.” His words hit like a storm, one after the other, tearing through the bond I had cherished for so long. Every part of me screamed. Every breath hurt. The tears were there, hot and heavy in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. He wasn’t worth that. “I accept your rejection,” I said, though my voice trembled. “And one day, Owen…you’ll realize what you lost.” He let out a short laugh. “The only thing I’m losing is dead weight.” I watched him turn his back on me without a second thought. No hesitation. No guilt. Just like that…he walked away. And I stood there…trembling, broken, but still not crying. Not yet. I wouldn’t give him that. Nira’s voice rose inside me, it was low but filled with rage. ‘We’ll rise, Lyra. We’ll become everything he said we couldn’t. And he’ll hate himself for ever speaking to us like that.’ And I swore then and there…I would make Owen regret every single word.LYRA’S POV"He’s doing it again, Killian. Look."I leaned against the balcony railing of the high tower, my hair whipping around my face in the sharp mountain air. Below us, the training grounds of the Blackwood Manor were a hive of motion. But my eyes weren't on the seasoned warriors or the new recruits from the Ghost Pack. They were on the boy standing in the center of the stone circle.Cian was seven now. He had Killian’s broad shoulders and my stubborn jaw, but when he moved, he had a grace that didn't belong to either of us. He wasn't holding a wooden practice sword like the other pups. He was just standing there, his small hands open, his silver eyes fixed on a massive jagged boulder that had sat in that courtyard since before my grandfather was born.Killian stepped up behind me, his chest warm against my back. He wrapped his heavy arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. He smelled like leather and the sharp, clean scent of the first winter frost."He’s not just
LYRA'S POV. "You look like a Queen, but you still smell like a wet dog, Lyra."I looked up from the mirror, a small, tired grin tugging at my lips. Sora was leaning against the heavy oak doorframe of my dressing room, her bone spear resting casually against her shoulder. She had cleaned up...sort of. The thick layer of mountain mud was gone, but the scars on her face were as red and angry as ever, and she still wore her leather armor like a second skin."It’s the wolf in me, Sora," I said, smoothed down the front of my dress. It was a deep, velvet green, the color of the pine needles in the heart of the Blackwood forest. It was heavy, warm, and far too expensive for a woman who had spent the last month sleeping on stone floors. "Besides, Killian doesn't seem to mind the smell."Sora snorted, walking into the room with that silent, predatory grace that made the Ghost Pack so terrifying. She stopped in front of me, her good eye scanning my face. She reached out, her rough, calloused th
Killian’s POV. "He’s got your stubbornness, Lyra. Look at how he’s gripping my finger. He won't let go."I didn't move my hand. I couldn't. I just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at the tiny, breathing miracle tucked against Lyra’s chest. The silver in his eyes was fading now, turning into a deep, stormy gray, but the power I’d felt from him...the spark that had pulled me back from the edge of the Void...was still there. It was a physical thing, a warmth that made the air in the room feel thick and sweet.Lyra let out a tired, shaky laugh. She looked exhausted, her hair a wild mess of damp curls, her skin pale. But she looked at the boy with a hunger that made my chest ache. "He’s a Blackwood, Killian. What did you expect? He’s already decided he owns the place.""He does," I whispered. I leaned down, my lips brushing her forehead, then the top of the boy’s velvet-soft head. He smelled like new life and mountain rain. "The whole North is his. We just have to make sure there
LYRA’S POVThe aftermath of a war doesn't look like a victory. It looks like a graveyard.I sat on the cold stone floor of the fortress courtyard, my legs tangled with Killian’s. He was alive, his heart thumping a slow, steady rhythm against my side, but the weight of the silence around us was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of ozone from the broken staff and the metallic tang of blood that had soaked into the very pores of the mountain."Lyra," Killian rasped, his hand tightening around mine. His voice was still thin, his throat raw from the scream the Void had pulled out of him. "The baby. Is he...?"I rested my hand over the bump of my stomach. The silver glow had faded, but a warm, humming energy remained, like the embers of a fire. "He’s sleeping. I think he used everything he had to bring you back."Killian leaned his head back against a jagged piece of the gate, his gold eyes scanning the carnage. A few feet away, Silas Vane’s body lay twisted in his blackened arm
LYRA’S POVThe silver horn blew one last time, but it wasn’t a call to arms. It was a death rattle.I shoved through a wall of smoke and the smell of burnt hair, my heart thumping so hard I thought it would crack my ribs. The fortress courtyard was a graveyard of broken shields and shattered stone. The Council had brought everything...siege engines, fire-casters, and five hundred men in gleaming plates. But they hadn’t counted on the ghosts. Sora’s pack was everywhere, a blur of teeth and jagged bone spears, tearing through the "civilized" army like a winter storm through a dry wheat field."Killian!" I screamed, my voice cracking.I didn't care about the stray arrows or the dying soldiers reaching for my ankles. My eyes were locked on the center of the chaos. There, standing over the rubble of the main gate, was a man I barely recognized.Silas Vane didn't look like a diplomat anymore. He was wearing heavy, silver-plated armor that looked like it had been molded onto his skin. In his
LYRA’S POV"Move, Lyra! Don't look back!"Killian’s hand was a vice around my wrist, pulling me through the thick underbrush. The branches slapped at my face, stinging my cheeks, but I didn't feel the pain. My lungs were on fire. Every breath felt like I was swallowing jagged glass. Behind us, the sound of that silver horn was still shaking the trees, a long, mournful note that felt like a funeral march."They're gaining," Rowan gasped. He was stumbling behind us, his face white as a sheet, his glasses lopsided. He was clutching that charred scrap of the map like his life depended on it...and it did. "I can hear the horses. Those aren't normal horses, Killian. They're moving too fast.""I know," Killian growled. He stopped for a split second, his head turning toward the ridge. His nostrils flared, his eyes turning that hot, dangerous gold. "The First Knight. He’s not here to talk. He’s here to harvest."We dove down a steep embankment, sliding through the mud and dead leaves. I hit th
Killian's POV. I hadn’t slept well in days. Not since Rowan had stared me down in that dorm, not since he had dared to call me out, to challenge me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him...smirking, calm, daring me to move, daring me to act. Mine. Mine, and yet… I hated him.Leading him and the o
Killian’s POV. I didn’t even have time to shout a warning before the first scream ripped through the trees. One second I was staring at the treeline, smelling that foul, rotten scent of rogues, and the next, the forest literally exploded with fur and teeth. They didn’t come at us like a normal
Killian's POV. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I watched them flail. The Alpha Heirs...my so-called elite trainees...struggling like newborn pups on the climbing rig. They groaned, slipped, grunted, muttered excuses. Some even laughed at each other’s failures. I could feel m
Lyra's POV. The past few days had been brutal. Every morning I woke with muscles screaming, lungs burning, hands blistered from rope and grip, legs trembling from running drills I didn’t think I could survive. Yet every time I finished, the whispers followed. Some impressed. Some annoyed. A few lo







