After the shocking incident which transcended some moments ago the blood moon burns deep crimson above the sacred clearing
Bleeding its light across the gathered wolves. Shadows tremble at the forest's edge, their eyes locked on the girl standing at the stone altar.
The final chant of the elder fades into the wind, carrying with it a hush so thick not even the trees dare to whisper.
Lyra stands frozen in front of Kaleen with the rag she was wearing, her breath caught between her ribs.
Beneath the edge of her cloak, a warmth blooms against her skin and then she feels a fire untold.
Her mark, hidden all her life, breaks free in a blaze of silver and red in front of all pack wolves.
It crawls up her neck like a secret no longer willing to sleep. Gasps keep rippling through the pack. Heads snap toward her, then toward Kaleen the Alpha, the future king bound by law and blood to a mate the gods choose.
Kaleen's eyes, golden in the moon's light and brighter than ever before, widen with a storm he cannot speak.
His wolf thrashes inside him with a conflict he cannot resist, recognizing what his mind fears.
Around them, warriors shift on their feet. Mothers clutch pups closer. Elders lean forward, squinting through the heavy mist of disbelief.
No one dares to speak. The air is so tight it hums. Even the wind stops to listen.
Lyra's pulse drums against her throat, louder than the drums of the ceremony. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, hope and horror caught in the same breath.
She lifts her chin, the mark glowing brighter, burning proof into every staring soul that the slave omega was the Alpha's fated mate.
The bond pulses once then twice, a heartbeat that binds. The pack flinches as if struck.
Silence holds them all captive under the crimson sky.
Finally, pack members started speaking about the cursed fated mate of the alpha.
Daughters of the Betas, with silk ribbons in their hair and poison on their tongues, they push through the gathered wolves with heads held high.
Lyra feels them before they speak; she feels the heat of their hatred, the sharp bite of their perfume that hides the rot inside.
They circle her where she stands on the cold stone. One girl flicks her hair back, steps so close Lyra can taste her breath. Her smile is all venom, with no sign of compassion.
"Look at her," she sneers straight to Lyra's face, voice loud enough for the nearest wolves to hush their own gossip. "Maybe she cheated her way for him under the moon. An omega whore thinking she could be queen."
Another girl, taller, whose eyes glittered like a snake's own laughs, a sound that makes Lyra's stomach twist. "She faked it. Cheating witch — probably painted that mark on herself!"
She reaches out to Lyra after saying it and jabs a finger at the glowing bond on Lyra's skin, then recoils in mock horror. "Careful, girls, it might rub off!"
Their laughter breaks like glass, sharp, cruel, unstoppable.
Lyra's lips parted, but no words came; she could not speak. The taunts slash deeper than claws. Her eyes burn, but she will not cry here, not in front of them.
Her hands curl into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
Behind the girls, the crowd drinks it in. Mothers whisper behind trembling hands, young wolves snicker, older ones shake their heads in mock pity. Their stares pin her down like stakes through flesh.
They knew Lyra was not supposed to be the fated mate to Kaleen.
One of the girls leans in so close that Lyra feels the warmth of her breath on her ear. "Run back to the gutters you crawled from. Or better yet ,let the Luna peel that mark off your skin."
They toss their laughter at her feet like scraps for a stray. The night closes in, thick with the taste of shame and the echo of cruel, pretty voices. The blood moon sees it all and does nothing.
The mark on Lyra's wrist pulses again this time it brews anger among the pack wolves, it glow brighter than before, it was like a cruel, living flame against her skin.
Gasps catch in throats. A mother closest to her yanks her whimpering pup behind her legs, covering the child's eyes as if Lyra's touch might poison the young.
Another mother pulls her daughter back by the hair when she stares too long, hissing at her to stay away.
Lyra who was confused became heart broken and felt remorse.
A low growl rolls through the gathered pack, not protection but disgust against Lyra.
Warriors stand stiff, hands flexing near their blades, some stepping back as if the scent of her disgrace might cling to their fur.
She can feel them pulling away, the distance between them like ice in her blood, but Kaleen did not pull away; he stood close to her near the circle
Then she feels the weight of a wolf's eye sharper than any knife. Luna Marissa, the Alpha's mother, is the pack's iron backbone
She steps forward through the circle. Her robe sweeps the earth clean where Lyra stains it with her breath. The Luna's eyes are pits of rage and something darker, older.
She stops before Lyra. For a heartbeat the clearing and the whole moonfang pack holds its breath. Then the Luna slaps Lyra so hard blood spills from her nosetrils and mouth.
The slap cracks like a whip in the cold air. Lyra's head snaps sideways. A warmth trickles down her cheek, sharp and metallic on her tongue.
The Luna leans close, voice dripping poison. "Filthy mongrel. How dare you stand here? How dare you pretend to be worth?" Her hand fists in Lyra's hair, jerking her head back to show the mark to the world.
"Look!" she shouts. "Look what the gods have cursed us with!"
Warriors shift, some look away, some stare harder.
The silence is worse than the whispers. It suffocates her every heartbeat, thunders shame into her bones.
Lyra's knees threaten to buckle but she stands.
Her breath shudders out, chest heaving, throat raw with unshed screams. The mark burns brighter, mocking her. Around her, wolves recoil as if her air might taint their lungs.
She feels her pride crack under their stares, shame searing hotter than any flame. Still, the mark stays pulsing, glowing, a fate she never asked for, branded under a blood moon that will not look away.
Luna Marissa orders Lyra to be seized and dragged to the altar of the courtyard,
She tries to step back, but the guards are faster; their rough hands clamp down on her arms, bruising her skin.
Her gasp is lost in the roar of her pulse. She tries to twist free, but their grip only tightens. Nails bite into her flesh through the thin fabric of her robe.
Kaleen only stood watching, could not speak, and did not act despite his position as Alpha.
They drag her forward, her feet stumbling, toes scraping the hard dirt. Stones cut into her soles but they don't slow down.
Every step closer to the altar feels like a death sentence for Lyra.
She catches glimpses of the pack with their faces twisted in scorn, eyes glittering with cruel delight, some mouths twitching with laughter they're too cowardly to voice aloud.
The altar looms ahead, cold grey stone under the red wash of the blood moon.
Once, she'd seen pups lay flowers there, seen elders whisper prayers to ancestors whose names she would never dare speak. Now the stone waits for her back like a butcher's slab, and she felt the weight of it all.
A root catches her foot while she was walking with the guards, and she falls to her knees but they don't stop.
They drag her by the arms, knees scraping raw over dirt and roots until the stone meets her shins with a dull crack.
When the finally got to the altar the dropped her on it. Her chest hits the cold slab first. She tries to push herself up, but one hand slams her wrist flat, fingers digging into her bones with so much pain.
The other guard rips the cloak from her shoulders, the thin fabric tearing like paper. The night air hits her bare back, cold, humiliating, like claws scraping her spine.
She bites her lip to keep the cry inside to restrain herself from the tears inside her.
She tastes blood. The mark on her wrist burns brighter under the moonlight, a cruel brand for all to see. She feels the crowd pressing closer, the weight of hundreds of eyes.
She turns her head, searching for Kaleen in the sea of sneers and shadows.
For a breath, their eyes meet his jaw clenched, fists curled so tight blood drips from his palm. But he doesn't move. He can't; he would be going against the pack to defend an omega.
Lyra's breath comes in broken gasps as the guards yank her upright. The rough stone of the altar scrapes her knees raw.
She tries to pull her arms back to cover herself but they shove her forward again, pinning her wrists to the cold slab.
Her cloak hangs in tatters, clinging to her shoulders by a single thread.
One guard grabs the fabric and rips it free.
The sound of it tearing rings louder than the gasps that ripple through the pack.
Cold night air rushes over her bare back, her skin prickling as if the moon itself claws at her spine. The mark on her wrist glows like a furious, living thing that betrays her to the world, the mark which was given to her by the moon goddess.
She squeezes her eyes shut while on the altar, wishing the earth would split and swallow her whole to end her agony and pain.
But the cruel hush of the crowd offers no mercy. She can hear them, the wolves of the pack, the gasps twisted into giggles, whispers turning to wicked laughter.
"She can't hide now."
"Look at that filthy mark."
"An omega — the goddess mocks us!"
Every word slices deeper than the wind biting her skin, and she feels everything she hears.
She feels the guards' hands, rough and uncaring, jerking her wrists higher so the mark is clear under the blood moon's glare. Her shoulders burn from the stretch. Her cheeks burn hotter.
A rock hits her side, small, sharp, which bruised a part of her human skin. The rock was thrown by some spiteful wolf pup emboldened by the crowd.
Lyra flinches, but the guards don't budge. One twists her wrist to show the mark to the elders. The other leans close, his breath rank with old meat.
"Hold still, mutt," he growls, fingers pressing into her bones until she whimpers for comfort.
She opens her eyes just enough to see Luna Marissa at the foot of the altar, her lips curled back like a wolf about to bite.
The Luna's gaze rakes over Lyra's bared skin with cold contempt, then lifts to the mark, gleaming like a brand that won't fade which made the Luna so angry.
Somewhere behind the rows of sneering faces, she feels Kaleen's eyes. She wants him to look away, to spare her this but he doesn't.
He stands frozen, fury flickering behind the iron mask he wears for his throne.
Lyra's throat tightens. She tries to speak, to beg for herself, but the words die in her chest.
The laughter swells like a storm rolling in. The moon bears witness. The stone stays cold beneath her skin. And the mark blazes on, brighter than her shame, binding her to a fate no one wants her to claim.
Kaleen's eyes lock on Lyra, stripped and trembling under the cruel moonlight.
His fists clench so tight blood wells under his nails.
His wolf howls inside him, a beast clawing to break free, to tear the guards away, to pull her close where no one can touch her.
But the circle of elders closes in, shadows in the firelight, their words like poison in his ears.
"Reject her," one hisses, old eyes glinting.
"Or your father's line ends tonight," another murmurs.
Luna Marissa steps forward, her gown brushing the dirt. Her snarl is louder than the wind. "Choose, Kaelen. Throne or whore."
His breath catches, a growl locked in his throat. Around them, the pack waits, hungry for blood or betrayal.
His wolf bucks against his ribs. Lyra's eyes find his through the haze of shame. He sees the question there, raw and broken: Will you fight for me?
Kaleen's jaw tightens. The night holds its breath. And his answer will shatter everything.