Chapter 4

POV: Amira Cross

The cold cut deeper than any blade. It chewed through the flesh on my feet, gnawed at the bones in my fingers, and sank into my lungs like a death sentence. Snow whispered around me like ghosts laughing, while blood—mine—streaked the white beneath me in crimson trails.

I didn’t know how many days I had been walking rather did I know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stop. Not until I collapsed or disappeared.

The chains had left angry welts around my wrists, long since rusted with blood and frost. Winter Hollow was far behind me, but the betrayal still clung like ash in my throat.

“You’re a Liar.”

That single word. The last I gave Ronan before they dragged me away. And still, he had just… watched.

The world blurred around me as the last of my strength buckled. My legs folded. My body met snow.

And then—

Voices. Rough. Unfamiliar.

“She’s alive?”

“Barely. Rogues will find her by dusk if we don’t move fast.”

“Wait—look at her eyes.”

A warm hand brushed across my face, and for a moment, I thought it was my mother. But then I fell into unconsciousness, and the warmth became shadow.

When I woke again, I was in a place that didn’t smell like smoke or blood.

It smelled like pine, moss, and something older—something sacred.

Rough-hewn stone walls surrounded me. Flickering torches cast dancing light, and a fire crackled in a pit near the center of the cave-like room. I was lying on a fur-covered cot, thick blankets pulled to my chin.

I shifted. Pain flared.

“She’s awake,” a voice said.

I turned my head slowly.

He stood tall, lean but strong, his silver-blond hair falling over one eye. A scar slashed across his brow. His presence radiated command, though his clothes were simple—leather, furs, travel-worn.

“I’m Lyric,” he said. “Leader of the Wildmoor Rogues.”

I still tried to filter the lights that pierced my vision, “I am Amira. Amira Cross.” 

“What a beautiful name you have.” He said with a smile tugged at his lips. 

“That’s your business,” I replied rudely, my lips were cracked. “But why? Why did you help me?”

“Didn’t do it out of kindness,” he muttered. “The woods whispered your name before I ever saw your face.”

He stepped closer, kneeling beside me. “Amira Cross. Banished Beta of Dawnshade, but that’s not all, is it?”

I didn’t answer. At this point, I couldn’t. I barely knew myself anymore.

“You’re being hunted,” he said. “And from the look of things, they won’t stop until you’re ashes.”

“Then why keep me alive?” I rasped.

Lyric’s gaze flickered. “Because dead girls don’t dream.”

Over the next week, I healed.

Sort of.

My body grew stronger. The wounds began to close. Lyric fed me herbs that tasted like fire and ash but cleared the fog in my brain. His people kept their distance, but they respected him—and by extension, left me alone.

But my dreams? They grew worse.

They weren’t just dreams anymore. They were memories. Too vivid. Too real.

Flames. Screams. A woman—my mother—pressing something into my hand.

A man with silver eyes facing down monsters that howled like broken wolves.

And always, the voice.

“Run, little star.”

It was during a rare moment of calm—when I’d stepped outside to breathe in the cold—that itappeared.

The wind stilled. The air shimmered. And then, from the edge of the forest, a great she-wolf emerged.

Not flesh. Not fur.

Spirit.

Translucent white, eyes glowing like pale moons.

I stumbled back. But her voice slid into my mind like warm honey over shattered glass.

“Bloodbound.”

“What are you?” I whispered aloud.

Her head tilted.

“You are. You were. You must remember.”

The world tilted.

“Remember what?”

But she didn’t answer. She turned and disappeared into the forest.

My legs moved before my mind did.

I followed her deeper than I should’ve gone. Past the sanctuary’s borders. Through snow-laden woods until the trees thinned—and I found them.

Ruins.

Ancient, stone-buried remnants of something once powerful.

A half-collapsed temple, its entrance cracked and covered in moss. In the center stood an altar, covered in unfamiliar runes. Cold light pooled on it from a break in the ceiling.

Something inside me pulled.

I stepped forward. Reached out.

The second my fingers touched the altar—pain erupted behind my eyes.

I screamed as memories slammed into me like a tidal wave.

Flames.

Laughter.

A lullaby.

A name. “Selene Harper.”

My knees hit the ground.

I was not Amira Cross.

I had never been.

I didn’t hear Lyric approach until his hand wrapped around my arm, yanking me away from the altar.

“What did you touch?” His voice was tight. Too tight.

“Do you know that name?” I gasped. “Selene Harper?”

He stiffened.

“That name died with the Eclipse Pack,” he said after a pause. “Along with everyone who bore it.”

I looked up at him.

“But it’s mine.”

Silence hung heavy between us.

He helped me to my feet, but his grip didn’t loosen. His eyes searched mine like he was looking for a ghost.

"Amira... if that's truly who you were..." he murmur

ed, voice barely above a whisper, "they'll kill you before you ever learn why."