Lyra’s POV
Lyra woke up surrounded by darkness.
Not the gentle dark of nighttime.
This was thick and airless, pressing in from every side like the whole world had shrunk around her.
She fought to breathe.
Her body felt stiff and sore, and the ground underneath her kept jolting, like something was carrying her forward.
She blinked hard, trying to remember.
The ceremony.
The circle.
Keller’s rejection.
Freya grabbing her.
Then a burst of pain at the back of her skull.
She tried to lift her arm but her knuckles hit something solid just inches above her face.
She froze, then stretched her foot out slowly.
Wood.
Her toes brushed against wood.
A box.
She was locked inside a wooden box.
Panic surged through her chest as her wolf clawed at the inside of her skin.
She pressed both palms flat against the lid above her.
There was barely room to bend her elbows.
The box was long enough to lie flat in, but nowhere near tall enough to sit up.
“Where am I,” she whispered, voice shaking.
“What did they do to me?”
The jolting stopped.
Lyra’s chest went tight as footsteps and low voices sounded just outside.
Then the lid above her started to move.
Light poured in through the widening crack, and cool, strange-smelling air rushed into the box.
This wasn’t Crescent pack territory.
The air was all wrong.
The lid was torn away completely, and light flooded her eyes.
She flinched, shielding her face until her vision adjusted.
Two large figures loomed over her.
Gammas.
She could tell instantly, their tightly controlled energy gave it away.
One of the gammas reached down and hauled her upright without a word.
Her legs, stiff from being crammed in the box, buckled under her the second she stood.
The ground rushed toward her.
But Lyra’s legs never hit it.
A strong hand caught her arm and held her steady like she weighed nothing at all.
Her wolf jolted to attention inside her.
A scent rolled over her, strong, sharp, unlike anything she’d smelled before.
She wasn’t sure if he was an alpha or a beta.
It was something in between, and strangely familiar even though she couldn’t place why.
She looked up.
His hand caught her attention first, long fingers wrapped around her arm, a faint blue tint staining the creases of his knuckles.
She knew that color.
Ashvine residue.
A slow poison.
Deadly to wolves if left untreated.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Poison.
Without thinking, Lyra grabbed his hand in both of hers and pulled it closer to inspect it.
“You’re poisoned,” she said.
He yanked his hand back before she could get a good look at his face.
The warmth of his grip vanished instantly, and something about the sudden distance felt colder than it should have.
He turned away, his broad shoulders blocking her view, and spoke to the gammas in a low voice that seemed to shake the trees around them.
“Take care of the tributes.
Don’t damage them.
They need to look presentable.”
Tributes.
The word hit her like a punch to the ribs.
She forgot all about the poison.
Tribute?
What does that even mean?
Where in the world am I?
Lyra thought.
He walked off, footsteps heavy and sure of themselves.
Lyra stared after him, breathless and completely lost.
Tribute.
The gamma beside her yanked her forward, and her unsteady legs scrambled to keep up as they crossed a stone path lined with tall wooden posts carved with symbols she didn’t recognize.
They entered a wide hall buzzing with whispers and quiet, frightened crying.
Then she saw them.
Women.
Dozens of them, lined up in rows.
Some shaking.
Some crying silently.
Some just staring at nothing, like they’d already given up.
All of them arranged like items on display.
Lyra was shoved into an empty spot in line, stumbling next to a young woman with sharp eyes and a proud, tilted chin.
The woman glanced at her once, then went back to staring straight ahead.
“Where are we,” Lyra asked.
“What’s happening here?”
The woman answered without turning her head.
“We’re tributes.
For the Blackthorn Pack Alpha.”
Blackthorn.
One of the oldest, most feared packs anywhere near Crescent territory.
Known for its brutality and ruthlessness.
Known for an Alpha with no mercy in him at all.
Lyra’s heart stumbled.
She’d heard stories about tributes before, but those stories were always about noble daughters, girls from powerful families sent to the Blackthorn Alpha to seal alliances and keep their families safe.
Omegas were never chosen for that.
Omegas were too weak, too unimportant.
Nobody would ever send an omega.
She shook her head fast.
“No, that can’t be right.
I’m an omega, not a noble.
Only noble daughters get sent as tributes.
Someone made a mistake.”
The woman snorted.
“Then someone swapped you in.
If you’re standing here, they meant for you to be.”
Only one name floated through Lyra’s mind.
Freya.
She came from a noble house.
Did Freya switch places with her?
The woman kept talking.
“Just pray you get chosen as a bride for Alpha Ronan, or one of his betas.
If you’re not chosen, you’re dead by sunrise.”
Lyra’s stomach dropped straight to the floor.
“A bride?
Killed?
Why would they kill us?”
The woman finally turned and looked at her directly.
“If you want to live, stop asking questions.
The Blackthorn Alpha rejects tributes without blinking.
If he doesn’t want you, you die.
Simple as that.”
Lyra’s breathing turned sharp and uneven.
Her wolf paced restlessly inside her chest.
This wasn’t her life.
She had a pack.
She had a home.
She’d just been rejected by her mate, and now this?
The doors at the far end of the hall banged open.
A man strode in, flanked by two others, and the entire room went silent just from his presence.
He moved down the line, checking each woman one by one.
“Too old,” he said, waving one away.
“Too young,” another dismissed.
… Rough hands.
Weak scent.
Defective wolf.
He rejected them coldly, one after another, each word final.
Guards dragged the rejected girls toward a side door, and Lyra’s stomach twisted every time one of them screamed.
Then he reached her.
His eyes skimmed over her fast.
His mouth curled in disgust.
“Calloused hands.
Omega.
Kill her.”
Lyra’s knees buckled and she hit the stone floor.
Tears spilled down her face as she grabbed his boot.
“Please, no, please, I haven’t done anything wrong.
Please don’t kill me.
I can’t die like this.
Please, have mercy.”
He shook her hand off his boot like it was nothing and waved the gamma warriors forward.
They grabbed her arms and started dragging her across the floor.
She sobbed and clawed at the stones, trying to pull herself back, but no one stopped.
No one even looked at her.
The hall doors opened again.
This time, everything changed.
The air went heavy.
Charged, like lightning about to strike.
Power rolled through the room so strong the walls seemed to hum with it.
Every wolf in the hall dropped their eyes at once.
The whole room fell silent, dominance pressing down on everyone.
Lyra slowly lifted her head.
An Alpha had entered.
Not just any Alpha.
Alpha Ronan Blackthorn.
She didn’t need anyone to confirm it, his presence said everything on its own.
Her breath caught in her chest.
Dark hair fell across his forehead.
Icy gray eyes swept the room and landed directly on her.
The second their eyes met, her wolf screamed.
Mate.
Her lungs stopped working.
No.
No, this can’t be happening again.
Another mate?
I can’t survive being rejected twice.
Not after Keller.
Not after that pain.
She chanted in her head.
Her whole body shook.
But Ronan’s expression stayed completely flat.
No growl.
No flinch.
He walked toward her slowly, each step making her panic more.
The guards dragged her forward and forced her to her knees, but her eyes never left his face.
He stopped right in front of her.
His voice came out deep, calm, and cutting.
“How did you know I was poisoned?”
Lyra blinked, confused.
Poisoned?
Wait, what about the mate bond?
Does he not feel it at all?
Before she could respond, she saw it, a faint blue discoloration along his neck, just under the collar of his dark shirt.
The same bluish tint she’d seen on his fingers earlier.
He was the one who caught me.
It was him.
Oh no.
Her hand shot toward his neck on instinct, but before she could touch him, the guards around them growled and stepped forward like they might tear her apart.
She froze instantly, her wolf shrinking back inside her.
Ronan raised one hand slightly.
The growling stopped at once.
His eyes locked on hers.
“The poison.
What is it?”
Her voice came out shaky.
“Ashvine.
It starts in your fingertips and spreads up toward your throat.
If it reaches your heart, you’ll grow weak, and one shift could kill you.” She answered.
A long silence stretched between them.
He studied her, his face impossible to read.
Then he turned to the guards and spoke, final and absolute.
“Take her to the east wing.
This one is mine.”
Whispers exploded through the hall.
Lyra’s heart slammed against her ribs as the gammas pulled her to her feet.
Mine.
Mate.