The forest pulsed with life, ancient, mysterious and yet watchful. The wind carried whispers—of danger, of blood, of fate. Lyra Blackthorn crouched down at the edge of the glade, silver eyes narrowed slightly, breath hitching as pain lanced through her spine. Her bones were breaking. Shifting. Changing.
She screamed in agony.
It tore through the trees like a wild howl, startling crows from their perches. Her vision slightly blurred, has the world warping into jagged lines and surreal shadows. It was her first shift—long delayed, the way it was said to be at times for those with dormant power or tainted bloodlines. And Lyra, the last of the Blackthorn wolves, carried both.
She clawed at the dirt as her fingers elongated, her muscles spasming and reforming beneath her skin. The tattoo on her back—an ancient wolf etched in black ink—glowed with faint silver light. Her breath came in shallow yet painful gasps. The pain wasn't just physical. Something inside her soul was unraveling, shifting in tandem with her flesh.
Then, it was over.
She stood—on four legs. The wind kissed her fur, black as obsidian. Her nose twitched as new scents assaulted her. Trees. Blood. Moonlight. And then—
Him.
A scent unlike any other. Spiced cedar and lightning. Her wolf snarled, but her heart stuttered.
Mate.
"No," Lyra growled, though her voice came out as a guttural snarl. She forced herself back into human form, gasping on the ground as her body reassembled with sickening cracks. Naked, trembling, she clutched a blanket from her backpack and stumbled to her feet.
She couldn't be mated. Not now. Not to him.
Because she knew that scent. Everyone did. Damien Vale, Alpha of the Shadowclaw Pack—the same pack that had razed her family's home, slaughtered her parents, and made her go into years of hiding and isolation.
And fate had the gall to bind her to him.
what a cruel fate.
**
Later, in the hollow of an abandoned cabin deep in the woods, Lyra stared at the crescent-shaped mark now burned onto her collarbone. The mark of the Moon Goddess—a mate's bond made manifest. She scrubbed at it with all her strength, raw, until the skin broke.
It didn't fade.
it stayed, like a reminder of how cruel fate was.
She needed to run. She needed to disappear. Again.
But deep in her chest, her wolf purred.
Traitor.
She knew she couldn't go back to the village. If anyone saw the mark, questions would follow. And if they learned her mate was Damien Vale, they'd exile her—or worse.
She wrapped herself tighter in the blanket for comfort and stared into the dying embers of her small fire. Tomorrow she would leave. Cross the river. Head to the Northern borderlands where neither pack nor vampire would follow.
But alas tonight, she dreamed of crimson eyes.
**
Damien Vale stood on the balcony of his mountain stronghold, overlooking the thick canopy of trees that marked the Shadowclaw territory. The wind stirred his coat, and his crimson eyes flicked west—toward Blackthorn land.
His beast stirred.
He felt it the moment she shifted. A lightning bolt down his spine. A pull so strong, it nearly brought him to his knees. His mate.
He had never expected one. Not after what he had done. Not after the blood that stained his hands.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, has his jaw clenched.
"She's alive," he whispered.
He had seen the girl once, fifteen years ago, clinging to her mother's skirts with silver eyes wide with terror. Back when the war between packs had reached its peak.
She was the last. The prophecy was real.
He turned and strode back inside, orders already forming on his lips. "Find her," he commanded his Beta. "Bring her here. Gently, if possible. By force, if necessary."
The Beta, Aiden Gray, hesitated. "Are you sure? If it's her, she won't come willingly."
Damien's crimson eyes burned. "She's mine. And I'll do whatever it takes to prove she belongs here."
**
Lyra ran.
Three days. That's how long it took the patrols to close in. Her instincts were sharp, but she hadn't counted on them tracking her scent across the river.
They cornered her near the cliffs, three Shadowclaw wolves circling like vultures.
"Don't do this," she hissed, backing away.
But it was too late. A shadow dropped from the trees—and then he was there.
Damien.
Her mate.
He looked exactly like the rumors: tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like molten wine and voice like thunder. The mark on her collarbone throbbed.
"You're real," he murmured, staring at her like a starved man dying of thirst.
"Stay away from me." she said has her hand moved towards her bag.
He took a step forward. "I won't hurt you. I—"
She threw a knife which startled him. But It missed.
He sighed. "Lyra—"
"Don't say my name like you know me." she hissed out.
He halted, lips parting. "You know what this bond means."
"I know what your pack did." she countered back.
Silence.
The wind howled. Her heart beat like a drum. He could force her. She saw it in the set of his shoulders. But he didn't.
He bowed his head. in defeat has he resigned to fate
"Then I'll earn your trust. Even if it takes forever." he vowed with his fists clenched.
Lyra's breath hitched surprised at his word. Her wolf wanted to believe. Her mind screamed no.
So she turned and ran. Like she always did.
But fate had already woven their threads together. And the knot was getting pulled tighter.