Chapter 2 THE WOLF IN THE GLASS

Morning arrived in silence, thick and muffled, like another layer of snow pressing against the manor's walls. Eira stirred beneath the covers, disoriented by the unfamiliar stillness. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The bed was too soft. The air too quiet.

Then memory returned in a rush; the storm, the wolf, the man with silver eyes.

She sat up, brushing the duvet aside. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, but warmth still lingered in the stone hearth. Her boots sat by the door, crusted with half-melted snow. Her coat hung on a hook, faint wisps of steam rising from the damp fabric.

Someone had come in. Touched her things.

That unsettled her more than it should have.

Eira stood slowly, her body stiff from tension. Barefoot, she crossed the polished floor to the window. The world outside was a pristine sheet of white. Trees bent under the weight of snow, icicles dripped from the eaves like frozen blades. The sky was pale and heavy, casting an ethereal glow across the valley.

And far below, in the courtyard, Lucien Thorne moved through the snow like he belonged to it. He spoke to someone she couldn't see, gestured once, then disappeared into one of the stone buildings bordering the manor.

She should have looked away. She told herself to start packing, to leave. But she remained at the window, as if something unseen held her in place.

A knock broke the silence.

Maren entered with practiced elegance, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast. Fresh bread, spiced eggs, sliced fruit, and coffee that steamed in the cold air.

"Good morning," Maren said, setting the tray on a table near the fire. "The Alpha requests your presence in the south parlor when you're ready."

"Requests?" Eira echoed.

A faint smile tugged at Maren's lips. "It's not a word he uses often. Consider it a gesture of respect."

"And if I refuse?"

"He'll be disappointed," she said calmly. "But not surprised."

Eira exhaled. "So I'm a guest... with conditions."

"You're not a prisoner, Miss Alden. But until the Alpha understands what you are, you're not free to go either."

"What I am," Eira repeated. "You make it sound like I'm dangerous."

Maren met her gaze. "Powerful things often are. Especially when they don't know what they're capable of."

Eira felt the weight of those words ripple through her chest.

"You're speaking in riddles."

"Then listen carefully," Maren said. "Winterborne doesn't welcome surprises. And you, Eira Alden, are the biggest one we've seen in years."

---

Lucien waited for her in the same parlor as the night before, standing near the tall windows with his back to the room. Daylight poured through the glass, catching in his dark coat and making the edges of him seem less solid, more like shadow in human form.

He turned at her footsteps. "You're awake later than expected."

"I didn't realize I was on your schedule."

"Everyone in this house has one," he said. "Even guests."

He looked sharper in the daylight and somehow more dangerous than the night before. Like a blade no longer hidden.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked.

Lucien met her gaze. "I don't sleep well. Not when there's an unknown under my roof."

"You mean me."

He took a slow step forward. "Do you know how many wolves would've torn your throat out without a second thought?"

"I've seen wolves before. I'm not afraid of them."

"No," he said, voice low. "You're not. That's the problem."

His presence pressed against her like heat. She could feel the energy rolling off him, restrained and coiled.

"You didn't flinch," he said. "Most people scream. You didn't. Your scent shifted, but you didn't reek of fear. You stood your ground."

"I was trying not to die."

"You were challenging it."

She didn't respond.

He gestured to the chair opposite the fire. "Sit."

Eira hesitated, then took the seat. He poured coffee for both of them and handed her a cup.

"Tell me about your childhood."

The question was so abrupt, she almost laughed. "Excuse me?"

"You have power," he said. "Not instinct. Not resistance. Something deeper. I want to know where it comes from."

She sipped the coffee. It was strong, bitter, and surprisingly perfect.

"I grew up in foster homes. We moved a lot..never stayed anywhere long. My mother died when I was little. I barely remember her. I never knew my father."

Lucien listened, unmoving.

"She never said anything about... this. About what I might be."

"You believe you're human?"

"I am human."

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "You're not."

"Then what am I?"

He leaned forward. "That's what we're going to find out."

---

For the next three days, Eira remained within the manor walls under what Maren called "guided freedom." She was allowed to roam the halls, browse the library, and walk the courtyard but never alone. Every time she tried to go further, someone appeared. A guard disguised as a gardener. A pack member pretending to read. A cook who watched her more than the stove.

Winterborne was watching.

They didn't say it aloud, but she knew: they were waiting to see if she would crack.

Maren offered her a study on the second floor, a quiet room with high windows overlooking the woods. Eira called it her glass box. It felt like a place meant for observation. Still, the view soothed her.

The forest was dense. Timeless. And alive in ways that unsettled her. The shadows shifted too much. The wolves out there didn't pace, they prowled.

At night, she heard them.

Not ordinary howls. These were layered, primal. Some mournful. Others full of dominance and warning. But one always pierced the quiet; a deep, low cry that made her bones hum with recognition.

Lucien.

She knew it was his. Somehow, she just knew.

---

On the fourth evening, he invited her to dine.

They sat across a long table in a dimly lit room, candles flickering between them. The meal was elegant; venison, roasted root vegetables, red wine spiced with something she couldn't place. Everything about the moment felt deliberate.

"How are you finding Winterborne?" he asked.

"Cold. Quiet. Guarded."

"It grows on you."

"So does mold."

He actually laughed low and rich, the sound catching her off guard. For a moment, he looked less like a myth and more like a man.

"You have spirit," he said.

"I have defenses."

"They're not so different."

Eira set her glass down. "Tell me the truth, Lucien. What are you?"

"You already know."

"Say it."

"I'm a wolf."

"Not a man who turns into one. A wolf who wears the shape of a man."

"Yes."

"And the rest of them?"

"My pack."

"And me?" she asked softly. "What am I?"

He stood and walked around the table, stopping beside her. He leaned down, voice a low whisper near her ear.

"I don't know yet. But I will."

---

Later that night, Eira stood in her room, restless. The wind outside beat against the windows, carrying strange sounds that weren't just the wind.

Something was shifting inside her.

She approached the mirror above the fireplace. Her reflection stared back. She looked too pale, eyes too bright, as if something beneath her skin had woken.

And then, for a heartbeat, her reflection moved when she didn't.

She stumbled back, heart slamming in her chest. The image corrected itself, returning to normal. But the sensation lingered.

She wasn't imagining it.

Something inside her was stirring.

---

Far below, in the courtyard, Lucien stood beneath the moon, snow swirling around him in slow spirals. His Beta, Cale, joined him.

"She's changing," Cale said.

"She's waking," Lucien replied.

"I thought the Luna line was extinct."

Lucien's jaw tensed. "So did I."

"If you're right..."

Lucien's voice was quiet thunder.

"She's not just a Luna. She's the Luna."