The moment Cain left the room, Lyra let her breath escape in a shuddering gust. Her body trembled—part from weakness, part from rage. Her mate mark still burned beneath her collarbone like a curse etched in flame.
She ran a trembling hand over it.
It was real. Too real. She could feel the bond pulling at her chest, twisting through her blood like vines wrapping around her lungs. The closer he got, the tighter it wound.
It wasn't supposed to be him.
Not him.
The Moon Goddess had a sick sense of humor.
Lyra dragged herself from the bed, her legs barely able to hold her weight. The stone floor bit cold into her soles, but she forced herself upright. Every breath tasted of pine and ash—the scent of Bloodveil. Her enemy's den. Her grave once, now her prison.
She padded to the small mirror above the hearth. The woman staring back at her wasn't the girl who'd died that night. This Lyra was thinner, paler. Her black curls tangled. Her violet eyes too sharp, too old.
**I'm not her anymore.**
A soft knock startled her. She spun, snarling under her breath.
The door opened without permission.
A young she-wolf stepped inside, tray in hand. She paused when she saw Lyra's expression.
"You must be the new stray," the girl said coolly. She had the same earthy scent as the other wolves in Bloodveil—dominant, but careful.
"I'm Aisla. Assigned to make sure you don't pass out before your second meal."
Lyra said nothing.
Aisla set the tray down on the side table, not meeting her eyes. "You're lucky the Alpha took an interest. Most rogues who cross the border don't live to see a second sunrise."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize being his pet came with dinner service."
Aisla flinched. Just slightly.
So that rumor had already started.
Perfect.
"He marked you, didn't he?" Aisla asked after a pause.
Lyra didn't answer.
Aisla nodded slowly, as if that confirmed everything she feared. "I'd watch your tongue. Alpha Cain doesn't take disrespect kindly. Not from his pack. Especially not from his mate."
Mate.
Lyra nearly spat.
But she said nothing. Let the silence do its work. Let them think she was mysterious. Weak. Confused.
Let them underestimate her.
Because the longer she stayed hidden, the closer she got to unraveling Cain's lies—and destroying everything he built.
---
Cain stood on the outer balcony, shirtless, the wind raking through his dark hair as he stared into the pines.
He could still feel the echo of her skin on his fingers. The shock when the bond surged through him—raw and hot and violent.
That had never happened before.
Fated mates were rare. Fated mates who survived first contact without the mark showing? Impossible.
And yet she had.
Her scent was wrong. Her story was thin. But the bond was unmistakable.
"She's not from around here," Davin muttered behind him. "Her accent's northern. But faint."
Cain didn't turn.
"She's lying," Cain said flatly.
Davin shifted. "You want me to dig?"
Cain nodded. "Quietly."
A pause.
"If she's your mate, Alpha... why keep her here? Why not claim her?"
Cain's jaw flexed. "Because I don't trust her."
He closed his eyes.
And because part of him—deep and buried—remembered something.
A battlefield. A flash of violet eyes.
A dying girl.
No.
Impossible.
He would've remembered.
Wouldn't he?
---
Later that night, Lyra slipped from her room.
The halls of the Bloodveil stronghold were colder than she remembered. Shadows clung to the walls like old scars. She passed guards who didn't look twice at her—so the story had already spread.
**The Alpha's mysterious mate.**
Let them whisper.
She followed the scent of blood and fire toward the lower wing. Toward the war chamber. If Cain was anything like his father, he'd still keep records. And she needed to see the list. The one with her pack's name scratched out.
She crept into the archive at the end of the hall. Dust and age clung to the old scrolls and steel-lined shelves. Her fingers shook as she scanned the sealed tomes.
Then she saw it.
"Silverfang."
The name hit her like a punch.
She opened the record with a soft breath—and stared.
A single line. One sentence.
**"Eradicated by Bloodveil. High threat. Order confirmed."**
And beneath it…
A signature.
**Cain.**
She felt the floor sway.
Her breath caught in her throat.
But something was wrong.
The ink was wrong. It was signed in a different hand.
Forged.
She looked lower. A second name. Fainter. Hidden.
**Kael of Moonblood.**
Rage twisted through her.
A false order. A manipulated war.
Her pack hadn't died by Cain's hand alone. Someone else had pulled the strings.
But why?
---
The door creaked behind her.
She spun.
Cain.
His golden eyes burned in the dark.
She snapped the book shut, heart racing. "I got lost."
He stared at her. "That's the war archive. You don't get lost here."
She didn't blink. "Then maybe you should teach your mate how to find her way."
His expression darkened.
"You think that bond protects you?" he said, voice low. "It doesn't."
Lyra stepped closer, furious now. "Then why haven't you rejected it?"
Silence.
A thick, burning silence.
Cain looked at her then—not like a stranger. Not like a rogue.
But like a storm he didn't know how to contain.
"Because I can't," he growled. "No matter how much I want to."
Lyra stared at him, heart hammering. The mark between them throbbed like a heartbeat beneath her skin.
And in that moment, she realized something terrifying:
The bond wasn't weakening.
It was getting stronger.