Lyra didn't waste time. From the moment she arrived, she wove herself seamlessly into pack life, moving with a familiarity that grated on my nerves. Warriors gravitated toward her with easy smiles, older wolves greeted her with warmth, and everywhere she went, she carried herself like she belonged here.
And Ronan didn't stop her.
That was what burned most. He didn't encourage her openly, but neither did he push her away. He let her trail at his side, let her touch his arm when she spoke, let her laugh ring through the halls like she was the only one who could coax it out of him.
My wolf bristled every time.
Challenge her, she growled. Rip her claws from him.
"No," I snapped in my head. "She means nothing to me. And neither does he."
But even as I said it, my eyes followed them.
The first test came in training.
I was mid-spar with Selene, sweat slick on my skin, when a ripple of attention swept the grounds. Lyra had stepped into the circle, stripped down to fighting leathers that clung like a second skin.
"Mind if I join?" she called, her voice smooth.
The warriors cheered, clearly eager to see her in action. She smirked and selected her opponent—not Selene. Not any of the males.
Me.
Our gazes locked across the circle, her green eyes gleaming with challenge.
My pulse quickened. My wolf lunged eagerly. Finally.
I stepped forward without hesitation, squaring my shoulders. "Fine. Let's see what you've got."
The fight began sharp and fast. Lyra was skilled—faster than I expected, with strikes precise and powerful. She moved like a warrior born, her confidence radiating with each blow.
But I was no stranger to combat either. I met her strike for strike, dodging her sweeps, countering with my own. The circle roared with excitement, the pack eating up the display of two women tearing into each other.
And all the while, I felt his eyes. Ronan. Watching. Measuring.
When Lyra nearly swept my legs, I twisted, catching her arm and flipping her onto her back. Gasps rippled through the crowd. She hit the dirt with a growl but rolled to her feet, green eyes blazing.
For a heartbeat, we stood inches apart, chests heaving, sweat dripping, the air electric with hostility.
She leaned in, her words a hiss only I could hear. "Enjoy your little victory. But you'll never have him."
Fury surged in me. My fist twitched, my wolf snarled, but I forced myself back, turning sharply away. The circle erupted in cheers, calling the fight mine.
But Lyra's smirk as she dusted herself off told me she didn't see it as a loss.
That night, the tension only thickened.
In the council chamber, Lyra sat beside Ronan, her posture casual but intimate. She spoke confidently, offering strategies for border patrols, her knowledge sharp. The elders listened, impressed. Ronan nodded occasionally, giving her credit, and it made bile rise in my throat.
Every glance she cast me was deliberate. A reminder. A taunt.
When the meeting ended, I slipped out quickly, eager to escape. But she found me before I reached the stairs.
"Raven," she called, her tone honey-sweet.
I stiffened, turning slowly. "What do you want?"
Her smile was all charm, her eyes all venom.
"Just a word. I know what you're thinking—that I'm here to stake some claim. And maybe you're right." She stepped closer, her perfume sharp with pine and smoke. "Ronan and I share history. Trust. A bond forged in battles you can't begin to imagine. That doesn't disappear just because fate tangled him up with you."
My chest tightened. "If you came here to threaten me, save your breath. I don't care what you and Ronan shared."
She tilted her head, studying me like a wolf sizing prey. "Maybe not. But your eyes tell a different story. You care enough to watch. To bristle. To fight me in the circle with fire in your veins."
I swallowed hard, hating the truth in her words. "Stay out of my way, Lyra."
Her smile sharpened. "I would—if you weren't in mine."
That night, I paced my room like a caged animal, fury eating me alive. My wolf clawed at the walls, restless, snarling. She dares to put her scent on him. She dares to claim what's ours.
"No," I whispered, clutching my head. "Not ours. Not mine."
But even as I said it, my chest burned with something dangerously close to jealousy.
And in the silence of the night, I knew Lyra wasn't going anywhere.
She had come to claim ground.
And if I wasn't careful, she'd take it all.