The silence of morning in Ravenguard was deceptive, peaceful on the surface, but tense beneath, like a taut wire waiting to snap. Lyra felt it the moment they passed through the gates. Warriors lined the walkways like statues, their eyes following her every step as she walked beside Alaric, flanked by his Beta, Keira, and two scouts.
Her shoulders were stiff, but her chin stayed high. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her fold.
Word had traveled fast.
She'd survived a rogue ambush. Alone.
And now she was walking beside the Alpha, not behind him.
Alaric hadn't spoken much on the way back. He didn't need to. The others did it for him in whispers, in sideways glances, in disbelief. She'd seen Keira's glare sharpen each time Lyra met Alaric's stride instead of lagging behind.
The Bloodbond burned like a second heartbeat in her chest pulsing louder with every step toward the ceremonial grounds. She didn't know why he'd summoned the entire pack to gather. He hadn't told her. But instinct told her something was coming.
And it wasn't small.
The massive stone amphitheater, known as the Circle of Iron, loomed ahead. Built into the hillside, it was the heart of Ravenguard tradition. Only the most sacred announcements were made here territorial declarations, pack trials, execution orders.
And Bloodbond affirmations.
A hush fell as they entered. Hundreds of wolves sat in rough-hewn rows, eyes fixed on the Alpha. Murmurs rippled like distant thunder.
"Why is she here?"
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"She's not even one of us."
Lyra didn't flinch, but she felt it in her bones: the pressure, the challenge, the weight of their judgment. She'd faced death, betrayal, isolation. But this was a different kind of battlefield.
This was pride.
This was a legacy.
And Ravenguard didn't bend easily.
Alaric ascended the stone platform at the center of the Circle, his long coat catching the wind. He turned, an expression carved in stone, as his voice echoed through the crowd.
"Last night, rogues crossed our borders."
A low growl rippled through the audience.
"They attacked a patrol. They were hunting my bondmate."
Gasps. More whispers. Keira's expression tightened beside her.
"They didn't expect resistance. They didn't expect her to fight. But she stood her ground. And she didn't need saving."
Lyra's heart skipped, but she didn't move.
Alaric's eyes swept the crowd. "Some of you question the bond I've formed with Lyra Cross. You think it weakens me. That I should've left her to be judged and torn apart. But here's the truth"
He looked directly at her now, his voice dropping like a blade.
"I bound her because I saw something no one else did. Not prophesy. Not power. Survival. She has the will to endure what most of you never could."
The crowd shifted restlessly.
Alaric stepped down from the platform. The warriors parted as he walked through them, straight to Lyra. He didn't ask permission. He didn't explain.
He just gripped her arm and turned her to face the crowd.
She didn't resist.
"Bloodbond is not just a ritual. It's a mark. And I will not hide it."
The moment his hand rose to her collarbone, her breath caught.
His claws extended slightly not enough to cut deep, but enough to draw the thinnest line of blood.
A hush fell so deep it felt like the world held its breath.
He leaned in, eyes locked with hers. "You don't have to accept this," he murmured. "Say the word, and I won't mark you."
Her heart pounded like a war drum. Not from fear. From the choice.
Walk away… or own what had already begun.
Lyra didn't speak. She tilted her head instead.
That was all it took.
Alaric lowered his mouth to her skin, pressing his lips against the blood.
A searing warmth spread across her chest. It wasn't magic. It wasn't fate. It was finality.
The ancient symbol of the Bloodbond, drawn by bite and claw, now adorned her a crescent just below her collarbone, raw and red. It would scar, not heal.
A permanent reminder.
Gasps rang out. Some wolves rose from their seats. A few snarled openly.
One warrior stepped forward. "You mark her in front of the whole pack? A rogue-blooded stranger? You insult our Luna lineage!"
Alaric's voice boomed. "Challenge it, then."
The warrior hesitated.
"Now," Alaric growled. "Before all of them. Challenge the bond, challenge her, or shut your mouth and bow."
The warrior looked at Lyra, her eyes steady, her shoulders square, blood still fresh on her skin. Whatever he saw in her made him retreat without a word.
The Alpha turned again to the crowd. "She is Bloodbound. She is mine. That doesn't make her Luna. Yet. She still has trials to face. But you will treat her as one of us. Disrespect her again, and you answer to me."
He didn't wait for applause. There wasn't any.
Only silence. He'd made his statement not for their approval but for their submission.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, Alaric turned back to her. His hand brushed her collarbone again, thumb grazing the mark.
"You didn't have to accept it," he said softly.
"I know," she replied. "But I won't hide, either."
For the first time, his lips curved not quite a smile, but something close.
"You're dangerous when you're proud."
"And you're reckless when you're angry."
Their eyes locked in a storm meeting flame.
"Come," he said at last. "We're not done."
He led her from the Circle, the weight of hundreds of eyes still behind them, but Lyra felt lighter than she had in weeks.
Because today, for the first time, she hadn't been chosen.
She'd chosen back.