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LYRA.

My feet left the ground as my body was slammed against the rough bark of a towering pine tree. My fingers clawed at the hand wrapped tightly around my throat, my nails scraping against unyielding flesh. Air refused to enter my lungs, and my vision began to blur as dark spots danced at the edges.

"Pathetic whore," a voice sneered cruelly, and the fingers let loose my throat only at the moment when the blackness of unconsciousness seemed to come and swallow me. I slumped on the ground, like a rag doll, clasping my neck and gagging for breath.

Above me, the jeering laughs of my bullies were grating, and nasty to hear.

"Why do we even bother? She's not even worth the dirt under our boots," a tall, broad-shouldered boy sneered.

"She's just a burden," another joined in.

"You should've died in your mother's place," Anna's cold voice cut through the rest, silencing them all in an instant.

I lifted my teary gaze to meet the smirk of the auburn-haired beauty. Anna stood with her arms crossed, her emerald eyes glinting with malice. Everything about her screamed perfection, the queen of the Pale-moon Pack. Dominance and grace oozed from her, traits I could only dream of possessing.

Sharp, the words cut deeper than the bruises dotting my arms and legs, the scars on my body and my soul.

Anna crouched down, grabbing my chin roughly and forcing me to look up. "What are you even still doing here? Your mother should've taken you with her when she died. You're cursed, a walking plague. Everyone knows it."

My lips quivered, but I said nothing, pressing them together. Words would only incite further cruelty.

Anna snorted scornfully and rose to her feet. "Come on, let's leave the witch to wallow in her misery."

The others followed, spitting at me as they passed. I flinched but remained where I was, my body aching and trembling. When the sound of their footsteps faded, I allowed herself a moment to cry. My tears dampened the dirt beneath me, mingling with the blood seeping from a cut on my forehead.

My mind's eye was suddenly filled with my mother's face-soft, loving eyes and the warmth of her laughter echoing in that small cottage they once called home. I fisted my hands against the sharp ache of longing. My mother had been the best of them all-strong, kind, and loved by all.

Until that day.

The day the rogues attacked.

My hand instinctively patted around my neck and grasped the crescent moon hanging around my neck, its cool surface a small comfort to the storm inside me. I was six years old and had been hiding behind my mother as chaos erupted. My mother had protected her by giving herself, so that I may live. The Pale-moon Pack, however, saw my survival as a curse.

They called me cursed. They whispered that I had brought death to the pack, that my inability to shift into my wolf form further proved me a witch. Even as a child, I'd been cast out, and ostracized by the very people my mother had died protecting and cared for.

Wiping my face with trembling hands, I pushed myself up to my feet. The pain in my side screamed with every movement, but I had duties to finish. Omegas didn't get breaks, even after being beaten.

I limped back towards the packhouse, catching whispers and glances from the rest of the pack. Some turned their backs to me, others sneered openly. I kept her gaze down, focusing only on the tasks ahead of me that I had to do. It was the only way I survived the days.

By the time night descended, my body was leaden with exhaustion, my soul heavy with memories and accusations. My fingers were raw from scrubbing packhouse floors, my legs barely holding me up after hours of running errands for pack members who never even thanked or acknowledged me.

The square was active, filled with people, as I made my way back to the cramped omega quarters. The cold wind nibbled at my exposed skin, and I wrapped my arms around myself, limping through the empty space.

I was so caught up in my reverie that I didn't see the tall figure until I collided with them. The impact sent me stumbling backwards, and a strong hand shot out to steady me.

"Watch where you're going, you—" the deep, commanding voice cut off abruptly.

I looked up and froze. My wide eyes met the piercing amber ones of Alpha Derrick, the towering leader of the Pale-moon Pack, his dark hair fell down to his shoulders and his chiselled features were stern and imposing. An aura of sheer power and arrogance wafted off him, making me shrink back instinctively.

"Alpha, I—I'm sorry," I stammered, my eyes hitting the ground. My heart galloped in my chest as fear and exhaustion culminated into a potent elixir of panic.

Then I felt it.

A fire spread through my chest, a burning deep inside me that quickly seeped into the very edges of my skin. It was like an invisible thread was strung between us, thrumming with energy that prickled my skin.

What…?" Derrick's voice came softer now, laced with confusion.

I dared glance up again and was met with shock equal to my own. His hand still rested on my arm, and the telltale glow in his eyes was unmistakable in this proximity to his face-the unmistakable glow of a mate bond beginning. A smattering of gasps fluttered through the square forgetting there were others anywhere.

"She's his mate?" it whispered, and the tone spoke of disbelief.

"No. It can't be."

"She's an omega! And cursed!"

At the murmurs, my heart fell as shock changed to dread. I wanted to run, to hide from all the stares and the tension growing in the air. But I couldn't move, couldn't tear my gaze from Derrick's.

The Alpha seemed just as surprised, his brows furrowing as if in an attempt to make sense of what was happening. His grip on my arm tightened slightly as if to anchor himself before he snatched his hand from mine as if I burned him.

"This…" he began, his voice low. He glanced at me, his lips curling slightly. Disgust? "There's got to be some sort of mistake. There has to be."

And my fractured heart fell all the way to my feet and shattered into a million pieces.