Chapter 5

Lyra's POV:

The Blackwood Pack's settlement was nestled in a mountain valley, a small town of sturdy, timber-framed buildings. The air was thick with the smells of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and the unique scent of a thousand werewolves living in close quarters.

A crowd was gathered in the central square for the monthly Pack Gathering.

I moved through the forest of adult legs, my small size making me almost invisible. My mind filtered out the noise and smells, focusing on a single thread: the name Ryker Blackwood.

Then, I caught snippets of conversation.

"Did you hear? Briar is going to deal with that coward Ryker herself today."

"Serves him right," another voice snarled. "He brought shame on the whole Blackwood Pack!"

I stopped. I changed direction, heading toward the densest part of the crowd.

In the center of the square stood a raised stone platform. A tall, powerfully built young man was chained to a thick wooden post. His black hair was a mess, his face was bruised, but his stormy gray eyes burned with a defiant fire. This was him. This was Ryker Blackwood. Silas was right; his heart was good, but he was not living well.

A woman stood before him, clad in black leather armor. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a tight, severe ponytail. She was Briar Thorne, the pack's Lead Warrior.

Briar held up a scroll and her voice rang out across the square. "Ryker Blackwood! You are accused of cowardice! For abandoning your post during the battle with the Bloodfang Rogues, resulting in the injury of three of your packmates!"

A wave of hisses and jeers rose from the crowd.

Ryker strained against his chains. "I didn't run!" he roared, his voice raw. "It was an ambush! I went for reinforcements to save everyone!"

Briar laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Excuses! Your lies are as cheap as your courage."

She turned back to the crowd. "By pack law, any warrior who undermines the morale of our fighters shall have their tendons severed, their strength stripped, and be cast down to the rank of Omega!"

The judgment was met with a roar of approval. To be made an Omega was a fate worse than death for a warrior.

*Shame. Lies,* my inner wolf growled in my mind. *This woman's scent is thick with deceit and... self-loathing.*

Briar took a wicked-looking dagger from an attendant. Its blade was made of sharpened obsidian, designed specifically to cripple a werewolf's powerful muscles.

She stalked toward Ryker, her green eyes like chips of ice. "This is what you deserve, Ryker. You are a stain on the honor of this pack."

Ryker closed his eyes, his jaw tight with helpless rage.

Briar raised the dagger, aiming for the tendon behind his ankle.

The entire square held its breath.

In that dead silence, a clear, calm voice spoke. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the air and reached every ear.

"Stop."

Every head turned. The crowd parted, revealing the small, silver-haired girl standing at the foot of the platform.

Briar froze, her arm in mid-air. She glared down at me. "Who is this stray pup? Get out of here!"

Ryker's eyes snapped open. He stared at me, his expression one of pure confusion.

I ignored Briar's command and walked up the stone steps of the platform.

There was a power in my stillness, an ancient authority that made the two guards who moved to intercept me hesitate, then step aside.

I stopped in front of Briar, tilting my head back to look up at the tall warrior woman.

"The one who lies," I said, my voice even and steady, "is you."