Chapter 1: dragged into darkness

Lyra’s POV

“You’re hurting me,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and splintered.

Jack doesn’t look at me.

“Good,” he mutters, and yanks harder.

My knees slam into jagged stone. Pain explodes up my legs, but it’s nothing compared to the fire tearing across my scalp as he drags me by the hair. My skin scrapes against the cold floor—stone soaked in blood, filth, and ancient cruelty.

I try not to cry. Goddess, I try.

But the tears come anyway—hot, angry, useless. They fall silently, mingling with the crimson dripping from my legs. I want to fight. To bite. To shift.

But I can’t.

The silver shackles around my wrists burn with every breath I take, dulling my senses, robbing me of strength. Of identity. Of everything that made me wolf.

And through the haze of pain, one question claws at the back of my mind:

How did I become a prisoner in the kingdom I once called home?

“I was just trying to find her. Just trying to bring her home before they did.”

Three years. That’s how long I’ve chased ghosts.

I’ve crossed abandoned villages, picked through burnt-out rogue dens, bribed traders, snuck through borders, even stood in the ruins of temples older than memory. All to find her.

Lira.

My twin. My mirror. My mistake.

I used to believe I’d feel her before I saw her—that some invisible thread would tug at my chest and say she’s here. But the truth is quieter, crueler. Each dead end stung worse than the last.

Until I found Jack.

He said he knew something. Said he could help. And for a while, I believed him. I wanted to. His voice was steady, his eyes kind—too kind. I mistook his silence for safety. I mistook him for hope.

Now he’s dragging me like garbage toward my execution.

And still—still—I think about her.

Where she is.

Who she’s become.

We were born cursed.

Twin daughters of a she-wolf who committed the unthinkable—she loved a human. Bore his children. Us.

When the Council found out, they branded her a traitor to the Lycan bloodline. They burned her in front of us. Said it was law. Said it was tradition.

I was five. Lira didn’t cry. I did.

That night, we ran. That night, we became shadows.

And they never stopped hunting us, not just because of what we were, but what we might become.

Two years ago, an entire noble Lycan family was wiped out. No survivors. A message left in blood:

We are the cursed daughters. We do not forget.

They think it was me.

But I know better.

It was her.

I came to the Lycan capital to find Lira before they do.

Instead, I walked into Jack’s trap like a lamb to slaughter.

And now? I’m being handed off like a package to someone even worse.

“Let me go! Let me go!” my words echoed, hollow and helpless. But Jack only sneered, his laughter a cruel reminder of my vulnerability, of the fact that, without my wolf, i was powerless against him. He dragged me towards a waiting van.

A man stands by the van, tall and still as a tombstone. Thick beard. Braided silver beads. Scar slicing across one brow.

“Is she the one?” the stranger asked, his voice as harsh as sandpaper. He didn't look at me as he spoke, as though I were nothing more than a cargo to be hanged off. Jack nodded quickly, as if ridding himself of me was a prize all its own.

The man steps closer. Pulled me up with one swift, his grip unyielding. He looked me over, studying me with a detached sort of curiosity. “No wolf?” he questioned, turning to jack.

“Twenty and empty,” Jack sneers. His tone dismissive, reminding them both that i was past the age to gain my wolf, and yet here i was, wolf less, magic less, little more than an ordinary werewolf in their eyes.

“She’s a lycan?” The man asked

Jack nodded again, almost smirking. “The last lycan Luna”

And at that, the stranger's mouth curled into a chilling smile.