Lyra stood under the open sky, watching a group of young wolves shift and spar under Daria's guidance. The training field bustled with energy, but despite the movement, she remained a statue on the edge of it all.
Invisible.
The patch sewn onto her chest screamed "belonging," but every glance cast her way told the truth.
She didn't belong here.
Each sideways look from pack members, each quiet whisper that fizzled out when she passed, was a reminder: she was still an outsider. Still the rogue who had been forced into their ranks by an Alpha too unpredictable to be questioned.
They didn't say it aloud, but she felt it.
She was an unwelcome guest in her own skin.
"You're brooding again," Mira said, approaching with two water bottles and a wry grin.
"Observing," Lyra replied, accepting one of the bottles.
"Same thing, really," Mira said, taking a sip. "You've been on edge all morning."
"I'm always on edge," Lyra murmured, her gaze fixed on the line of sparring wolves. "Comes with being hunted for months."
Mira's smile faded. "They'll warm up to you. Eventually."
"Or they'll wait for me to slip so they can justify tossing me back into the woods."
The words weren't bitter they were matter-of-fact. Mira didn't deny them.
Lyra took another sip, her eyes drawn to the gate at the far end of the courtyard as a low horn echoed across the compound.
It was a warning call.
Not dangerous visitors.
The gate creaked open and in strode four wolves wearing silver-trimmed cloaks and armor far too polished for battle. The leader, a tall male with graying hair and sharp emerald eyes, walked like the ground owed him reverence.
Mira's body stiffened. "Moonbane emissaries."
"Who?" Lyra asked, suddenly alert.
"One of the oldest allied packs to Ravenguard," Mira whispered. "Alaric tolerates them. Barely."
Lyra didn't miss the way the energy of the training field shifted. Wolves paused. Heads turned. Even Daria stopped mid-instruction. This wasn't a social visit.
The emissaries came to a halt as Alaric stepped onto the field from the west corridor, dressed in dark tactical gear, expression unreadable.
"High Alpha Valen," Alaric greeted, his tone cool. "Your arrival is... unexpected."
Valen bowed slightly. "We bring news from the northern front. And concerns that require your attention."
"Speak," Alaric said, folding his arms.
Valen's eyes swept over the crowd before landing on Lyra. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"This one," he said. "Is she the rogue I've heard rumors about?"
The entire field went still.
Alaric didn't flinch. "She is Ravenguard."
Valen raised a brow. "Interesting choice, binding a feral wolf during wartime. The council will want an explanation."
Alaric stepped forward slowly. "She doesn't answer to the council. She answers me."
Valen gave a slow, theatrical nod. "And what does she offer? What power does she hold that justifies her presence here?"
Lyra's jaw tightened. Every word cut like a blade because it wasn't just Valen talking. He was speaking the thoughts everyone else had kept hidden behind cold stares.
She opened her mouth to respond, but Alaric raised a hand, silencing her.
"You speak of power," Alaric said, his voice low and sharp, "as if strength only comes from bloodlines and titles. You forget that survival, true survival breeds something far more dangerous."
Valen smirked. "So she's a project then. An investment."
"She's mine," Alaric said, voice steely.
A hush fell again. Not just over the emissaries but over the entire courtyard.
The word echoed with weight. Possession. Authority. Claim.
Lyra's pulse quickened. She didn't know whether to be furious or flattered. Maybe both.
Valen nodded once more, tone mocking now. "Of course. We all know how territorial you can be, Draven."
Without another word, the emissaries were escorted to the guest quarters, an area rarely used and deliberately kept far from the main barracks.
As the crowd began to disperse, Lyra stormed across the field, heart pounding with frustration.
"You had no right to speak for me," she snapped as she reached Alaric.
He turned to her, calm as ever. "I had every right. You're bound."
"I'm not property."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You're protected. There's a difference."
She narrowed her eyes. "Not much of one."
"You think Valen came here for diplomacy?" he asked. "He came to size you up. Test whether you're a threat or a pawn."
Lyra paused. "So what did you make me look like?"
Alaric leaned in, voice low enough that only she could hear. "A blade is still being sharpened."
Their eyes locked for a moment. There was tension there undeniable. A push and pull that went deeper than duty.
Before she could respond, Daria approached, her gaze flicking between them.
"Valen's not here for you," she said to Lyra, her tone clipped. "He's here because another pack just defected from the Alliance. War is closer than we thought."
Lyra's stomach dropped.
"I'll be watching the emissaries," Daria added, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the barracks.
That night, Lyra couldn't sleep.
She lay in the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day's events. Valen's words. Alaric's tone. The way the others had looked at her, like she didn't belong, like she was a mistake waiting to happen.
And the worst part?
She didn't know if they were wrong.
She slipped out of bed and padded barefoot into the corridor. No guards this time. No patrols. The packhouse was eerily quiet, most wolves resting, a few on high watch.
She found herself drawn toward the west wing, where the emissaries had been housed. She didn't know what she was looking for answers, maybe. Or just a sense of control.
As she rounded a corner, she heard voices.
"…keep her close," a male voice whispered. "If we can get her to leave the compound, she's no longer protected."
"She's dangerous?" another asked.
"No," Valen replied. "She's valuable. And unclaimed by the Moonblood Rite. If she was bound against her will, the council can challenge it. But only if we separate her from the Alpha long enough to invoke trial."
Lyra's breath caught.
They weren't just watching her.
They were planning to take her.
She backed away quietly, heart thundering. Every instinct screamed for her to run. To disappear again into the woods.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
Because for the first time in a long time, she wasn't just fighting for herself.
She was fighting against something larger, a plan to control her fate all over again.
Back in her room, she sat on the bed, fists clenched.
If they wanted her to be the weak link, they were wrong.
And if Alaric
thought she would just roll over and let him shield her like some prized possession, he was wrong too.
She would find her place here.
But on her own terms.