The Alpha’s forgotten daughter

Lyra’s POV

My name is Lyra Ashwood, and today I turn eighteen — the day meant to decide everything.

To the pack, I am the Alpha’s daughter: a princess born into the bloodline of Kael Ashwood, the most feared and respected ruler among the packs.

Behind these walls, I am something else entirely. An unwanted shadow. A name spoken with pity instead of pride.

My mother died when I was two. I have no memories of her — only the absence she left behind, a shape no one else ever quite filled. My father remarried within the year.

The pack expected his new wife, our Luna, to become a mother to me. She never did. I call her Luna because respect costs me nothing. I have never once called her Mother, because she never gave me a reason to.

Life under her roof taught me the architecture of cruelty. The smallest mistake earned punishment swift and merciless. Often I hadn’t made a mistake at all she decided I had, twisted the truth until it fit her story, and let the pack believe whatever she needed them to believe. Guilt, in her hands, was something she could sculpt.

The worst part was never her. It was my father.

The rare times I found the courage to tell him what happened when he wasn’t watching, he would only smile that patient, maddening smile and tell me I misunderstood.

“She’s only trying to make you stronger, Lyra,” he’d say. “One day you’ll thank her. She wants you tough. Exceptional.”

I never believed him. Not once.

I watched my step-siblings stumble through their mistakes and be met with patience, with forgiveness, with love that asked nothing in return.

They were protected simply for existing. I was the Alpha’s daughter by blood alone — in every other way, an outsider standing just past the edge of belonging. If my own father could look past my suffering, why would anyone else bother to see it?

So today was never going to be an ordinary birthday. Today, before the sun went down, my wolf was supposed to wake.

Most wolves rise at fifteen. Those who wake that early are marked from childhood as the strongest of our kind — gifted, blessed, destined. My fated mate, Alpha Cassian Nightfang, was one of them; his wolf came to him on his thirteenth birthday, and the pack has spoken his name like a prophecy ever since. Fifteen is still considered healthy, still capable, if unremarkable. But seventeen, with nothing?

Seventeen means weak. A disappointment. A burden wearing a crown.

My brother Kieran and my sister Selene both woke their wolves the moment they turned fifteen, and the pack feasted for days in their honor. I waited for my turn the way you wait for a storm that never breaks.

Fifteen came and went. Nothing.

Sixteen. Still nothing.

Seventeen. Only silence.

That was when the whispers started, and once they started, they never really stopped.

She’s wolfless.

A disgrace to the bloodline.

Maybe the Moon Goddess simply passed her by.

The servants began to pity me, which was somehow worse than contempt. I have seen slaves treated with more dignity than I was given in my own home. The friends who once laughed beside me drifted away one by one, until there was no one left to drift. Even my siblings joined in eventually, trading jokes about me like currency, and the pack laughed along because laughing at me had become safe.

Every day I grew a little more invisible. A little more unwanted.

There is a place — Silvermoon Dominion Academy built long ago by the Lycan King and Queen for wolves like me: the late bloomers, the underpowered, the ones who needed to be taught how to sharpen whatever strength still slept inside them.

But the academy has one unbending requirement.

You need a wolf to begin with.

Without one, there is nothing left to train. If mine failed to rise today, even that last door would close, and I would be exactly what they’d always said I was. Nothing.

Only two people ever refused to believe that.

The first was my Future mate - Alpha Cassian nightfang, My Future mate. His wolf was out when he turned fifteen, he is indeed blessed and destined. Whenever I broke down, whenever the doubt became too heavy to carry alone, he would take my hands in his and speak like he already knew the ending.

“Your wolf will come, Lyra,” he told me, again and again. “And when she does, she’ll surprise every last one of them. I know it.”

He believed in me with a certainty I could never quite manage for myself.

The second was a voice I had never truly met. Her name was Nyra, and she had spoken to me exactly once.

I was sixteen, curled up alone in the dark, certain I would never become what I was born to be — when for the first time in my life, something moved inside my mind that wasn’t my own thought.

Don’t give up.

Believe in me a little longer. When the time comes, I will rise. We were built for something larger than you can see from where you’re standing.

Until then — endure.

She never spoke again after that. But I kept those five sentences the way other people keep photographs, worn soft from how often I returned to them.

Two years had passed since then. Today had to be the day.

I stood at my window and watched the sun climb toward noon, my hands trembling at my sides, my eyes drifting again and again to the grandfather clock against the far wall — its pendulum swinging with the same unhurried patience it always had, indifferent to what the hour meant for me.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Only moments now until noon. Until eighteen. Until the answer, whatever it turned out to be.

My heart was beating too hard to be comfortable, too hard to ignore.

I pressed my hands together and let the only prayer I had left slip out in a whisper.

Please. Don’t let them be right.

Please don’t let me be the wolf who never came.

Nyra — if anything you told me was true, please. Come to me now.….

******

I took a deep breath and stepped out into the cool morning air.

The first rays of sunlight spilled over the towering mountains, bathing the sacred grounds in a wash of gold. It was the Day of Awakening — the day every young werewolf spent their whole life waiting for, the day that decided who they would become.

One by one, those who had turned eighteen this year climbed the sacred platform carved into the mountainside to call forth their wolves before the entire pack.

At the foot of that platform, hundreds of pack members had already gathered, their voices rising and echoing across the valley as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

At the center sat the royal seats. My father, Alpha Kael Ashwood, occupied the throne-like chair reserved for the reigning Alpha.

Beside him sat Luna Seraphina Ashwood, dressed elegantly as always, a satisfied smile resting on her lips — the smile of someone already anticipating my humiliation.

About ten of us stood in line, waiting for our names to be called. I tied my hair back with a golden ribbon and slipped on a fitted black jacket, an extra set of clothes folded neatly in my arms in case my wolf finally decided to come.

Every werewolf carried one; shifting destroyed whatever you were wearing, and hope, apparently, required preparation.

I held the bundle against my chest like it might protect me from something.

Mira… please. Don’t disappoint me today. I’m so tired of fighting alone. Please come.

My silent prayer disappeared into the wind, the way it always did.

“Let’s begin!” my father announced, his voice carrying easily across the gathering. “The first to awaken today — Ethan Blackwood!”

A tall young man stepped forward, confident, unhurried, and the crowd erupted in cheers as he climbed onto the sacred stone.

My father nodded. “Ethan. Close your eyes. Search for your wolf, and let your soul become one with it.”

Ethan breathed in deeply and obeyed.

Silence fell over the mountain.

Then — crack.

A sharp snap split the air, followed by another, and another, the sound of bone rearranging itself beneath skin. His shoulders broadened. His spine arched. Muscle expanded across his frame as every part of him restructured into something new. Some in the crowd gasped; others only smiled, already certain of what they’d see.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest, and golden-brown fur broke through his skin as his hands folded into massive paws tipped in claws sharp enough to open stone.

Within moments, a magnificent wolf stood at the top of the mountain, and the entire pack answered with thunderous applause.

“Ethan! Ethan! Ethan!”

His parents rushed the platform, tears streaming, and pulled him into their arms the instant he shifted back into skin.

The celebration had already begun before the next name was even called.

It went on like that. One after another, each young wolf climbed the platform, each one answered, each one welcomed home with cheering loud enough to shake the valley.

Slowly, the line grew shorter. Before I fully understood what was happening, only two people remained ahead of me. Then one. Then none.

My heartbeat filled my ears like a second voice.

No. It can’t already be my turn.

“Next,” my father said. And then, without warmth: “Lyra Ashwood my daughter.”