The decommissioned utility tunnel entrance was hidden beneath a concrete slab near the ancient Kaelen estate, choked with five years of neglect. Ronan stood beside Lyra, Damon and two of her security specialists flanking them. Ronan felt the familiar surge of Alpha energy, ready to take the lead in the dark.
"Damon, set up a perimeter. Lyra, you'll wait here with my guards while I secure the first sector," Ronan commanded, reverting instinctively to his authority.
Lyra's laugh was soft, dry, and entirely devoid of amusement. "Wrong, Alpha Kaelen. The enemy—a rival pack attempting to siphon your energy—is far more prepared than your outdated defense system suggests. Your raw strength will walk straight into a magi-trap designed for your specific energy signature."
She pulled a pair of form-fitting, tactical gloves onto her hands. "I go first. Your role is simple: follow my instructions, and stay out of the way."
Before he could argue, Lyra melted into the shadow of the tunnel entrance. She didn't transform into her wolf; she didn't need to. She was faster, quieter, and more lethal in her human form than his fastest Scout Beta.
Ronan gritted his teeth, but Damon, recognizing the cold professionalism, grabbed Ronan's arm. "She's right, Alpha. Their traps were specifically built to negate Kaelen Alpha power. Listen to her."
Reluctantly, Ronan followed, descending into the close, musty darkness.
The air in the tunnel grew heavy, crackling with suppressed magic. Lyra was ahead, moving like mercury. Every three steps, she paused, her golden eyes scanning the walls.
"Stop," Lyra hissed, her voice barely audible.
Ronan immediately halted. Up ahead, three of the tunnel's reinforced structural beams had been invisibly enchanted with a silencing ward and a deadly lightning strike—a trap that would kill or paralyze a full Alpha instantly.
Lyra didn't attempt to dismantle it. She simply raised her gloved hands, and a faint, shimmering crimson fire began to bleed from her fingertips. It wasn't the volatile, destructive fire Ronan was familiar with. It was cold, controlled, and malevolent.
She didn't touch the beams; she touched the shadow behind the beams. The crimson fire danced on the walls, and as it consumed the enemy's shadow, the three enchanted beams simultaneously overloaded, exploding into harmless, dust-covered rubble. The trap was neutralized without a sound.
Ronan stared. That power—the Shadow Fire—was pure Ancient Bloodline magic. It was the proof of Lyra's true heritage, the power he had mistaken for a curse.
"Move," Lyra ordered, and they proceeded.
They reached a reinforced steel door—the entrance to the enemy's main chamber. Ronan instinctively shifted, his wolf pushing forward, ready to tear the door from its hinges.
"Don't," Lyra commanded sharply. "It's chemically treated. Raw Alpha strength will trigger the venom. You'll be paralyzed before you shift back."
She stepped forward and placed her hand flat against the cold steel. The golden light in her eyes intensified. She was not using strength; she was using intelligence.
"The enemy leader, Alpha Malek, built this base using stolen Shadowclaw encryption signatures," Lyra explained, her focus absolute. "Ronan, your outdated firewalls were weak, but my Aura Dynamics systems exploited the existing backdoor in the code."
She wasn't hacking the door; she was hacking his old security. Lyra's mind was moving at a speed Ronan's brute strength couldn't match.
A quiet hiss sound, and the heavy door retracted silently into the floor.
"After you, Alpha Kaelen," she said, stepping aside, the courtesy mocking his current impotence.
Ronan strode into the chamber, Damon and the guards close behind. The chamber was a nerve center—computers, complex magical siphons, and standing in the center, a huge, black-wolf Alpha, Malek, flanked by ten of his strongest wolves.
Malek roared, "Kaelen! You sent your Beta to fight your battles? And... a woman?"
"I sent my CEO," Ronan corrected, stepping forward.
But Lyra beat him to the fight. Before Malek could finish his taunt, Lyra was in motion. She was a blur of crimson and gold. She didn't fight like a werewolf; she fought like an assassin. She didn't rely on claws or teeth; she used the raw, condensed power of the Shadow Fire.
She targeted the energy siphons first, her hands releasing controlled bursts of crimson flame that didn't burn the wood but instantly melted the magical wiring within.
As two wolves rushed Ronan from behind, Lyra executed a perfect pivot, striking both wolves with an invisible wave of power. They didn't fall; they froze, pinned to the wall by a pure, physical force field of Shadow Fire.
Ronan engaged Malek. The two Alphas met in a collision of dark fur and immense strength. Ronan fought with the desperate ferocity of a king defending his collapsing kingdom, but he was tired, stressed, and unstable due to the energy leak.
Malek landed a devastating blow to Ronan's side, sending him crashing into a console, dizzy and winded.
Malek prepared the final, lethal strike. "Your Pack is mine, Kaelen! And your useless mate won't save you—"
He never finished the sentence.
Lyra, having finished neutralizing the siphons, stood between the two Alphas. Her golden eyes were no longer embers; they were twin novas of pure, terrifying power.
"He is not useless," Lyra whispered, stepping forward and placing her hand on Malek's armored chest. "But you are."
A surge of pure crimson energy erupted from her hand, not like fire, but like a physical blow. Malek screamed, collapsing to the floor, his wolf violently shoved back into its human shell. He was defeated not by strength, but by overwhelming, precise, Ancient Bloodline magic—a magic Lyra had mastered in the five years Ronan had spent doubting her.
"The crisis is mitigated," Lyra announced, her voice echoing in the sudden silence. She glanced at Ronan, who was struggling to stand, holding his injured side. "You owe me a new corporate security assessment, Alpha. And an apology."
Ronan, battered and utterly exposed, could only look at the sheer, terrifying power of the woman he had discarded. The groveling was about to get very real.