The air in the Blackwood Pack territory always tasted of pine and ancient secrets, but today, it carried the bitter metallic tang of a coming storm. For Lyra Thorne, the atmosphere was more than just weather; it was a reflection of the suffocating pressure mounting in her chest.Today was her eighteenth birthday.In the world of the Shifters, eighteen was the threshold. It was the day the wolf finally fully merged with the human soul, the day the "scent" matured, and most importantly, the day the Moon Goddess whispered the name of one’s fated mate. For most, it was a day of celebration, of floral garlands and heavy casks of ale. For Lyra, it felt like a sentencing.She stood by the frost-cracked window of the kitchen, her fingers tracing the rough grain of the wooden counter. At eighteen, she was still small, her frame lacking the lithe, muscular grace of the other she-wolves in the pack. While the others radiated health and a primal, intoxicating aroma, Lyra smelled of nothing but th
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