The Council's vote was unanimous.
Lyra stayed.
No ceremony. No celebration. Just a quiet nod from the Luna Court and a decree read aloud to the gathered pack: The Bloodbond stands. The Trials continue. Lyra Cross remains within Ravenguard as a candidate for Luna.
But victory didn't taste sweet.
Not when silence lingered like poison in the air.
No cheers. No smiles.
Only eyes watching her from the shadows, some with suspicion, others with quiet hostility. The Council had spoken, yes but the pack hadn't truly accepted her.
They were polite now. Careful. But not warm.
And that was worse than hate.
Lyra sat on the stone bench outside the training arena, watching the warriors go through drills. Her limbs still ached from the last combat session, but she refused to miss a day. The Trials weren't over. She couldn't afford to appear soft.
Not when every whispered comment, every cold stare reminded her that survival here wasn't just about passing tests it was about earning her place every damn day.
Behind her, soft footsteps approached.
"I see you're back to brooding," Kael said, sitting beside her with a bottle of water in each hand. He passed one to her.
She took it without looking at him. "I call it observing."
"You mean observing how half the pack still wants your head on a spike?"
She shot him a glare, but his easy smirk didn't falter.
"They'll come around," he said. "They're just... traditional. And stubborn. And dramatic."
"You mean they hate me."
Kael shrugged. "Some. Others are confused. Most don't know what to think."
"And what about you?"
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I think anyone who survives a Bloodbond, stares down the Luna Court, and nearly beats Alaric's top warriors in combat is someone we're lucky to have."
She blinked, caught off guard.
"I didn't think you"
"You're not what I expected," Kael admitted. "But you're not weak. That matters."
It wasn't affection. Not exactly. But it was something close to respect.
Still, it didn't dull the ache that came every time someone turned their back on her.
She stood. "I'm going to run."
Kael tilted his head. "You should rest."
She didn't reply, just shifted mid-stride, her wolf skin rippling over her bones, fur replacing flesh in a graceful motion.
Then she was gone.
Running into the forest. Away from the whispers. Away from the war no one was willing to fight out loud.
Alaric watched her from the packhouse balcony.
He had seen the shift. Felt it.
Her energy in the bond was restless, wild, electric. The kind of burn he felt when a storm was about to break.
He didn't chase her. Not yet.
There were other fires to handle.
Downstairs, his Beta, Cassian, waited, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"She's still standing," Alaric said flatly.
Cassian didn't move. "Barely. And not because of you."
Alaric tensed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're Alpha, but you've left her to fend for herself every time this pack turns on her."
"I've protected her "
"With your strength. Not your loyalty."
Cassian's voice was low, but biting.
"You let them isolate her. You let the Court treat her like she was disposable. And now, she's still fighting alone."
Alaric stepped forward. "You think I don't want to?"
"I think you're scared. Not losing her. Of needing her."
Silence.
Then Cassian turned away. "If you want the pack to accept her, you have to. Publicly. Not just behind closed doors."
He left without waiting for a response.
And Alaric stood there, staring into the woods, wondering when everything had started slipping through his fingers.
Lyra returned hours later, exhausted and caked in mud. Her skin stung with the sting of small cuts, her body aching from the run but her mind was clear.
She shifted back just outside the training yard and headed toward the packhouse when she noticed the tension in the air.
Wolves gathered at the southern edge of the clearing, low murmurs rising.
Someone was challenging.
And she knew exactly who.
She pushed through the crowd.
Alaric stood in the center, chest bare, arms crossed facing off with a tall, scarred warrior named Gavrik. One of the more outspoken wolves who had always made his distaste for Lyra obvious.
"I challenge the Alpha," Gavrik growled, "for the right to break the Bloodbond."
A hush fell.
Alaric's face didn't move. "You can't challenge the Bloodbond."
"I can challenge your decisions. And the bond was one of them."
Lyra's blood chilled.
Gavrik wanted to shame him publicly. Break him down. Prove to the pack that their Alpha was too compromised, too soft to lead.
Alaric didn't hesitate.
"Fine. Trial combat. Blood and submission. You lose, you bow and shut your damn mouth."
"And if I win?"
"You won't."
The fight was fast and brutal.
Gavrik was strong, but Alaric fought like a man with something to prove. And when he slammed the warrior to the ground with a final, bone-crunching hit, he stood over him with barely restrained fury.
"The bond stays," Alaric said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "She stays. You don't have to like her. But she's mine."
His gaze flicked toward Lyra.
And for the first time in days, she saw something in his eyes she hadn't seen in a public fire.
Not just dominance.
Claim.
Later that night, he found her in the hallway, alone.
"You heard what I said," he said simply.
She crossed her arms. "I heard a claim, not a choice."
Alaric moved closer. "Then let me be clear."
He brushed his fingers along her jaw. Not possessively but gently.
"I don't want you here because of the bond. I want you because no one has ever stood beside me like you have. And because when I close my eyes at night, it's you I see. Not the Luna the Council wants. You."
She swallowed hard.
The burn in her chest wasn't from anger anymore.
It was needed.
Longing.
And something far more dangerous.
"You don't get to protect me in private and disappear when the war is quiet," she whispered.
"I won't," he promised. "Not again."
Their kiss this time was slower. Deeper. But no less intense. His mouth moved against hers with reverence and hunger, his hands curling into her hair as she pressed closer.
They didn't make it to bed this time.
Because sometimes, desire was the battle.
And tonight, they fought in whispers and moans and tangled limbs in a war with no winner, only surrender.