Lyra gripped the old pages of Whispers of the Old Moon, which had broken slightly. Hours had passed since the door to the Guest Den slammed shut, enclosing her in her anguish and increasing determination. The twilight deepened, but Lyra disregarded it and brought the little, flickering oil lamp closer. Her eyes, still heavy from weariness, devoured the thick English, looking for any abnormality, any reference to a tie torn by injury, or a second chance mate who arrived so abruptly.
The knowledge remained unaltered. A truly fated mate link, once established, was an unbreakable relationship formed by the Moon herself. Trauma may momentarily weaken, confuse, or even silence it, but it is never beyond repair. The only forces capable of carrying out such an act were black magic or the death of one of the lovers. Lyra was very much alive.
A knot of frigid certainty grew in her stomach. Thorne's logic was wrong. He either accepted a falsehood or was involved in one. The more she considered Elara's little grin, the more she suspected the latter.
Her stomach churned, a stark reminder of her damaged condition. She hadn't eaten since the incident. The warriors had placed a little basket of dry meat and fruit on the table to meet her necessities. She pushed herself to eat carefully, her thoughts racing over the antique script.
A faint knock resonated on the wooden door. Lyra halted, her hand instinctively moving to her side as if she were reaching for a weapon she didn't have. Who may visit her? She was expelled or exiled.
The knock returns, this time gentler and more hesitant. "Luna, Lyra?" "Are you awake?" The voice seems hesitant and familiar. Wren. The young healer.
Lyra had a burst of optimism. Wren was polite and genuine. Perhaps she conveyed information or apologized, suggesting that not everyone in the group had just turned their backs.
Lyra took a big breath. "Come in, Wren."
The door creaked open, showing a little, scared healer. Wren brought a warm cup of soup and a new set of bandages. Her eyes were wide and empathetic, focused on Lyra's pale face and the ancient book on her lap.
"Luna," Wren whispered, scarcely audible. " I just wanted to check in on you. And offer you the right nourishment."The Alpha said you should rest." Her eyes darted to the book. "Are you feeling well enough for reading?"
Lyra smirked cynically and without pleasure. "Wren, my thinking is clearer than it has been in days."Thank you for the broth." The dish in her hands felt warm, which provided some consolation. "Is everything... settled in the packhouse?"
Wren moved awkwardly. "It is as settled as it gets, Luna. The Alpha is particularly interested in Elara. She seems to be suffering from puppy sickness. "He spends a lot of time with her."
Lyra tightened her grasp on the bowl. Puppy illness. A helpful disease. "I see," Lyra said, her tone level. "And the pack? Are they pleased with the swift change?
Wren wrung her hands. "Some are, Luna." They follow the Alpha. However, others are murmuring. They remember you. They remember your heroics. "And the bond..." she stopped and inspected the ancient book. "Our relationship is strong, Luna."We all felt it."
"Indeed," Lyra said with chilly confidence in her voice. Tell me, Wren. Have you ever seen a friend's relationship completely shattered by injury? In all of the healer's writings and the knowledge handed down?
Wren paused, her eyes widening with horror. "No, Luna."Not ever."It's thought impossible, except by the darkest magic, or..." She glanced down at her hands and murmured, "...or death."
A little but crucial win resonated through Lyra. Confirmation. "And Elara."Have you, as a healer, evaluated her condition?" What about the pup?
Wren's anguish intensified. "Yes, Luna." The Alpha wanted a thorough inspection. She seems to be healthy. "The puppy is strong." She dropped her voice and leaned in. "But, Luna, there's something off. Her fragrance. It is unlike any other she-wolf in our woodlands. When I touched her, it felt frigid. "There is a strange stillness beneath her fur."
Lyra's eyes brightened. "A coldness?" Is there stillness? "Explain, Wren."
"It's difficult to describe," Wren whispered gently, looking around as if terrified of being heard. "It is like suppressed energy. She seemed to be hiding her actual self below something else. Luna's eyes seem too intelligent. "For someone who claims to be so timid."
A smirk. The cold gleamed. Wren had also seen it. "Has she ever shown any concern or confusion about her situation? Are there any issues with the mate bond?
Wren shakes her head. "No. Only allegiance to the Alpha. And a peculiar, almost compulsive need to satisfy him. She never questioned anything.
Lyra nodded slowly. Thank you, Wren. You've given me plenty to think about. We appreciate your discretion.
Wren, relieved, changed the bandages and provided further words of consolation before leaving the den.
Lyra was once again left alone, but this time, the stillness was not empty. It was filled with echoes of Wren's comments, which confirmed her fears. Elara was more than simply an unsuspecting pawn. She was something more, something controlled, and maybe even something commanding. And the puppy, who was already "strong," played a significant role in the deceit.
Lyra returned to Whispers of the Ancient Moon, her fingers flitting over the pages, looking for descriptions of repressed energies, magical overlays, and coldness under the fur. She was no longer only looking for answers concerning her relationship. She was looking for Elara's actual character and the malevolent energy that motivated her.
Hours passed in total darkness. Lyra discovered disturbing bits. Descriptions of ancient rituals, soul-binding spells that may conceal one's actual nature, strong items capable of altering a partner's perspective, and even disconnecting bonds without breaking them completely. It was dark, forbidden magic, only referenced in the oldest legends.
She felt a chilly dread descend over her gut. This was much more than a single broken connection. This was a plot, a cruel deed intended against the core of the Moonstone Pack, with Thorne and Elara playing as unknowing or willing accomplices.
A faint but noticeable scratching noise came from the window. Lyra halted, her wolf senses, however weakened, were on high alert. It was not a branch. It was rhythmic and purposeful.
She approached the window and pulled back the thick curtain. A person waited outside, cloaked in darkness. It was feminine and little.
"Elara."
Lyra's heart pounded. What was she doing here? What time is it now?
Elara carefully pounded the glass. Her face was pallid, her eyes wide, and the distant packhouse lights emitted a hazy light. She seems worried.
Lyra did not open the window. She merely stared, her eyes narrowing as she recalled Wren's remarks and the book's horrible content.
Elara clasped her hands over her lips and spoke through the glass in a strained whisper. "Luna Lyra, please." I need to talk with you. Alone. It's important. Regarding Thorne: "About... us."
The words had an instant appeal. Lyra's intellect sent a warning, indicating a trap. But a part of her, the desperate, suffering mate, wants answers and the truth.
Lyra's eyes went over Elara's ostensibly innocent, begging expression. Was this a real request for assistance, or was it a deliberate attempt to offer Lyra a false feeling of security? Lyra sensed conflicting desires inside her. Her instinct of self-preservation, heightened by betrayal, alerted her. Her need for the truth, to discover the depths of Thorne's duplicity, was a compelling motivator.
The air surrounding Elara shimmered faintly, producing a slight distortion Lyra could barely see in the dim lighting. It was nearly imperceptible a delicate, ethereal presence. Wren had seen the "coldness" and "stillness." A layer that offers protection. A cloaking spell.
Elara's eyes, riveted on Lyra, seemed to gleam with a weird, otherworldly light, no longer timid nor innocent. She smiled coldly, knowingly, and without joy.
"Don't you want to know the truth, Lyra?" Elara murmured, her voice no longer soothing but filled with horror and predatory joy. "The real truth about why Thorne chose me?"
The words sent shivers down Lyra's spine, and they had nothing to do with the chilly night air. This wasn't a bashful guest. It was a direct challenge. And it was a trap.
Lyra gripped the ancient book close. The option was clear. Step into the trap, or be ready for the next clandestine combat.
Elara's sinister smirk grew, and Lyra realized with a surprise that the struggle for her truth, as well as the spirit of the Moonstone Pack, had suddenly become much more perilous than she had anticipated.