CHAPTER 2

THE LAND PROHIBITED 

Lyra staggered forward, her bare feet sinking into the wet ground as the screaming wind nipped at her flesh. She had struck the ground hard after being thrown out by the Bloodmoon Pack's guards, scraping her hands on the rocky rocks near the edge. And she was here now. at the Forbidden Lands' boundary. This place was never visited. Even the most courageous wolves dared not go there since it was a realm of myths and nightmares. Dark and ancient, the forest towered over her, its gnarled trees reaching out like skeleton fingers into the sky. There was a spooky silence as a dense fog twisted across the bush. No birds. No leaves rustling. Just a strange silence. 

The terrain itself seemed to be keeping watch. Shivering, Lyra put her arms around herself. She still felt the sting of rejection in her chest, a sharp pain that would not go away. She saw Damien's face each time she closed her eyes. his expression's hardness. How he'd turned away without thinking. He had dismissed her as though she were inconsequential. She felt a new wave of anguish slam over her, but she was at her breaking point. She had lost her mate, her pack, and her home. And now she was by herself. She jolted to attention at a distant rustling sound. Her heart raced. Out there was something. Scanning the dense darkness, she turned slowly. 

peering through the dense shadows. The fog billowed, parting just enough for her to catch sight of them.

Luminescent eyes.

One set. Then another.

Then… numerous.

A deep growl echoed through the stillness, and Lyra's breath caught in her throat.

Outcasts.

A dozen emerged from the gloom, their shapes hardly discernible under the moon’s glow. Their fur was filthy, their claws menacing, and their yellowed fangs exposed in grotesque smirks.

The stench of rot lingered around them.

"Well, well," one taunted, his tone rough. "Seems we’ve stumbled upon a little lost pup."

The others laughed ominously, their hunger unmistakable.

Lyra gulped nervously, taking a tentative step back. She felt weak, drained, and inexperienced. She had never been a fighter—her pack had never even allowed her the chance.

There was no way she could repel them. Another rogue snarled, "Look at her," and moved in closer. "Smells like pack blood, but she’s alone." "Maybe she ran away?" "Maybe her pack abandoned her." The leader's visage broke into a ruthless smile. It doesn't matter. She is now ours. Lyra's instincts cried out the instant he lunged. Her body was too weak and too slow for her to run. She stumbled and fell to the ground, gasping. Her throat was within millimeters from the rogue's claws when— She saw a silver blur fly by. The air echoed with a horrible crack. As the rogue's body was hurled across the clearing and struck a tree with such power that splinters flew, Lyra's eyes widened. What? From the shadows, more individuals appeared, 

They weren't rogues, though. They moved too precisely and too synchronizedly. Additionally, their eyes They had a dazzling silver shine. One of them moved forward, a woman with long white hair and a commanding presence. Her eyes locked on Lyra's wrist, and her face changed into an unintelligible look. With a whisper, "You bear the mark," she said. Lyra's body went out before she could even comprehend what she was saying. The woman's sharp silver eyes were the last thing she saw before the darkness engulfed her.

Then—nothing.

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