Lyra couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. It haunted her not just the way Alaric's lips had crashed into hers like a storm, but the way he'd stopped, looking at her like he regretted everything... and said nothing.
Since then, the silence between them has been deafening.
At breakfast, he avoided her gaze. During training, he gave no corrections, no commands. And in the halls of the packhouse, their paths never seemed to cross though she knew he was avoiding her, not the other way around.
The memory of his touch still burned her skin.
And then the letter came.
Cassian found her in the training yard that afternoon, sweat clinging to her skin and bruises decorating her arms from sparring with the younger warriors. He handed her a scroll without a word. His expression was tight.
She unrolled the parchment, her eyes darting over the elegant, deliberate handwriting.
To Alpha Alaric Draven and the Bloodbound, Lyra Cross
I request a diplomatic audience under neutral ground.
It concerns the sanctity of the Bloodbond and a proposal that may serve both our futures.
Alpha Ronan Vale, of Shadowfang
Her stomach twisted.
She barely had time to think before the scroll was yanked from her hands.
Alaric stood behind her, reading the note. His face darkened with every word, jaw clenched so tight she thought it might crack. He crumpled the parchment in his fist without a word and walked away.
That night, the council gathered.
Inside the great hall of Ravenguard, murmurs filled the space like smoke. The Luna Court lined the walls, whispering among themselves while warriors stood stiffly at attention along the perimeter.
"This is a provocation," one of the elders hissed. "He's undermining our Alpha by requesting her directly."
"He's trying to fracture the Bloodbond," another murmured. "It's more than a request, it's a challenge."
Alaric stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, unreadable. Lyra sat to his right, eyes fixed ahead, feeling the weight of every state.
Finally, Alaric spoke. "We'll meet him. Neutral ground. She will not go alone."
Lyra turned to him, surprised.
"You're letting me go?" she asked quietly.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere. I'm leading the meeting," he said coldly. "This isn't a request, Lyra. It's strategy."
The neutral ground lay on the edge of Ravenguard territory a moonlit clearing near the river, sacred and rarely used. Alaric stood beside Lyra, his expression carved in stone, with Cassian and two elite guards flanking them.
Lyra's heart beat like a war drum in her chest.
Ronan arrived just after midnight, stepping from the shadows like he'd been waiting for a dramatic entrance. He wore dark leather that shimmered slightly under the moonlight, his auburn hair tied back, and his green eyes sharp with amusement.
"Lyra Cross," he said smoothly, gaze sliding over her in a way that made her skin crawl and burn at once. "You're even more striking in person. Alaric always did have good taste."
Alaric didn't flinch, but the tension in his stance shifted subtly.
"Say what you came to say," he growled.
Ronan smiled, slow and lazy. "Very well. I've come to offer Lyra something you never will."
He stepped closer, his words directed only at her now.
"Freedom. A place where she isn't tested daily for her worth. A throne beside mine, not behind. I see your strength, Lyra I admire it. And I'd never ask you to prove it."
Lyra stiffened. "You don't know me."
"But I've been watching. I know enough. I know this pack resents you. I know the trials are meant to break you, not test you. And I know he" he nodded toward Alaric "didn't choose you. He bound you."
Alaric's growl was low and deep.
Ronan took another step forward, now inches from her. "You're not chained to this life. I could undo the Bloodbond give you the freedom to decide. Let you come to me because you want to, not because you're forced to stay."
Lyra met his gaze evenly. "And be your prize instead? No thanks."
He chuckled. "I'm not offering a cage, Lyra. I'm offering keys. When you're ready to use them... I'll be waiting."
He cast one last glance at Alaric full of mockery then turned and vanished into the woods, leaving silence in his wake.
The ride back to Ravenguard was quiet. Too quiet.
When they reached the gates, Lyra dismounted and turned to leave, but Alaric caught her wrist.
"You're not to be outside pack borders alone again," he said.
She yanked her arm away. "So now I'm under lockdown?"
"You're under protection."
"No," she snapped. "I'm under control. That's all this ever is with your control."
Alaric's eyes burned. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
"Then why did he make more of an effort to make me feel seen than you have in days?"
His jaw clenched.
"I didn't ask to be part of your war, Alaric. I didn't ask to be bound to you, or dragged into a pack that hates me. But here I am. And still, you can't decide if you want me or want me gone."
He moved before she could react, stepping into her space, gripping her waist.
His voice was low and dangerous. "I want you so badly it's tearing me apart. But I need you to choose me, Lyra. I won't force it."
Her breath caught in her throat.
For a moment, the pull between them was magnetic hot and breathless and sharp. Their mouths hovered inches apart.
But she pulled back.
"Then stop acting like you already own me," she said, turning away.
He let her go.
And above, in the trees near the edge of the forest, someone watched with narrowed green eyes and a dangerous smile.
Ronan wasn't giving up.
He was just getting started.