TEN YEARS AGO
Lyra Reed stood at the edge of the Harvest Moon meeting, trying to make herself invisible.
She was eighteen. Wolfless. Worthless.
The entire Blackwood Pack filled the great hall—over two hundred wolves enjoying the autumn festival. Food covered long tables. Music played. People danced and laughed and belonged.
Lyra belonged nowhere.
She wore her only nice dress—a blue thing that had belonged to her mother before cancer took her three years ago. Too big in the shoulders. Too tight at the waist. Wrong, like everything about her.
"Look, it's the Null."
The whisper came from a gathering of girls her age. Beautiful girls with glossy hair and perfect teeth and wolves hiding beneath their skin.
Lyra pretended not to hear.
"I heard she tried to shift last week. Again." Another laugh. "Still nothing. Eighteen years old and completely imperfect."
"My mother says she's cursed. Bad blood."
"My father says she should be removed. What's the point of keeping a person in a werewolf pack?"
The words cut deep, but Lyra kept her face blank. She'd learned early—showing pain only made them sharper.
An older woman walked past, pulling her daughter away. "Don't stand too close, dear. Weakness might be contagious."
Lyra's throat tightened. She blinked hard against the burning in her eyes.
Don't cry. Don't give them the pleasure.
She grabbed a plate she didn't want and moved toward the food table, eyes down. Safer that way. If she didn't make eye contact, maybe they'd forget she existed.
A group of young wolves blocked her path—three boys her age, kids of the Beta families. They reeked of arrogance and privilege.
"Well, well. The Null came to the party." The biggest one smirked. "Brave or stupid?"
"Excuse me," Lyra said quietly, trying to step around them.
He moved, blocking her. "I'm talking to you, freak. Least you could do is answer."
"I don't want trouble."
"Too bad. Trouble finds you anyway." He leaned closer. "My father says your family should've been kicked out years ago. Says you're a stain on pack innocence."
"Your father is wrong," Lyra said before she could stop herself.
The boy's eyes flashed amber. "What did you say?"
Fear spiked through her chest, but she lifted her chin. "I said he's wrong. I belong here as much as anyone."
"You don't belong anywhere, Null." He shoved her shoulder. "You're not pack. You're not even wolf. You're just—"
"Enough."
The order cracked through the hall like a whip.
Everyone turned.
A man stood at the entrance—tall, broad-shouldered, radiating power. He wore a black suit that probably cost more than Lyra's entire month's rent. Dark hair. Ice-blue eyes. Military look.
Ronan Blackwood. The Alpha's son. Future leader of the pack.
And he was looking straight at the boys bullying her.
"Leave her alone," Ronan said quietly. But his words carried weight. Power.
The tall boy paled. "We were just—"
"I don't care what you were doing. You're done now." Ronan's eyes never left them. "Move."
They spread like leaves in wind.
Silence fell across the hall. Everyone watched. Waited.
Ronan walked toward Lyra.
She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The future Alpha was walking toward HER.
He stopped three feet away. "Are you alright?"
The question confused her. Nobody asked if she was alright. "I'm... yes. Thank you."
"They shouldn't have spoken to you like that."
"They always do." The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Something flickered in his eyes. Anger? Pity?
"That doesn't make it right," he said.
An awkward silence fell between them. Lyra didn't know what to say. Didn't know why he was still standing there.
"I should go," she finally managed. "Thank you for—"
She turned too fast. Her foot caught on the edge of the carpet.
She stumbled forward, plate flying from her hands.
The plate broke. Food spilled everywhere—across expensive shoes, across the polished floor.
Across Ronan Blackwood's luxury leather shoes.
Horror crashed over her.
"Oh no. Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Lyra dropped to her knees, trying to clean up the mess with her bare hands. "I didn't mean—I'm so clumsy—I'll pay for the shoes—" "Stop."
His voice was soft. Not angry.
She looked up.
He was crouched beside her. "You're bleeding."
"What?"
"Your hands."
She gazed down. Plate shards had cut her hands. Blood welled up, dripping onto the white floor.
She should feel pain. But all she felt was shame.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I ruin everything."
"You didn't ruin anything." Ronan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—pristine white cloth with initials stitched in silver thread. "Here."
Lyra stared at it. "I can't. That's too nice for—"
"For what? For you?" His eyes met hers. "Everyone deserves basic kindness, Lyra."
He knew her name.
The future Alpha knew her name.
With shaking fingers, she took the cloth and wrapped it around her bleeding palm. The cloth was soft. Expensive. It would be ruined with her blood.
Their fingers brushed as he helped her tie it.
Lightning shot up her arm.
Not painful. Just... electric. Like touching something living and powerful.
Ronan jerked back slightly. His eyes widened.
He felt it too.
"Ronan! There you are."
Garrett Blackwood strode over—the present Alpha, hard and unyielding. His eyes landed on Lyra kneeling beside his son, and his face darkened.
"What's going on here?"
"An accident, Father." Ronan stood easily. "Nothing serious." "Lyra Reed." Garrett's lip curled with disgust. "The Null. I should have known." He waved dismissively at her like shooing away a fly. "Get out of here, girl. You're bleeding on my floor. Making a mess."
Each word was a slap.
Lyra scrambled to her feet, holding the handkerchief. "I'm sorry, Alpha. I'll clean—"
"Just go." Garrett turned his back on her. "Come, Ronan. Important guests are waiting."
Ronan paused. For just a second, his eyes met Lyra's.
She saw something there. Conflict. Regret?
Then his face smoothed into a mask.
"Yes, Father."
He walked away without looking back.
Lyra stood alone in the middle of the hall, blood soaking through the expensive handkerchief, everyone looking at her with contempt or pity.
The Null. The freak. The girl who didn't fit.
She ran.
Out of the hall. Out of the house. Into the cold night air where no one could see her cry.
But as she ran, she pressed the bloodstained cloth to her chest.
Because for one moment—just one—the future Alpha had looked at her like she mattered.
Like she was someone worth defending.
And that small kindness hurt worse than all the evil combined.
Because kindness gave her hope.
And hope was the most dangerous thing a wolfless girl could have.
Later that night, Lyra lay in her small room in her aunt and uncle's house. They'd taken her in after her parents died, but they made it clear she was a burden. An shame.
She held the handkerchief up to the moonlight coming through her window.
Ronan Blackwood stitched in silver thread.
She should return it. It was expensive. Important.
But she folded it carefully and tucked it under her pillow instead.
A secret. A memory. A tiny piece of proof that someone—even if just for a moment—had been kind to her.
Outside her window, wolves howled in the distance.
The pack ran together under the full moon. Celebrating. Belonging.
And Lyra lay alone, holding a bloodstained handkerchief, thinking of a future where she mattered.
Where she belonged.
Where the ice-blue eyes that had looked at her with brief warmth might look at her that way again.
She didn't know then that those same eyes would one day look at her with nothing but cold rejection.
Didn't know that kindness was just the first cut.
The deepest hurts were still to come.
But tonight, she was eighteen and hopeful and stupid enough to believe that maybe—just maybe—things could
get better.
The handkerchief smelled like expensive cologne and potential.
And for one night, that was enough.