FIRE IN GLASS

Tyra's POV

My skin was still burning where Osric's hand had been when I finally found a quiet corner near the tall windows and pressed my back against the wall.

I needed a minute. I needed to breathe air that didn't smell like him, and I needed my heart to stop behaving like it belonged to a lovesick teenager.

I didn't get either.

Alaric appeared beside me so silently that I didn't even hear him coming, like a shadow that had simply decided to take shape. 

The heavy tension that always followed him rolled through the air, and the handful of pack members standing nearby suddenly found urgent reasons to drift away.

"What was that?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the crowd instead of me.

"Conversation," I replied curtly, folding my arms across my chest.

"Public spectacle," he corrected coldly. "You're drawing attention we don't need."

The unfairness of it hit me so hard that I actually laughed, sharp and humorless.

"I'm drawing attention?" I repeated, turning to glare at him. "Your brother is the one who announced me to the entire hall. And what do you even care, Alaric? You've spent ten years acting like I don't exist."

His gaze finally snapped to mine, and it darkened.

"Because everything you do reflects on this family," he said tightly, his jaw working. "And because…"

He stopped abruptly, his teeth clenching so hard I could hear them.

"Because what?" I pushed, anger and something far more dangerous edging my voice.

He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his eyes, close enough that his scent wrapped around me, woodsmoke and sandalwood, rich and warm and nothing like the ice in his voice.

"Because I know how they see you," he said in a low, rough voice, "and I won't give them any more reasons to tear you apart."

The words stole the breath right out of my lungs.

"You think I can't handle gossip?" I asked, but my voice had lost all its bite.

"I think you shouldn't have to," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Not again."

Something fragile cracked open in my chest.

For half a second, his eyes softened. The ice melted away, and underneath it was something so raw and so unguarded that I forgot how to blink. 

Then his hand lifted, slowly, almost like he couldn't stop it, and his fingertips brushed along the line of my jaw.

It was the lightest touch, barely a whisper of skin against skin, but it set every nerve in my body on fire.

Heat shot straight down my spine and pooled hot and heavy between my legs. 

My lips parted on a soft, shaky breath, my nipples hardening painfully against my bra, and for one wild, insane moment, I wanted to turn my face into his palm and close my eyes.

He felt it too. I knew he did, because his breath hitched, his pupils swallowed the dark brown of his eyes, and his fingers trembled against my skin.

Then he snatched his hand back like I had burned him.

"Keep your head down," he muttered hoarsely, his breathing uneven.

I opened my mouth to snap at him, to demand what the hell that was supposed to mean, but by the time I found my voice, he had already turned and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there with my hand pressed to my jaw, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of announcements, instructions and rehearsals. Elders took turns at the podium explaining how pack members were expected to conduct themselves around the visiting guests. 

The hall filled with the hum of voices, the clatter of silverware and the rustle of elegant dresses as the families practiced their entrances.

I moved through all of it like a ghost. I helped wherever my hands were useful and avoided everyone else, especially two very specific people whose eyes I could feel following me no matter where I went.

By the time evening fell, I had ended up helping a group of omegas set up the tall, gilded mirrors along the far wall. It was simple, quiet work, and I was grateful for it. 

None of them whispered about me, and one of the older women even smiled at me shyly when I held a heavy frame steady so she could fasten it.

I was adjusting the angle of the last mirror when something moved in the corner of my eye.

I glanced into the glass, expecting to see my own reflection.

Instead, I saw trees.

A dark forest stretched across the mirror where the ballroom should have been, and a little girl was running through it.

She was barefoot, her dark hair flying behind her, her small chest heaving as she ran like something was chasing her.

My breath caught. I leaned closer without meaning to, because something about her looked painfully familiar.

Then flames erupted across the glass.

They roared up out of nowhere, swallowing the trees and the little girl and everything else, so bright and so real that a wave of heat slammed into my face. 

I let out a sharp yelp and stumbled backward, throwing my arm up to shield my eyes.

"Tyra?" Osric called, but his voice sounded strangely distant, like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

I tried to answer him, but the floor tilted violently beneath my feet.

The chandelier lights above me were suddenly far too bright, every glittering crystal shattering the light into a thousand pieces, and those pieces began to swirl in the air in front of me.

They twisted and spun until they formed a shape I knew better than my own face.

It was a cracked moon.

It was the same symbol I had drawn over and over as a child until my mother hid all my crayons, the same one that had haunted every nightmare I'd had for twenty years. 

It was the mark that had been burned into the wrist of the masked man who reached for me in that bathroom stall, right before my father died.

Pain lanced through my ribs, hot and bright and unbearable, and I staggered back, clutching my chest.

"Tyra!" both twins shouted at once, their voices finally cutting through the haze.

A strong hand caught me just before I hit the floor, and the scent of woodsmoke and sandalwood cut straight through the chaos, grounding me. I knew it was Alaric before I even opened my eyes.

I gripped his arm with all my strength, my eyes wild and unseeing. "I saw it," I gasped, my voice cracking. "The symbol, it was there again—"

"Breathe," he ordered roughly, though his voice stayed calm and steady. "Just breathe for me, Tyra."

But my body refused to obey. Panic clawed its way up my throat, and the image of my father's blood flashed behind my eyelids again and again.

"It's happening again," I whispered brokenly.

Alaric's arms tightened around me, and then Osric was there too, dropping to his knees beside us and grabbing my hand in both of his.

"Focus on our voices, baby," Osric pleaded urgently, squeezing my fingers. "Just our voices. We're right here."

I clung to the sound of them like a lifeline. Slowly, little by little, the room stopped spinning, and I blinked my way back to the present.

Both twins were staring down at me, their faces stricken with fear. Around us, I could hear the murmurs of the gathering crowd.

"What happened?" Osric asked, his voice shaking.

"I…" I started, but another wave of pain hit me before I could finish.

This time, warmth followed right behind it.

A faint silver glow began to pulse beneath my skin, spreading slowly across my chest like fire trapped beneath glass. I stared down at it in horror, unable to look away.

Alaric's breath caught sharply, like he had felt it too. "Tyra…" he whispered.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the glow faded, leaving me dizzy and cold.

A heartbeat later, every chandelier in the hall blazed with a sudden, blinding brightness.

Gasps and cries erupted all around us as everyone threw their hands over their sensitive eyes.

And the last thing I saw was black.