What the Alpha Takes, the Pack Must Accept

  Lyra drifted in and out of consciousness to the steady rhythm of Tyler’s heartbeat.

  It was slow. Controlled. Unyielding.

  She became aware of movement first, the sensation of being carried jarring against the raw injuries lining her back and ribs. Each step sent a dull ache through her body, but strong arms kept her from falling, from being jostled the way she would have been if anyone else held her.

  She hated that her body noticed.

  When her eyes finally opened, torchlight blurred above her. Stone walls passed overhead, familiar but different. Wider corridors. Cleaner. Quieter.

  This wasn’t the holding level.

  Tyler pushed open a heavy door with his shoulder and stepped inside. Warmth washed over Lyra immediately, thick and heavy with the scent of firewood and leather. The door shut behind them with a solid thud.

  Tyler’s quarters.

  Her breath caught.

  He carried her deeper into the room and laid her down on a wide stone table near the hearth. The surface was cool beneath her, grounding. Her muscles screamed in protest when he released her, but she bit back a sound.

  Tyler straightened slowly, eyes scanning her injuries with a sharpness that missed nothing.

  “You should have fallen,” he said.

  Lyra managed a weak smile. “I’ve been told that before.”

  His gaze flicked to her face. “You didn’t.”

  “No,” she agreed. “I didn’t.”

  Silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy.

  Tyler turned away abruptly and crossed the room, pulling a flask from a shelf and setting it beside her. “Drink.”

  She eyed it warily. “Poison?”

  “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Fair.

  Lyra pushed herself up enough to take the flask, fingers trembling. The liquid burned as it went down, warmth spreading through her chest. She exhaled shakily.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  Tyler returned, holding a cloth and a small jar. “Now the pack watches.”

  He dipped the cloth into water and pressed it to her shoulder without warning. Lyra hissed, pain flaring bright and sharp.

  “Careful,” she snapped.

  “I am,” he replied. “If I weren’t, you’d already be unconscious.”

  She glared at him, but the edge dulled quickly as exhaustion settled back in.

  “You made a choice,” Tyler said, cleaning the blood from her skin. “You stood when the pack wanted you broken.”

  “I didn’t do it for them.”

  “I know.”

  That acknowledgment unsettled her more than the pain.

  “They’ll talk,” he continued. “Some will call you dangerous. Others will call you useful.”

  “And you?” Lyra asked quietly.

  His hands paused for a fraction of a second. “I’ll call you mine.”

  The words landed like a blow.

  She stiffened. “You don’t own me.”

  “I own this territory,” Tyler said evenly. “And everything within it that threatens my pack.”

  “I’m not a thing.”

  “No,” he agreed. “You’re leverage.”

  Anger flared hot in her chest. “You keep saying that like it justifies—”

  “It explains,” he cut in. “Ronan Crowe will hear what happened tonight. He’ll hear that an omega survived Black Fang’s trial ground and walked out alive.”

  “I didn’t walk out,” she said dryly.

  Tyler’s eyes met hers. “You stood.”

  The bond pulsed between them, warm and insistent, reacting to the closeness. Lyra clenched her jaw, fighting the pull.

  “You think he’ll come for me?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll let him.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  She laughed softly, bitter. “You’re using me to draw him out.”

  “Yes.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  Tyler set the jar down and straightened. “You asked for survival. This is the price.”

  Lyra’s gaze hardened. “You said if I survived, you owed me.”

  “I said you’d have your chance,” he corrected.

  “And this is it?”

  “No,” he said. “This is the beginning.”

  Footsteps echoed outside the door.

  Mara Vale entered without knocking, her expression unreadable. She stopped short when she saw Lyra on the table and Tyler standing close.

  “The pack is restless,” Mara said. “They want to know what this means.”

  Tyler didn’t look away from Lyra. “It means she stays.”

  Mara inhaled slowly. “Publicly?”

  “Yes.”

  That earned Tyler’s full attention. He turned sharply. “Explain.”

  “The trial changed the balance,” Mara said. “Some are afraid of her now. Others are afraid of you for intervening.”

  Lyra swallowed. “So what do they want?”

  Mara hesitated. “They want to see the bond acknowledged.”

  The room went still.

  Tyler’s jaw tightened. “That won’t happen.”

  “They won’t accept her presence otherwise,” Mara said. “Not without a signal.”

  Lyra’s pulse spiked. “What kind of signal?”

  Mara’s gaze slid to Lyra’s collarbone, where the faint glow of the bond still pulsed beneath her skin. “A claim mark.”

  Lyra sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”

  Tyler turned on Mara. “That’s not on the table.”

  “The pack doesn’t see it that way,” Mara replied calmly. “And Ronan won’t either. He’ll test whether the bond is real.”

  Tyler’s hands curled into fists.

  Lyra pushed herself up, ignoring the protest from her wounds. “You said you control this situation.”

  “I do,” Tyler said.

  “Then prove it,” she shot back. “Without marking me like property.”

  His gaze snapped to her. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  “I understand exactly,” she said. “Once you do that, there’s no pretending this is strategy.”

  Mara watched the exchange closely. “If the bond remains unclaimed,” she said, “the pack will fracture. And Ronan will strike.”

  Tyler turned away, pacing once, then stopping abruptly. He looked back at Lyra, eyes dark and calculating.

  “There’s another option,” he said.

  Lyra’s stomach tightened. “Which is?”

  “We announce you as under my protection,” Tyler said. “Not my mate. Not my possession.”

  “And that will be enough?” Mara asked.

  “For now,” Tyler said. “It tells the pack you’re untouchable. And it tells Ronan that hurting you is a declaration of war.”

  Lyra searched his face. “What’s the cost?”

  Tyler met her gaze steadily. “You stay close. Visible. Where everyone can see you.”

  A chill slid down her spine. “You’re putting a target on my back.”

  “I already did,” he replied. “This just makes it intentional.”

  Mara nodded slowly. “The pack will accept that.”

  “And Ronan?” Lyra asked.

  Tyler’s mouth curved into a thin smile. “He won’t.”

  Mara turned to leave, then paused. “You should know,” she said quietly, “the elders are watching you both now.”

  When the door closed, Lyra exhaled shakily.

  “So,” she said, voice low, “I’m your shield.”

  “And my weakness,” Tyler replied.

  She looked at him sharply. “You admit that?”

  “I plan for it,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

  The bond flared again, warmer this time, more insistent. Lyra felt it coil tight around her chest, binding her to him whether she wanted it or not.

  Tyler reached out and brushed his knuckles lightly against her wrist, not touching the bond mark, but close enough that her breath hitched.

  “Rest,” he said. “Tomorrow, the pack sees you at my side.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  His eyes locked onto hers. “You won’t.”

  Lyra lay back slowly, exhaustion dragging her under again. As her eyes closed, one thought burned through the haze.

  Tyler Vorthrane wasn’t claiming her with teeth and blood.

  He was claiming her with visibility.

  And that, somehow, felt even more dangerous.