~ Lyra (Selene)
Frostfang Mountains loom over me, their jagged peaks clawing at the moonless sky. My boots crunch against the frozen earth, each step a pulse of defiance against the Blackthorn Pack that cast me out. I'm not Lyra anymore—not the weak omega who loved too fiercely and paid the price. I'm Selene now, reborn by the Moon Goddess's cruel mercy, my veins humming with ancient magic that masks my scent. My silver eyes, once dull with despair, burn with purpose: revenge.
The wind carries the cedar-and-iron tang of Blackthorn territory, stirring memories I've buried deep. Killian's emerald gaze, the mate bond's electric pull, and his cold rejection as he chose Mara over me. The exile that left me to die in these mountains. My fingers trace the jagged scar on my cheek, a reminder of the rogue who attacked me in those final, broken moments. But death wasn't the end. The Moon Goddess's voice—sharp, like shattered glass—promised power, promised justice. Now, I'm back to tear Killian's world apart.
The border patrol's scent hits me first—pine and sweat, two wolves circling closer. I let my magic flare, a subtle pulse that cloaks my true scent in something foreign, like ash and wildflowers. I'm a rogue healer, I'll tell them, seeking sanctuary. A lie, but one they'll believe until I'm ready to strike. My heart thuds, not from fear but from the weight of what's coming. Killian will see me tonight, and he won't know me—not yet.
"Stop!" A growl cuts through the dark. Darius, Killian's beta, steps into view, his amber eyes narrowed. At six-feet-two, he's a wall of muscle, scars crisscrossing his arms like a map of loyalty. Beside him, Rowan, leaner but no less deadly, grips a blade, his hazel eyes flickering with suspicion. My wolf stirs, recognising Rowan's familiar grin, now hardened by years. He was my friend once, before Killian's betrayal turned the pack against me.
"Who are you?" Darius demands, his voice rough as gravel. "This is Blackthorn land. Rogues don't just wander in."
I lower my hood, letting my dark hair spill over my shoulders. The scar on my cheek itches under their stares, but I keep my gaze steady. "I'm Selene," I say, my voice soft but firm, the lie practiced to perfection. "A healer. I seek sanctuary. I have skills your pack needs."
Rowan tilts his head, his grin fading. "A healer? Convenient timing, with Bloodclaw sniffing around." His tone is light, but his eyes probe, searching for cracks in my story. I forced my wolf down, her instinct to trust him warring with my mission.
Darius steps closer, sniffing the air. My magic holds, masking the mate bond's scent that could betray me. "You smell… off," he mutters. "No pack, no ties. Why Blackthorn?"
I meet his gaze, letting a flicker of defiance show. "I've heard your alpha is strong but fair. I can help with the wounded. War's coming, isn't it?" The truth in my words—Bloodclaw's threat is real, glimpsed in my visions—makes them nod, though suspicion lingers.
Rowan sheathes his blade. "She's got a point, Darius. The infirmary's stretched thin." He glances at me, almost kind. "But Killian decides. Let's go."
They flanked me, leading me through the cedar forest to the stronghold. The stone longhouse looms ahead, its carved wolves glowing under torchlight. My chest tightens as we approach, the mate bond stirring despite my will. Killian's scent—smoke and pine, sharp with power—hits me like a blade. My wolf whines, traitorously drawn to him, but I clench my fists, focusing on the scar, the pain, the betrayal.
Inside, the hall is alive with pack members—warriors sharpening blades, elders murmuring about Bloodclaw. The air hums with tension, the weight of a war they don't yet understand. My visions have shown me their enemy's plans: ambushes, betrayals, a traitor within. I'll use that knowledge to gain their trust, to get close enough to destroy Killian.
He stands at the far end, six-feet-four of raw muscle, his black hair falling into emerald eyes that flash gold with his wolf. The scar on his brow is new, a mark of battles fought since my exile. He's broader than I remember, his presence commanding the room, but there's a shadow in his gaze—guilt, maybe, or torment. Good. He should suffer.
Darius steps forward. "Alpha, we found a rogue at the border. Call herself Selene, a healer. She seeks sanctuary."
Killian's eyes lock on me, and the mate bond surges, a wildfire in my veins. I force my breathing steady, my magic cloaking the bond's pull. His wolf senses it, though—his nostrils flare, and his eyes narrow, gold flickering in their depths. My heart races, but I hold his gaze, chin high, daring him to see through me.
"Selene," he says, my name a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. "No pack, no scent of one. Why should I trust you?"
I stepped forward, ignoring the weight of every stare in the room. "Because I can save your warriors," I said, my voice clear. "Bloodclaw's coming. You need every advantage. I've healed rogues, outcasts, even wolves on the brink of death. Test me, Alpha, and I'll prove my worth."
Murmurs ripple through the hall. Rowan nods slightly, but Darius's skepticism remains. Killian steps closer, his scent overwhelming, his eyes searching for mine. My wolf claws at me, desperate to reach him, but I focus on the scar, the memory of his cold words: You're too weak, Lyra. Mara is the Luna we need. The pain anchors me, keeps me from crumbling under his gaze.
"Prove it," he says finally, his voice hard but laced with something softer—curiosity, maybe, or doubt. "We've got wounded from a skirmish. Heal them, and we'll talk sanctuary."
I nod, hiding the tremor in my hands. "Lead the way."
As we move toward the infirmary, a woman steps forward—Mara, her golden hair gleaming, her blue eyes sharp with venom. She's as beautiful as I remember, every inch the Luna I wasn't. "Killian," she says, her voice honeyed but sharp, "a rogue healer? She could be a Bloodclaw spy. Why risk it?"
Killian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't look at her. "We need healers, Mara. If she's lying, I'll deal with her."
Mara's smile is a blade, her gaze raking over me. "I'll be watching, Selene." Her words drip with threat, but I meet her stare, letting her see the steel beneath my calm. She orchestrated my exile, I'm sure of it. She'll pay, too.
In the infirmary, I kneel beside a wounded warrior, his leg torn by claws. My magic hums, eager to heal, but I keep it subtle, channelling just enough to close the wound without glowing eyes or obvious power. The warrior groans, then sighs in relief, and Rowan's grin returns. "Not bad," he mutters.
Killian watches, his presence a weight at my back. My magic falters for a moment, the mate bond pulsing, threatening to unravel my disguise. I focus on the healing, on the lie that I'm just a rogue, not the omega he broke. But as I finish, a vision slams into me—Bloodclaw wolves creeping through the mist, a shadowy figure with violet eyes watching from afar. I gasp, gripping the cot to steady myself.
"What's wrong?" Killian's voice is sharp, closer now. Too close.
I forced a smile, hiding the vision's weight. "Just tired. Healing takes a toll." It's a half-truth, but he didn't push—yet.
He steps closer, his scent wrapping around me, smoke and pine and everything I once loved. His eyes narrow, gold flickering again, and my heart stutters. My magic holds, but barely. His wolf is fighting to recognise me, to claim what it lost. I step back, breaking the moment, but not before his low growl echoes in my bones.
"Mine," he snarls, so soft I only hear it, his wolf's claim piercing my disguise.