Chapter 4: The Sound of Silver

 

The following morning, the Citadel did not wake to the sound of birds, but to the rhythmic, bone-jarring thrum of training daggers hitting target dummies.

I stood in the center of the subterranean training hall, my chest heaving. Sweat slicked my skin, and my muscles burned with a fatigue I had never known. The training armor they had strapped me into—lightweight dragon-hide, black as coal—felt heavy and unnatural.

"Again," Lucien’s voice cut through the air, cool and detached.

He stood ten paces away, his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't lifted a finger to help me, yet his presence was a constant, crushing weight that forced me to be better.

I lunged forward, blade outstretched. I was fast—faster than any omega had a right to be—but Lucien didn't even shift his feet. He simply flicked his wrist, and the wooden training sword in his hand caught my blade, sending a jarring vibration up my arm that nearly made me drop it.

"You are fighting like a pack servant," he critiqued, his silver eyes cold. "You are waiting for permission to strike. You are waiting for someone to tell you where to stand. Stop."

"I am an omega!" I spat, panting as I circled him. "I spent my whole life being told to be quiet, to be small, to be invisible! You can’t just erase that in a night!"

Lucien blurred.

In a heartbeat, he was inside my guard, his hand wrapped firmly around my wrist, pinning it to my side. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. The scent of blood-wine and ozone was intoxicating, and for a second, I forgot to breathe.

"The girl who scrubs floors for crumbs is dead," he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You are standing in the Citadel of the Lycans. If you want to survive, you must kill the part of you that wants to be liked. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I breathed, my heart hammering against his chest.

"Then show me," he commanded, releasing my wrist and stepping back. "Don't fight me as a student. Fight me as the Moon Queen’s blood."

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, clearing my mind of the 'don't get hurt' mentality. I thought of the feeling of Kael's boot on my hand. I thought of the humiliation of that ballroom. I thought of the golden fire I had felt in the woods.

When I opened my eyes, the room seemed to sharpen. I could hear the heartbeat of every guard behind the stone walls. I could sense the shifting of the earth beneath the Citadel.

I didn't lunge this time. I flowed.

I moved with a predatory grace that wasn't mine—it was the wolf’s. I slid under Lucien’s guard, my blade singing as I swiped at his ribs. He parried, but I was already moving, twisting my body, sweeping his leg.

For the first time, Lucien’s composure cracked. He didn't just parry; he had to move. He leaped backward, his eyes widening with a flash of genuine surprise.

I didn't stop. I attacked with a ferocity that made the training blades spark against the stone. I was a blur of black leather and silver fury. I pushed him toward the wall, my movements becoming a dance of lethal precision.

I finally ended the spar with my blade pressed firmly against his throat.

The room went deathly silent. The guards, who had been watching in stony-faced indifference, were now leaning forward, their hands hovering over their hilts.

Lucien stared down at my blade, then up into my eyes. His lips curled into a slow, terrifyingly beautiful smile.

"There she is," he whispered.

Just as the adrenaline peaked, a high-pitched, harmonic ringing erupted in my ears. It wasn't sound; it was a psychic ripple.

My vision flickered. I saw the borders of the Lycan territory, far to the east. I saw a line of riders—Bloodstone warriors, led by Kael. They were moving at breakneck speed, their horses frothing, their scents dripping with desperation.

He is coming, the ancient voice inside me hissed. The fool comes to claim what he threw into the fire.

The blade dropped from my hand, clattering loudly against the stone. I stumbled back, clutching my head as a searing headache split my skull.

"Lyra?" Lucien was instantly at my side, his hands firm on my shoulders.

"Kael," I gasped, my voice trembling. "He's at the border. He’s brought the entire elite guard. They’re... they’re charging the gates."

Lucien’s expression darkened into something lethal. He looked toward the entrance of the training hall, where a captain of the guard was already running toward us, his face pale.

"Your Majesty," the guard shouted, bowing low. "The Bloodstone Pack has breached the outer perimeter. Alpha Kael demands to see the 'guest' in your halls. He says he is here for his mate."

Lucien didn't look at the guard. He looked at me. His silver eyes were no longer cold; they were burning with the promise of a slaughter.

He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering.

"He calls you his mate," Lucien said softly, his voice trembling with a dark, vibrating intensity. "But he is about to learn the difference between a claim and a conquest."

He turned toward the exit, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the floor.

"Let him come," the Lycan King commanded, his voice echoing like a death knell through the Citadel. "I have been looking for an excuse to burn the Bloodstone forest to the ground."

"Stay here," he added, glancing back at me. "And pray for your Alpha, Lyra. Because when I am finished with him, there will be nothing left but the ashes."

He strode out of the hall, his cape billowing like the wings of a demon. I stood alone in the center of the room, my hands still buzzing with the phantom fire of the awakening.

I was no longer the girl who ran.

I picked up the discarded blade, the weight of it feeling right in my palm. If Kael was coming to claim me, he was going to see exactly what he had discarded.

I followed Lucien out toward the gates, the ancient power in my veins finally beginning to howl.