The scent of burning fur and blood clung to the air, thick enough to choke on.
Lyra's feet were bare against the dirt, chains rattling around her ankles as they dragged her forward. The moon above her pulsed red, too close, too bright, like an open wound in the sky. Shadows shifted behind the crowd. Dozens of faces. All wolves. All silent. All watching.
Then came his voice.
"She betrayed the pack. Let the fire purify her."
It was deep. Calm. Cold.
She turned her head slowly, her eyes finding him at the edge of the pyre. His silver eyes showed no flicker of pain. No love. No guilt. Only duty.
And she loved him.
The fire licked her feet first.
She didn't scream. She just stared at him.
"Lucien..." she whispered.
And then everything turned black.
Lyra shot up in bed, her skin slick with sweat, the scent of ash still clinging to her senses. Her chest heaved as she clutched the pendant around her neck, a gift from the orphanage, cheap and meaningless, yet it burned against her skin like silver.
It was the third night in a row she'd had that dream. And it always ended the same way with fire, chains, and a name she didn't know whispering on her lips.
Lucien.
She had never met anyone named Lucien.
And yet… her body reacted like it knew him. Like it hated him. Like it wanted him.
Pulling the covers tighter, Lyra forced her legs off the mattress and stood. The cold floor of the cabin grounded her. She wasn't anyone special. Just a wolfless omega. Just another mouth for the Silverclaw Pack to feed until she turned eighteen and was cast out like the rest.
But tonight felt... different.
The pendant on her neck pulsed once.
Outside, a gust of wind blew through the trees and howled with unnatural force.
And the moon... the moon was red.
Somewhere in the woods beyond the ridge, a growl shattered the night.
Not a normal one. Not rogue.
It was primal. Alpha-level. Dominant.
Lyra froze at the sound. Every hair on her body stood on end.
She reached for the curtain with trembling fingers and pulled it back just enough to see past the frost on the windowpane.
A pair of glowing golden eyes met hers from across the field.
They didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Just… watched.
A shadow moved behind the figure. Another. Then a third.
Her breath hitched.
Three. There were three of them. All tall. All still. All staring at her cabin like they had smelled something they shouldn't have.
Her blood.
Her scent.
Her mark.
She backed away slowly, chest pounding.
She had done nothing wrong. She was no one. She had no wolf. No strength. No
The mark on her collarbone flared like fire under her skin.
She gasped and pulled down her shirt. Her fingers trembled as she brushed over the glowing crescent on her shoulder.
It hadn't been there the day before.
What was happening to her?
The knock on the door made her jump.
It wasn't loud, but it echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
"Lyra," came a whisper through the door. "Are you awake?"
It was Freya, the cook's daughter. The only girl who'd ever shown her kindness.
Lyra rushed to the door and yanked it open. "Freya, something's happening. I"
"Shhh!" Freya pushed her inside and slammed the door shut behind her. Her face was pale, and her eyes darted around the room like she expected someone to jump out of the shadows. "You need to pack. Now."
Lyra blinked. "What? Why?"
"They're coming for you. The Elders. The mark, it's been seen. You're... you've been claimed."
"I don't understand," Lyra whispered. "Claimed by who?"
"Not who. Whom." Freya's voice dropped even lower. "Three Alphas."
Lyra's mouth went dry. "That's impossible."
Freya looked like she wanted to cry. "I saw them. In the woods. They arrived during the Blood Moon. The Oracle said the one who bears the triad mark would appear. And now…" She reached for Lyra's shirt and gently pulled it down to reveal the crescent mark. "It's real."
Lyra stumbled back. "But I don't even have a wolf!"
"That doesn't matter anymore."
Panic flooded her. Her whole life she had been told she was wolfless, cursed, barely tolerated in a pack that valued strength and dominance above all else. But now she was somehow... marked by three?
And they weren't just Alphas. They were enemies.
The Blood Moon Pack.
The Shadow Howlers.
And the Nightfangs.
Three rival Alphas, all bound by hatred and ancient blood oaths.
And somehow, she was the string that pulled them all together.
"Pack only what you need," Freya whispered. "Clothes. Food. Leave through the back. I'll distract the guards."
"I can't leave. If I run, they'll hunt me."
"If you stay, they'll tear you apart trying to claim you."
Lyra hesitated, heart slamming against her ribs. Her world, the only one she'd ever known — was cracking at the seams. What if it was a mistake? What if the mark faded by morning?
But deep down, she knew the truth.
The mark was real.
The dreams were real.
The fire. The betrayal. The name Lucien.
She had died before.
And she had come back with a curse.
Or a purpose.
She didn't know which yet.
She stuffed what little she had into a small satchel, a sweater, dried bread, a flask of water, and the pendant she wore every day. Her fingers hovered over it for a moment.
It felt heavier than usual.
Alive, almost.
She shoved it into her bag and crept to the back door. Freya gave her one last look, eyes glassy with emotion.
"Don't trust anyone," Freya said. "Especially not them."
I don't even know who they are.
Freya shivered. "One is fire. One is ice. And one... is death."
Before Lyra could ask more, Freya slipped out the front and slammed a pot onto the ground, shouting something about a raccoon in the pantry. The noise startled the guards near the main gate, and they rushed toward the kitchen.
Lyra darted out the back door and into the night.
The wind bit her skin. The trees loomed like sentinels. But she didn't stop running.
And behind her, deep in the darkness… she heard a howl.
Low.
Powerful.
Territorial.
Then another. Deeper. Colder.
Then a third.
Dark and hungry.
Three howls.
Three Alphas.
All calling for her.
The moon seemed impossibly bright overhead, its cold glow turning the forest into a world of shadows and silver. Lyra didn't dare slow her pace. Branches whipped at her face, tearing into her arms and legs, but she welcomed the pain—it was proof she was still alive.
Still free.
The wind carried voices. Not just one, but three.
She's close. Don't spook her.
"She's mine. She was marked by me first."
Lyra stumbled. That voice—deep, commanding, drenched in primal possession—sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't know who he was. She didn't even remember his face. But something in her blood pulsed in response to it.
Run.
Her wolf was awake now, claws scratching beneath her skin, agitated and confused. Lyra wasn't ready to let it out. She didn't know if she even could. She was broken. The wolves of her former pack had made sure of it.
But the bond tugged at her, tugged like chains she couldn't see.
Not one Alpha… Three? Her chest heaved with disbelief. It wasn't possible. The Moon Goddess didn't play dice with destiny like that. A wolf was fated to one true mate, one soul to mirror their own. Not three rivals. Not three powers capable of war.
But her mark burned.
It was faint, not visible to her eyes, but she felt it a crescent-shaped heat curling over her lower back, etched into her like a brand. And it was responding.
They're getting closer.
Her body betrayed her. Her legs grew weaker, not from exhaustion, but from a traitorous pull inside her, yearning.
"Shift, dammit," she growled at herself, wiping sweat from her brow. "Shift and run!"
But nothing came. No claws, no fur. No freedom.
The wolfsbane they'd force-fed her for years still poisoned her veins, suppressing what should've awakened long ago. She was eighteen. Her first shift was overdue. Any other wolf her age would have run on four paws by now, fast and untouchable.
Lyra tripped, hitting the ground hard. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and for a terrifying second, everything was silent except her heartbeat.
Then twigs snapped behind her.
Too close.
She scrambled up, pushing forward with adrenaline and desperation. But she didn't get far.
A figure stepped from the shadows. Tall. Muscular. Barefoot like her, but radiating control.
Eyes the color of midnight locked with hers.
"You're fast for someone who hasn't shifted," he said calmly.
Lyra froze. Her instincts screamed to bolt but she couldn't. Her legs wouldn't move. It was him. One of them.
Alpha.
"You're bleeding," he murmured, stepping closer.
She backed up a step. "Stay away."
"I don't want to hurt you, Lyra. I only want to talk."
"How do you know my name?"
He tilted his head. "Because you're mine."
No heat laced the words, just a terrifying certainty. A truth that shook her.
"You've got the wrong girl," she whispered, her voice cracking.
He stepped into the moonlight fully, revealing a chiseled face with sharp cheekbones, and a mouth that looked like it was carved to either kiss or command. His shirt clung to his chest, soaked from the chase, revealing a tattoo that trailed up his neck, a black wolf howling at a blood-red moon.
Lyra's eyes widened.
"You're the Red Moon Alpha," she breathed.
He smiled slightly. "You remember me."
"No," she hissed. "I've only heard stories. You start wars for fun. You kill for power."
"I kill to protect what's mine."
"And I'm not yours!"
For a second, his smile disappeared. That same second, another howl split the air—louder, closer, more furious.
The Red Moon Alpha's head snapped toward the sound. His shoulders stiffened. "Dammit. He's close."
He?
Another one of the three?
Lyra used the distraction to run again.
The trees blurred around her. The night grew colder. A storm was brewing in the wind, stirring the trees like angry whispers. Somewhere behind her, two dominant forces clashed. Growls echoed. The ground trembled.
But she kept running.
Until she hit something solid.
No, someone.
Strong arms caught her before she could fall again. This one was different. His scent was gentler, earthy like pine and smoke. She struggled, punching wildly, but he didn't let go.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered into her ear.
Another Alpha. Her body knew it before her mind did. The bond sang in recognition, fierce and unwanted.
"Put me down!" she snarled.
But he didn't. Instead, he looked into her eyes. This close, she could see the gold flecks in his—amber and rich, glowing with something ancient.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you. I'm not here to claim you. Not tonight."
Her heart stuttered.
"Then what do you want?"
"To protect you."
"You don't even know me!"
"I do," he said softly. "We dreamed of you. All three of us. The same girl. The same scent. And then the Moon marked you."
Her knees weakened. Not from desire, this time from fear.
"This isn't real," she whispered.
"It is."
"Why me?"
He looked away, like the answer scared even him.
Before he could speak again, a violent roar shook the sky.
Then a voice, familiar and vicious shouted her name.
"LYRA!"
Her blood ran cold. That voice wasn't one of the three. It was from the past.
From the pack that tried to burn her alive.
The Amber Fang Alpha.
Her tormentor.
"They're here," she gasped.
The Alpha holding her turned stiff. Then we run. Together.
She wanted to refuse, to fight him off and take her chances alone.
But there were too many enemies. And these Alphas…
Whatever they were, whatever curse the Moon had cast over her, they hadn't hurt her yet.
She nodded once.
And this time, when he ran, she ran with him.