The rabbit didn't see it coming.
Lyra's knife cut through the air like a blade of death, hitting the small animal before it could run away. She moved through the thick forest like a ghost. The damp ground made her bare feet sound. She had learned to hunt quietly and kill without thinking for ten years of living alone.
Her hands were stained with blood as she took her prize. Dinner. Once more.
The twisted oak tree that she used as a shelter stood tall in front of her. Time and weather had hollowed out the tree's base. Home sweet home if you could call a hole in a tree a home. She ducked inside, throwing the rabbit onto a pile of other bones and scraps.
This was her life now. Eat, sleep, and hunt to stay alive.
But as the sun began to set, painting the sky blood-red through the canopy above, the memories came crawling back like hungry dogs.
"Lyra! "Wait for me!"
Her sister's voice echoed in her mind, sweet and trusting. Seven-year-old Alina had followed her everywhere, those bright green eyes always sparkling with excitement.
"Don't go near the water, Alina. Papa said it's dangerous."
"But you're going! I want to come too!"
Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, but the image kept playing like a broken record. She was eight then, brave and stupid. The forbidden forest had called to her that day, whispering promises of buried treasures and secret places.
The evil river had looked so peaceful.
Splash.
The sound still haunted her dreams. One moment Alina was there, laughing as she reached for a pretty flower near the water's edge. The next moment gone. The river had taken her sister whole, and no amount of screaming or diving could bring her back.
Lyra had woken up on the riverbank hours later, soaked and freezing. Alone.
The search party found them at dawn. Found her. Alina was never seen again.
"Why did she die but not you?"
Her father's words had cut deeper than any blade. Alpha Thorne Blackmoor had stood over Alina's empty grave, his face twisted with sadness and rage.
The entire Bloodhowl Pack watched as their master pointed one shaking finger at his surviving daughter.
*"You were supposed to protect her! She followed you because she trusted you!"*
The pack's stares burned like fire. Whispers started that very day.
Cursed.
Death follows her.
She killed her own sister.
No one said it to her face, but Lyra heard every word. Children stopped playing with her. Adults crossed the street when she walked by. Even her own mother couldn't look at her without tears. But it was her father's final words that shattered her totally.
"I have no daughter."
She'd run that night, eight years old and broken. The forest greeted her with thorns and hunger, teaching her lessons no child should learn. How to steal food from campers. How to fight off wild animals twice her size. How to become something wild herself.
Now, at eighteen, Lyra barely remembered the girl she used to be.
She started the fire with practiced ease, using flint and dry grass. The flames licked at the rabbit meat, filling her hollow tree with warmth and the smell of cooking food. Her stomach growled, telling her that she hadn't eaten in two days.
As she ate, she tried not to think about her birthday. Eighteen meant something special for werewolves. It meant finding your mate. It meant joining the adult world, having a family, belonging somewhere.
But who would want a cursed rogue like her?
The fire crackled, casting moving shadows on the tree walls around her. Outside, night sounds filled the forest owls hooting, leaves stirring, something large moving through the underbrush.
Lyra froze.
That wasn't an animal.
She grabbed her knife and crept to the mouth of her tree, pressing her back against the rough bark. Heavy footsteps crunched through the fallen leaves, getting closer. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Sniff. Sniff.
Someone was tracking her smell.
Three forms emerged from the darkness, their eyes glowing yellow in the moonlight. Werewolves. And not the nice kind.
"Well, well," the boss said, his voice rough as gravel. "Look what we found. A little criminal playing house."
Lyra tightened her grip on the knife. She recognized them packless dogs like herself, but the dangerous kind. The kind that took what they wanted and left nothing behind.
"This is our territory now, sweetheart," the second one growled. "Time to move along."
"Or maybe she wants to stay," the third one said with a nasty grin. "We could use some... company."
Fear shot through Lyra's veins, but she'd learned long ago not to show weakness. She stepped out of her tree, knife raised.
"Leave. Now."
They laughed.
"Feisty little thing, isn't she?" The leader cracked his fingers. "Don't worry, we'll break that spirit real quick."
That's when it happened.
Heat burst through Lyra's chest like lightning, spreading down her arms and legs. Power raw and electric rushed through her body.
Her vision sharpened until she could see every feature of the rogues' faces. Her hearing increased until their heartbeats sounded like thunder.
Her wolf was waking.
But this wasn't just any waking. This felt different. Dangerous. Ancient.
The rogues stopped laughing.
"What the hell" the boss started.
Then the most incredible smell hit her nose. Pine trees and winter storms. Steel and smoke. It called to her soul, tugged at something deep inside her chest.
*Mate.*
The smell was coming from beyond the trees, getting stronger by the second. Someone was coming. Someone important.
Lyra's breath caught as a new figure stepped into the open. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes like ice. Power radiated from him in waves that made the rogues take several steps back.
An Alpha.
But not just any Alpha. She knew that face from pack meetings years ago, when she was still part of her father's world.
Kade Fenris. The most feared Alpha in the northern region.
And he was looking straight at her with those cold, beautiful eyes.
"Mine," her wolf whispered in her mind.
The mate bond snapped into place like a rubber band, linking her to this stranger with threads of fate she couldn't break.
But Kade's face didn't change. No joy. No mention. No warmth.
Just ice-cold sadness.
"So," he said quietly, his voice carrying total authority. "You're my mate."
He made it sound like the worst news he'd ever gotten.
The rogues scattered, disappearing into the trees like smoke. Smart of them. But Lyra couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the overwhelming realization that her mate her intended partner was looking at her like she was something disgusting he'd stepped in.
"Come," Kade ordered, turning away. "We have things to discuss."
As he walked back toward the trees, Lyra caught one more smell on the wind. Something that made her blood freeze.
The smell of her old pack. Her father's pack.
They were all here. And somehow, they knew exactly where to find her.
But how?
And why now, after ten years of silence?
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Lyra followed her cold, unwelcoming mate into the darkness, her mind running with questions that had no answers.
She didn't know it yet, but her life was about to change forever.
And not in the way she'd always dreamed.