Lyra sat in the dimly lit war room, surrounded by maps, unfinished strategies, and the scent of iron and pine. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table as she stared at the newest report of another raid at the border. More lives lost. More wolves are bleeding because of her.
Or so some whispered.
She could feel the weight of those words pressing against her chest, heavier than armor. Ever since Ronan's offer and her subsequent escape, something had shifted within Ravenguard. Not just in the pack, but in Alaric too. He was colder now, more calculated, still protective, but distant. The bond tethered them, but trust... that was slipping.
Cassian stepped in quietly, holding a small leather journal. He hesitated at the threshold.
"What is it?" Lyra asked without looking up.
"You need to see this."
He handed it to her, eyes scanning the hallway before closing the door behind him.
Lyra flipped through the pages, her heart thudding faster with every entry. Notes. Details. Dates. Conversations. All of them pointing to a singular truth someone had been feeding Ronan information.
And the handwriting was familiar.
Too familiar.
She froze.
"It's Marek's," she whispered, her voice nearly breaking.
Cassian nodded grimly. "We believe he's been working with Ronan since before your Trials. Possibly since the Bloodbond. He sabotaged the armory before your final test. And the traitor who leaked your escape plan? Marek again."
Lyra's stomach twisted. Marek had always been quiet, loyal to Alaric. A soldier. A shadow. But now he was a snake hidden in the grass, coiled and venomous.
"Does Alaric know?"
Cassian hesitated. "He will. But there's more. We think someone else might be helping him, someone closer to Alaric. Someone with access to internal strategy."
Lyra stood abruptly, the chair scraping back behind her. "We need to confront him. Now."
"No," Cassian said firmly. "We need proof first. Accusing a senior warrior without evidence will split the pack in half. They're already whispering about your loyalty."
Lyra's jaw clenched. "I almost died because of him. They all almost died."
"I know," Cassian said gently. "And so does Alaric. But he needs to act with certainty."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Then let's give him certainty."
Later that night, Lyra entered the Alpha's chambers without knocking. Alaric stood by the window, shirtless, the moonlight catching on the fresh scars across his back.
He didn't turn around.
"You're pushing me away again," she said.
Still, silence.
"I found Marek's journal. He's been feeding Ronan information for months."
That got his attention. He turned, eyes hard. "You're sure?"
"I saw it. Cassian confirmed it."
His expression didn't change. "And who else knows?"
"Just us," she said carefully. "For now."
Alaric walked toward her, slow, deliberate. "And what do you want me to do? Kill him in front of the others? Start a witch hunt among my own?"
"I want you to trust me," Lyra said fiercely. "Let me prove myself. Let me root out the rot, starting with Marek."
His jaw tightened. "You're already the one they question."
"Then let me be the one who silences them."
Alaric's gaze softened for a fraction of a second. "You're not Luna yet."
"Then give me something real," she said. "Not just orders. Not just the bond. Let me stand with you."
Alaric stepped closer until there was barely space between them. His hand rose to her cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair away.
"You make it hard to protect yourself when you keep walking into fire."
"I've lived through worse," she whispered.
He leaned down, breath hot against her lips. "Then burn with me."
Their mouths collided, fierce and hungry, a desperate clash of need and frustration. Clothes fell away, forgotten, as the tension of battles and betrayals melted into raw, aching desire.
She wasn't just a woman to him anymore.
She was his equal. His threat. His fire.
And in the quiet aftermath, when their breathing steadied and their hands finally stilled, Alaric whispered against her skin, "We'll handle Marek. Together."
But trust, once cracked, rarely healed without scars.
The next day, the council was summoned. Marek was brought in under guard, confusion etched across his face.
Alaric stood before them, unreadable.
"We have reason to believe a traitor lives among us," he began. "Someone who has endangered the pack. Someone we once trusted."
Marek's eyes darted to Lyra, then to Cassian, before finally landing on Alaric.
"You think it's me?"
"We know it is," Alaric said, voice cold as frost.
A heavy silence fell over the room as the journal was placed on the table.
Marek's face turned pale. "That's not mine"
"Your handwriting matches," Cassian interrupted. "And your scent was found near the sealed armory days before the sabotage."
The room erupted into murmurs.
"I did what I had to!" Marek snarled. "She's changing everything. The pack doesn't trust her. She's not one of us!"
Alaric stepped forward, rage simmering beneath his skin. "She is Bloodbound to me. She fought for this pack. And you tried to burn it from the inside out."
"I did it for Ravenguard!"
"No," Lyra said, voice like steel. "You did it for control."
Without another word, Alaric gave the order.
"Strip him of rank. Exile him beyond the northern ridge. If he returns… he dies."
Two guards seized Marek, dragging him from the room as he thrashed and shouted. The council watched in heavy silence, some nodding in agreement, others whispering still.
When it was done, Alaric turned to Lyra. The fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed, but something else flickered there now.
A wound. A fracture.
Trust wasn't fully restored. Not yet.
But this time, they were building it side by side.
And the war still loomed ahead.