Chapter 5 5

Lyra's heart slammed in her chest as she leapt from her bed, eyes scanning the dark corners of her room. Moonlight slanted across the stone floor, revealing only empty shadows. But the scent of Seraphine's perfume-jasmine and something acrid like burning leaves-still hung in the air.

She backed against the wall, fists clenched. Had she really seen Seraphine standing there, eyes glowing like emerald fire? Or had the dream bled into waking? Her pulse refused to slow.

A soft knock startled her. The door creaked open, revealing Draven, hair tousled, eyes wild. His gaze swept the room before it locked on her.

"What happened?" he demanded, voice low but dangerous.

She swallowed hard. "Seraphine was here. I saw her. She was standing right there-" She pointed to the window. "Then she vanished."

Draven strode to the window, scanning the courtyard below. His eyes shifted silver in the moonlight, nose flaring as he tasted the air. His hand came down hard on the stone ledge. "Her scent's here. Faint, but recent."

Lyra's stomach turned. "She's inside your walls."

He turned back, eyes burning with fury. "Not for long."

The fortress roused like a stirred hornet's nest. Warriors swept through halls with torches, dogs howled in the courtyards, and guards checked every tower and gate. Draven led Lyra to the council chamber, where Elder Corvin and a handful of trusted warriors gathered.

"We searched every corner," reported a stocky Beta named Toren, his thick arms crossed over his chest. "No sign of Seraphine or any intruder."

Lyra shivered. "She's using magic. She disappeared into mist."

Elder Corvin's expression turned grim. "That's old blood magic-dark arts. Seraphine has always been ambitious, but I didn't think she'd stoop to this."

"She's not acting alone," Draven growled. "Magnus wants Lyra. Seraphine is his dagger in the dark."

Corvin nodded slowly. "Then we need to finish what we started. The girl's training must intensify. And we must find allies among the other packs. If we stand alone, we will fall."

A murmur ran through the warriors. Lyra lifted her chin. "If there's a way to unite the packs, I'll find it."

The next days passed in a blur of training and fear.

Draven pushed her harder than ever. At dawn, they ran through the forest until her lungs burned. By day, they practiced with blade and claw. By night, she meditated under the moonlight, trying to grasp the slippery threads of her magic.

Each time she called moonfire, it came easier-but always with a price: splitting headaches, bone-deep exhaustion, or nightmares that left her shaking. Yet each time Draven was there, a steady presence that pulled her back.

One night, as they stood side by side on a hilltop, mist drifting between ancient pines, Lyra spoke softly. "Why did you swear to never take a mate?"

He flinched as if struck. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl.

"My mother died giving birth to me," he said finally, voice rough. "My father blamed me. He went mad, turned on his pack. I killed him when I was seventeen. The Elders said I was cursed-destined to destroy anyone I loved."

She reached for his hand. "I don't believe that."

He looked down at their entwined fingers, expression haunted. "I want to believe you."

She stepped closer, heart hammering. "Then do."

The next morning, word came: a scout from the Whitehowl Pack requested an audience with Draven. The Whitehowls were neutral, known for their ancient archives and healers. If they could be convinced to join Blackmoor, it might tip the scales.

Lyra stood in the great hall as the scout arrived-a tall, gaunt man with white hair and piercing blue eyes. He introduced himself with a low bow. "I am Alaric, emissary of Alpha Helene Whitehowl."

Draven gestured to Lyra. "This is Lyra Evernight."

Alaric's eyes widened slightly. "So the rumors are true. The Evernight line lives."

"They do," Draven said, voice like steel. "And they will not fall."

Alaric nodded, then lowered his voice. "Seraphine Darkvale has been seen beyond our borders, gathering rogue wolves. She's offering gold and blood for anyone willing to hunt the Evernight girl."

Lyra felt a chill ripple through her. "She wants to force the packs to betray us."

Alaric's gaze was sympathetic. "Not all will be swayed. My Alpha has agreed to a parley. If you come to Whitehowl territory, she will hear your plea."

Draven's eyes narrowed. "It could be a trap."

"Or our only chance," Lyra said quietly. She met Draven's gaze. "We have to try."

The journey began at dawn.

A small escort of Blackmoor warriors rode with them through the forest. Snow fell in gentle flurries, muffling hoofbeats. Pines rose around them like silent witnesses as they wound deeper into Whitehowl lands.

As dusk fell on the second day, they arrived at a vast valley encircled by mountains. A sprawling fortress of pale stone rose from the valley floor, its towers shimmering in the moonlight like frozen spires.

"Whitehowl Keep," Draven murmured. "It hasn't changed."

Inside, the halls were bright with lanterns and tapestries of wolves hunting beneath full moons. The air smelled of pine resin and old parchment. Healers in white robes moved quietly through the corridors.

They were led to the council chamber-a soaring room of pale marble and silver banners. At its far end stood Alpha Helene Whitehowl, regal and tall, her hair silver as the moon, eyes fierce.

She studied Lyra for a long moment. "You are Astrid's daughter," she said at last. "I see her in you."

Lyra swallowed hard. "You knew my mother?"

Helene nodded slowly. "Astrid saved my life once, long ago. I owe her a debt. But times have changed. The prophecy has awakened old fears. Some in my pack want you dead. Others see hope in your power. Convince me, Lyra Evernight. Tell me why I should stand beside you."

Lyra stepped forward, heart pounding. The words came in a rush.

"I didn't choose to be born with this power. But I choose what to do with it. Magnus wants to enslave every pack, to rule through fear. I want to stop him. But I can't do it alone. My mother believed in unity, not conquest. Help me prove her dream is still possible."

Helene's gaze softened. "You sound like her."

A murmur rose among the gathered Whitehowl Elders. One stood, face twisted with suspicion. "Or perhaps she is the harbinger of ruin the prophecy warns of."

Draven's growl rumbled through the hall, low and dangerous. But Helene raised a hand. "Peace."

She turned back to Lyra. "You will stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we will decide."

That night, sleep eluded Lyra.

She walked Whitehowl's snowy gardens under a full moon that glowed silver-blue. The air was cold but clear, every breath crisp in her lungs.

Draven found her there, his dark cloak blending with the shadows. "You shouldn't be alone."

She turned to him. "I can't stop thinking... What if the prophecy's right? What if I'm the one who'll destroy everything?"

He stepped close, hands settling on her shoulders. "You are not your bloodline's past. You are who you choose to be."

His eyes searched hers, hungry and unguarded. He dipped his head, kissing her softly. The world narrowed to his warmth, the press of his lips, the way his hands cradled her face like she was precious.

When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers. "I'll fight for you. Always."

A sudden scream shattered the quiet.

They tore through the gardens toward the sound. Warriors were already converging on a courtyard where Alaric lay bleeding, a dagger in his side. Blood spread dark across the snow.

Draven dropped to his knees, tearing Alaric's tunic open. Lyra pressed her hands to the wound, trying to summon moonfire, but nothing came-panic clouded her mind.

Alaric's eyes fluttered. "A... woman... dark hair... green eyes..." His breath rattled. "She... she knows... the secret... the binding stone..."

His head lolled back. His last breath misted into the cold air.

Lyra's hands shook as she pulled them back, slick with blood. "Seraphine was here."

Draven rose slowly, his expression a mask of rage. "She's after the binding stone. If she gets it, she can enslave every wolf in the valley."

Lyra looked up at him, horror dawning. "Then we have to find it first."