The Ravenguard crest stared back at her from the patch on the chair bold, silver, and inescapable. A black wolf, jaw agape, moon cradled in its mouth.
Lyra ignored it.
The uniform folded beneath it was tailored for someone stronger. Someone taller. Someone who didn't feel like they were suffocating under invisible chains.
She sat on the edge of the bed, hand bandaged but still burning with the phantom sting of the bloodbond. Her thoughts were a storm of memories and questions swirling so fast she couldn't catch a single one clearly.
This wasn't how she imagined her life would be. She had escaped tyranny once. Escaped being a tool, a weapon, a bargaining chip. She had lived alone in the shadows for nearly a year, carving out freedom tooth and claw.
And now? She was once again claimed. Just by a different name.
There had been no consent. No discussion. Just a decree from a man who stood above all others and believed he had the right to decide whether she lived or died.
Alaric Draven hadn't asked her to join his pack.
He'd forced her to.
The door creaked open, interrupting her thoughts.
A young woman stepped in. Early twenties, with sleek brown hair pulled into a braid and a satchel over her shoulder. She moved with grace, like someone trained in both combat and etiquette.
"I'm Mira," she said, closing the door gently behind her. "Healer and first-rank caretaker."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "So... babysitter?"
Mira smiled faintly. "Something like that. I'm here to monitor you during your transition into the bond."
"I didn't agree to the bond," Lyra snapped, eyes narrowing.
Mira's expression didn't change. "That's not how it works here."
Of course it wasn't.
Mira moved closer, setting the satchel on the bed and pulling out a small tin of salve and clean bandages. "I need to check the wound. Bloodbonds heal fast, but they still leave traces."
"I'm fine," Lyra muttered.
"Humor me," Mira said gently, crouching in front of her.
Reluctantly, Lyra extended her hand. Mira peeled back the bandage, revealing the faded slice across her palm. It was already healing reddened, but no longer bleeding.
"Looks good," Mira murmured. "You've taken to the bond quickly."
"I didn't take anything," Lyra said bitterly. "He forced it on me."
Mira looked up, meeting her eyes. "He spared your life."
"He took it," Lyra corrected. "Just... didn't end it."
Silence hung between them for a moment. Mira applied the salve carefully, her fingers quick and practiced.
"You don't understand him yet," she said finally. "Alaric doesn't do anything without reason. If he claimed you, there's more to it than dominance."
"I didn't ask to be part of his reason."
"No one ever does," Mira whispered.
Lyra spent the rest of the day in silence. No guards. No visitors. Just thoughts that clawed at her like wild beasts.
When night fell, sleep didn't come easy. The room was too quiet. She missed the sound of trees swaying, the chirp of insects, even the distant howls of wandering wolves. The forest had been her cage, yes, but at least it didn't pretend to be safe.
This place? This fortress? It was a prison with silk-lined walls.
She woke to the sound of boots in the hallway. Heavy, deliberate. The scent hit her before the door opened.
Alaric.
He stepped inside with the calm confidence of someone who always got what he wanted. No guards. No entourage. Just him towering, unreadable, dangerous.
She stood immediately, body tense. "What now? Another order?"
"No," he said simply. "A conversation."
She folded her arms. "We didn't have one of those before you marked me."
Alaric shut the door and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You had a choice."
"I survived," she corrected. "You gave me death or submission. That's not a choice."
He nodded slowly, as if conceding her point. "You're right. It wasn't fair. But fairness doesn't keep my people safe."
She blinked. That was the first time he hadn't spoken with arrogance or authority. It almost sounded like… regret.
He continued, "Ravenguard is surrounded by enemies. Packs who've broken treaties. Rogues who've sided with chaos. We're fighting a war that most of our wolves haven't even seen yet."
"And you think I'm your secret weapon?" she scoffed.
"I think you're something they won't expect," he said. "You survived on your own for almost a year. No pack, no protection, no one to cover your back. That tells me you know how to survive and how to hide. I need that."
She narrowed her eyes. "You want me as a spy?"
"I want you to adapt," he replied. "You'll be trained. Given a purpose. Given power. You may not have chosen this path, Lyra, but that doesn't mean you're powerless on it."
Lyra exhaled slowly, torn between fury and confusion. "Why do you care what I can offer? You have soldiers. Betas. Gammas. Wolves who would die for you."
"I don't want wolves who die for me," he said. "I want wolves who challenge me."
His words hit deeper than she expected. She didn't know why.
Before she could respond, he moved closer, gaze intense but not threatening. "The bond isn't a leash, Lyra. Not unless you treat it like one. But make no mistake if you betray me, I will end you."
Her heart skipped.
He wasn't threatening her. He was telling the truth.
Alaric turned toward the door but paused. "Training begins at sunrise. Don't be late."
He walked out without waiting for a reply.
The next morning came too quickly.
Lyra reluctantly dressed in the black Ravenguard uniform. The fabric fit snug across her shoulders, the crest stitched into her chest like a mark she couldn't remove. When she stepped outside, the cool morning air kissed her cheeks, and the courtyard buzzed with activity.
Wolves of all ranks were already present, some sparring, others shifting mid-combat, muscles rippling as they trained. Her presence didn't go unnoticed. Eyes turned. Conversations quieted.
They all knew.
She was the rogue. The bound. The outsider claimed by their Alpha.
Mira waited near the edge of the courtyard. "Don't let them intimidate you. Half of them couldn't survive five days without the pack."
Lyra smirked. "Good thing I survived five months."
A deep voice called out from across the field. "Lyra!"
She turned.
Alaric stood beside a tall woman with copper-blonde hair and a lean, muscular frame. Her eyes were sharp and appraising.
"This is Daria," Alaric said. "My Beta and your new combat trainer."
Daria gave her a curt nod. "Let's see if your claws are as sharp as your tongue."
The training began hard and fast. No warm-ups. No easy drills. Daria didn't treat her like someone new, she treated her like a threat to be tamed. Lyra met every blow with grit, every dodge with instinct. She took hits that would've broken a lesser wolf and kept standing.
By midday, her limbs ached and her throat burned.
"You don't fight like a soldier," Daria said, circling her. "You fight like prey that learned how to bite."
"I've been hunted," Lyra said between breaths. "I had no choice."
"Now you do," Daria replied. "So start fighting like someone who has one."
That night, Lyra collapsed onto her bed, muscles trembling and mind racing.
This wasn't how she wanted things to begin. Bloodbound without consent, trapped among wolves who viewed her as a stray.
But somewhere in the burn of her wounds and the fire in her chest, she felt someth
ing she hadn't in months.
A reason to fight.
And maybe just maybe this wasn't the end of her freedom.
Maybe it was the beginning of a different kind.