Chapter 5: The whispers

LYRA

My lips still burned as I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the swollen outline where his mouth had claimed mine. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a brand.

His words played in my head like poison, repeating: every escape attempt, every act of defiance, every time you forget your place — it will end like this. I swallowed hard. He meant to break me, to show who I belonged to, but it felt less like a warning and more like a dark promise. He called me “little wolf.” I was trapped, but not tamed. Not yet. The emptiness inside me was not surrender.

The heavy oak door creaked open, snapping me from my thoughts. I flinched, bracing for him, but it was only the servant girl. She kept her eyes down, her nervousness clear, carrying a silver tray with clean linens, a wool dress, and a bowl of steaming water.

She walked to the bed without speaking, her steps careful, never meeting my eyes.

My voice was rough, nothing like my earlier screams. “You… you came back. I didn’t expect it.”

She kept her eyes down, set the tray aside, and picked up the damp cloth. Her touch was careful, almost apologetic, as she cleaned the scrapes on my arms from the struggle.

“The Alpha ordered fresh dressings,” she said softly, almost too quiet to hear. “And a change of clothes. Your comfort is important.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “My comfort? That’s what you call this? This is a prisoner’s comfort.”

“It is… what’s given to you now,” she said quietly, still working, eyes downcast.

The silence dragged on, heavy and tense. I watched her guarded face, a pang of guilt cutting through me. I remembered pushing her against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, the words rough and strange on my tongue. “For earlier. For lashing out. My defiance. I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

Her hands stopped for a moment, but she didn’t look up. “It’s forgotten. Your distress was… understandable, given the circumstances of your arrival.”

A flash of surprise hit me. “You say that like you don’t blame me. Most in this pack would call it defiance. An insult to his authority.”

She went back to cleaning the cut on my wrist. “My job is to take care of you, my lady. Not to judge the Alpha’s guests. You’re under his protection now. That’s all that matters.”

“Protection?” I scoffed, my voice sharp. “Or imprisonment? Does he even see a difference?”

She let out a faint sigh, barely noticeable. “There’s always a difference. Even in these walls.”

I studied her closely. Her quietness hid something—maybe understanding, maybe the same exhaustion I felt. I decided to push.

I said, my voice low, “Tell me… why are you so afraid of him? The Alpha? He’s a monster. He took me by force. He holds me captive and punishes me for daring to breathe.”

Her hands froze completely, the cloth hanging over my skin. She lifted her head at last. Her eyes didn’t meet mine fully, but I caught a flash—deep fear, and something else. Conviction.

“The Alpha is harsh. His ways are strict, sometimes merciless. But he is not without reason,” she said, her voice steadier now. “He carries burdens you don’t yet understand. He protects us.”

“He protects his power,” I snapped, the memory of his lips still burning on mine. “His control. His right to take whatever he wants, to make everyone fear him. That’s the truth, isn’t it? How can you call it protection when his very presence is a threat to my freedom?”

Her eyes flicked to mine for a moment, a desperate plea in them, before she looked away again. “His protection is what keeps the pack alive. What keeps us safe from the world outside. You see only his harshness because you’ve only felt his ways of control. But there is more. There has to be.”

There is more. The words stuck in my head. This girl, even with her fear, was trying to tell me something. I leaned in closer, lowering my voice to a whisper.

“More? What more could ever justify this cruelty? This control? He says I’m his, but all I’ve seen is his dark wants and need for power. Tell me what I don’t see. What threat is so great it makes this right?”

Her voice sank to a whisper, barely breaking the silence. She leaned in, pretending to fix the bandage on my wrist, her fingers brushing my skin on purpose. Her eyes flicked nervously to the closed door.

“You are new here, Lyra. You don’t know the dangers this pack faces.” Her whisper was quick and full of fear. “The Alpha handles them so we don’t have to. He carries the weight. He makes the hard choices that keep us ignorant… and safe.”

“What kind of threats?” I whispered, leaning close until our foreheads nearly touched. “What choices? Tell me straight.”

Her voice thinned to the barest breath against my ear, her gaze locking on mine for a fleeting, fearful instant. “Some threats wear familiar faces, my lady. They hide behind smiles, behind blood ties. Even family can bear fangs. Don’t forget that.”

The words lingered, cold and final. She jerked back, tearing her hand from my wrist as though scorched. Terror widened her eyes—no longer for me, but for herself. Her frantic glance snapped to the door.

“I… I’ve finished with your dressings,” she stammered, her voice thin and rushed. “The new dress is ready. It will… suffice.”

“Wait,” I pressed, my thoughts spinning. “What did you mean? ‘Family can have fangs’? Who are you talking about? Who here would—”

She gave the slightest shake of her head, fear hardening her features into a mask. Snatching up the soiled cloth and bowl with quick, uneven movements, she murmured, “I meant nothing. Just a saying. Please—forget it. I have to go.”

She was already backing away, heading for the door.

“Wait!” I reached out a hand. “Please. What is your name?”

She paused at the threshold, fingers tightening on the latch. Her head turned just enough to give me a fleeting glimpse of her profile, shadowed and unreadable.

“Elara,” she whispered, the name a wisp of sound. “My name is Elara.”

Then the door clicked shut and she was gone.

I was left alone once more. The chamber seemed to grow colder, the walls stretching wider, pressing down with menace. The Alpha’s possessive words still echoed in my skull, but now they tangled with Elara’s terrified whisper. Some threats wear friendly faces. Even family can have fangs.

My fingers brushed my lips once more. His taste lingered there still—a searing mark of possession. Yet now it was laced with something darker, far more perilous: a creeping premonition. The world I thought I knew had splintered, and the shadows within these walls had grown deeper, more treacherous than I dared imagine.