The pack was very festive that day. Every hand was on deck, preparing for the Blood Moon Ceremony. Lyra was assigned to work on the Ceremonial Hall with a few omega girls.
"I heard Alpha Grayson from the Eastern Pack is coming over tonight to find his mate," whispered a girl with copper hair to her left.
"The Moon Goddess willing," replied another, her voice lilting with excitement. "Can you imagine being mated to an Alpha? The power, the status..."
"The bedchamber," giggled a third, and they all dissolved into hushed laughter.
"Our Alphas will be there," someone murmured, and Lyra's hand faltered. "All three of them. Alpha Kalem hasn't attended a ceremony in months."
"It's the Blood Moon. Even he would not miss it. I cannot wait to meet my wolf and find my mate."
Lyra inched closer, and the conversation immediately dropped to silence. She glanced up to find three pairs of eyes staring at her, then they moved away, as if any contact with her might contaminate them. The copper-haired girl turned her back entirely.
This was how it always went. Conversations withered when she approached, laughter died, and smiles faded. She was the curse, the bad omen and the shadow that darkened doorways. She returned to her bucket, moving it a few paces away, enough to give them space to resume their whispers. Sure enough, the hum of conversation picked up again, this time at a volume they surely knew she could still hear.
"I do not know why she is assigned here with us, though," copper-hair said, her voice dripping with disgust. "Not after what happened."
"It was not her fault," someone offered weakly.
"Wasn't it? Three men are dead. Alpha Knox killed his own guards because of her. Vaughn, Pieter, and Beck—good men, loyal men. And for what?"
"They say she is cursed. That trouble follows her like flies on a corpse."
"Maybe it is a Thorne thing. That would explain it."
Lyra kept her head down, pretending not to hear. Her brush scrubbed harder and faster, as if she could erase their words along with the scuff marks on the floor. Her throat tightened around a knot of emotion, not sadness anymore but something harder and more jagged. She had heard it all before—the whispers, the theories, the blame. After a while, you started to believe them. Maybe she was cursed. Maybe those men did die because of her.
It was supposed to be her happiest day, the day she finally met her wolf and her mate, but all she felt was dread. Every unmated she-wolf was excited, even the omegas, especially those turning eighteen that season. If they were lucky enough to find a high-ranking male wolf who accepted them, they would leave their omega status forever. But for her, no matter what happened that night, she might end up getting rejected, or worse, not meeting her wolf at all. Because even the Moon Goddess despised her.
The sudden clack of heels against marble silenced everyone. They all looked up to see Madam Maggie approaching, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun, her mouth in the usual thin line of perpetual disappointment. Her eyes scanned the room, evaluating their progress. When they landed on Lyra, they narrowed slightly.
"Lyra," she called sharply. "Come here."
Lyra stood, wincing as her knees cracked in protest. Her skirt was soaked at the hem from kneeling in soapy water. She wiped her hands on the rough apron as she walked toward Maggie, conscious of every pair of eyes following her.
"Alpha Kalem's chambers. They need to be cleaned thoroughly. And take his breakfast to him. He has just... come out."
Lyra's stomach dropped to her feet. The blood in her veins seemed to slow, then rush all at once. "Alpha Kalem?" she repeated, her voice embarrassingly small.
"Yes," Maggie said impatiently. "Is there a problem?"
"No, Madam Maggie." Lyra swallowed hard, trying to wet her suddenly dry throat. "I will go right away."
Maggie studied her face, perhaps noting the pallor spreading across her cheeks. "See that you do. And Lyra?" She leaned closer, her breath smelling of mint and cigarettes. "Do not trigger him. Clean quickly, serve the food, and leave. Alpha Kalem does not appreciate idle chatter."
Lyra nodded, unable to form words. Out of the three triplets, he unnerved her the most. Kade's cold fury was terrifying, Knox's volatile rage was unpredictable, but Kalem's silence was a different kind of monster. He barely spoke, but his eyes... they watched her with such intensity that it felt like he was peeling back her skin with them. He made her feel very transparent.
She knew what Maggie meant by "he has just come out." Kalem had been absent from the public for days, secluded in his chambers. It was a hushed fact that Kalem dealt with some kind of old injury, a sort of invisible wound that took him away from the world. When he was in that state, he liked to be left entirely alone. And then, he just... comes back. And that day, he needed his room cleaned, his food brought, and his bath prepared.
Lyra balanced the breakfast tray carefully, but the weight felt heavier than it should, and her palms were slick with sweat. The grand corridors stretched long and empty as she walked toward Kalem's wing. The west wing was beautiful, but that day it felt like a maze designed to trap her.
By the time she reached Alpha Kalem's door, her arms ached from carrying the tray, and a bead of sweat trickled down her spine despite the morning chill. She stood there for a moment, gathering courage. The door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open gently and stepped inside.
Alpha Kalem's study spread before her, a vast space lined with bookshelves that reached to the ceiling. Early morning light poured through tall windows, catching dust motes that danced in golden shafts. The room smelled of old paper, ink, and something deeper—a scent uniquely his, like cedar and night air. Books were everywhere, stacked on tables, spilling from shelves, even piled on the floor.
And there he was, seated behind a massive desk of dark wood, surrounded by open books and ancient scrolls. His head was bent over his work, but she knew he was aware of her. Nothing escaped his notice. His hair, black as midnight and just as untamed, fell across his forehead. The silk robe he wore was also black, draped over his powerful frame with careless elegance.
When he finally looked up, she felt it like a physical touch. His eyes met hers through slim reading glasses that somehow intensified rather than softened his gaze. For a moment, she stood frozen in the doorway, the tray growing heavier in her hands, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and lips.
He was beautiful in the way dangerous things often were, a beauty that warned rather than welcomed. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, he returned to his reading without a word. She took this as permission to enter and forced her legs to carry her forward.
"Good morning, Alpha Kalem," she said, her voice smaller than she intended. "I have brought your breakfast."
He made no response, not even a nod. He just turned a page in the ancient tome before him with gentleness.
She moved to the small table near the window where he typically took his meals. Her nerves made her clumsy. She set down the tray too hard, and the silverware clattered. She winced at the sound. "I am sorry," she murmured, though he had not complained.
She arranged his breakfast with shaking hands. The spoon slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a metallic ping that seemed to echo in the silent room. When she bent to retrieve it, she nearly knocked over the water glass. She caught it just in time, but a few drops spilled onto the pristine tablecloth.
"I will get another spoon," she said to the silence, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Still, he said nothing. She wondered if he had even noticed her fumbling, but when she glanced over, she found his eyes on her, watching and observing. She looked away quickly. She moved to the windows next, drawing back the heavy curtains to let in more light. The fabric caught on something, and she tugged too hard. The curtain rod rattled ominously but held.
"The weather is lovely today," she said, desperate to fill the silence with something besides the sound of her own awkwardness. "Clear skies for the ceremony tonight."
Nothing.
"The Ballroom Hall will look beautiful. We have been preparing since dawn."
Silence stretched between them like a living thing, growing teeth and claws with each passing second. She finished with the curtains and turned back to find him watching her, his book now closed, his full attention fixed on her like a spotlight. He sat with arms folded across his chest, one finger tapping rhythmically against his chin. His glasses were off, set neatly beside an inkwell.
She felt stripped bare beneath that gaze, every thought and fear exposed. Unlike his brothers, who would tell you exactly what you had done wrong, Kalem made you confess it yourself.
"Will you be attending the ceremony tonight?" she asked, her voice strained. "Everyone is very excited. It has been some time since all three Al—" She stopped herself, realizing she was babbling. Her nerves made her talkative. "I should let you eat while it is hot."
She turned to leave, relief flooding her at the thought of escape. She had almost reached the door when his voice rang out behind her.
"Tell me, Little Thorne, about your visits to the library."
She froze with one hand already reaching for the doorknob. Her heart stuttered, then raced. Blood drained from her face so quickly that she felt dizzy. She turned slowly and mechanically, like a doll with rusted joints.
"Library?" she repeated, the word barely audible.
Kalem's lips curved in what might have been a smile on anyone else. On him, it was just a small change, like a crack in stone that did not shift the mountain.
"Yes, the library." His voice was soft, almost gentle. All the more terrifying for its calm. "The east wing, third floor. Usually between midnight and dawn, when you believe everyone is asleep."
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, but no sound came out.
"What is it that you read with such urgency, I wonder?" He rose from his chair with fluid grace, and though he made no threatening move, she pressed back against the door. "What knowledge are you seeking in those ancient texts?"
"I... I just like to read," she stammered. "Stories, mostly. Nothing important."
"Hmm." He tilted his head slightly, studying her as one might study an unusual insect. "And that is why you hide it? Why you slip through the shadows like a thief? Because you enjoy... stories?"
The questions sank into her like a hook, drawing truth to the surface against her will. She felt caught, cornered, and seen in ways she had tried so hard to avoid.
"I did not want to disturb anyone," she said. The lie was weak even to her own ears.
Kalem approached slowly. He stopped an arm's length away. Her eyes remained on his feet. "Give me your eyes, Little Thorne."
He was close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, far enough that they did not touch. The distance felt both too vast and not nearly enough. She could not even hold his gaze; she kept her eyes on his chest.
"Do you know what I find fascinating about you, Little Thorne?" His voice had that hypnotic quality that pulled words from others, secrets they never meant to share. "It is not your peculiar scent, though that is... unusual. It is not the mystery of your past, though that raises questions. It is the walls you build, so high and so carefully constructed. What are you hiding behind them, I wonder?"
Her breath came quick and shallow now. She pressed her hands flat against the door behind her to stop their trembling. "Nothing," she whispered. "There is nothing to hide." Her eyes flicked up to his.
"Everyone has secrets." His green eyes held hers, unblinking. "Even insignificant little traitors with books they should not read and places they should not go. Elias was just as curious, just as eager."
A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. Did he know about her reading of the Historia Sanguinis: The Heretic Wolves of the Northern Wilds?
"The Blood Moon reveals all truths eventually," he said, his tone conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. "Secrets have a way of bleeding through, especially on such nights."
She swallowed hard, feeling trapped in the orbit of his attention. This was Kalem's power—it was not in fists or fangs, but in the way he made you question yourself, in how he seemed to know your thoughts before you had fully formed them. He studied her for a moment longer, then stepped back. The invisible pressure eased, just slightly.
"You may go," he said with a slight nod, as if granting a tremendous favor.
She did not wait for him to change his mind. She fumbled for the doorknob, twisted it, and slipped through the opening. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs, like a bird trying to escape its cage. The corridor stretched before her, and she walked quickly, then faster, until she was nearly running.