"What?" Elyra blinked, turning her head so fast the stiff gauze across her back pulled sharply against her raw skin. "What do you mean, he’s coming here? To a werewolf clan?"
The black sedan swung past the heavy security gates of the campus, the tires crunching over the damp, leaf-strewn gravel of the private drive. High stone arches rose up against the foggy morning sky, flanked by manicured lawns and groups of students huddled in small clusters, clutching thermal travel mugs, tablets, and thick textbooks.
"Beats me," Kira said, leaning over to pop her side of the door open as the driver brought the car to a smooth stop near the main humanities plaza. "I mean, why would a Lycan king set foot in a regional pack house? They stay up in the northern crags with their own military elite. They don’t cross into werewolf territories unless they’re planning to burn something down or collect tribute."
Elyra carefully gathered her worn leather satchel, slinging it over her right shoulder so the strap wouldn’t press against the silver-scorched cuts on her left. "Maybe it’s just a routine border inspection. The High Council requires quarterly security reports from the regional Alphas, doesn’t it?"
"Since when does a king do routine inspections?" Kira scoffed, stepping out into the crisp morning air and waiting while Elyra slid slowly off the leather seat. "He has lords and generals for that. If Vaelric Draeven is coming down here himself, he wants something specific."
They stepped onto the wide concrete walkway, blending into the morning rush of students. But even here, miles away from the Veyrith estate, the air was heavy with tension. The whispers started before they even reached the library steps.
"...heard it from my brother’s unit on the eastern perimeter road," a second-year beta girl was saying, her voice pitched in an urgent, hushed tone as she leaned toward her friend near the marble fountain. "The royal vanguard is already setting up camp three miles out. Tactical units in full obsidian armor. Silver-forged crests."
"Are you serious?" her companion gasped, clutching her tablet to her chest. "Is there going to be a war? I thought the peace treaty was signed two years ago!"
"It was, but my dad said the King sent a sealed dossier to Lord Veyrith three days ago," another student chimed in, stepping closer. "He’s taking a bride from the Bloodridge Pack to seal the border agreement. A permanent contract."
"A bride?" A small circle of girls gasped in unison. "From Bloodridge? But who? It has to be Lady Elowen, right? She’s the only noble-born female heir in the central territory! She’s the Alpha’s daughter!"
"Imagine being handed over to King Vaelric," someone whispered, shivering inside her oversized coat. "They say he doesn’t even speak to lower shifters. They say he purged three of his own regional commanders during the winter campaign just for failing a perimeter patrol. He’s a complete monster."
"Shush!" a taller male shifter snapped, throwing a paranoid glance over his shoulder toward the main administration building. "Keep your mouth shut before one of his intel scouts hears you. You want to get this whole campus put under lockdown?"
Kira nudged Elyra’s elbow, her dark eyes darting toward the group near the fountain before shifting back to her best friend. "You hear that? They’re saying he wants an Alpha’s daughter." She paused, her eyebrows pulling together in a sharp frown. "Do you have any idea about this? Has your father said a single word about it at home?"
Elyra kept her eyes fixed on the pavement ahead, pulling her oversized jacket tight to hide the bulky bandage beneath her clothes. "I don’t sit at the dining table, Kira. You know that. I find out about pack news the exact same time the kitchen maids do... usually when there’s an extra load of dishes to scrub."
"Yeah, but your father is the bloody Alpha of Bloodridge," Kira muttered under her breath, pulling her phone from her coat pocket as they turned down the corridor toward their lecture hall. "How can a man have two daughters living under his roof and act like one of them doesn’t even exist?"
Elyra didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The silence between them was old and worn out. Kira hated Lord Veyrith’s coldness, but Elyra had long since stopped expecting anything resembling humanity from him.
"Hold on," Kira said, her thumbs flying across her phone screen as they paused outside the heavy double doors of the lecture room. "Let me check the regional news feeds and the central registry boards."
She scrolled rapidly, her eyes scanning live forum threads, student blogs, and political updates. After a full minute, she let out a sharp, frustrated breath and shoved the phone back into her pocket.
"Nothing," Kira grumbled. "Not a single picture of the man anywhere online. No official press photos, no public profiles, not even a blurred shot from the border summits. How does someone lead an entire kingdom in this day and age without a single photo getting leaked?"
"Someone who controls the servers," Elyra said softly, her hand resting on the heavy door handle. "Or someone who knows nobody would dare raise a camera at him."
"Well, if the rumors are true and he’s really demanding a bride, it’s definitely Elowen," Kira said, shaking her head as she pushed the door open. "She’s the golden child. She’s the one your father spent eighteen years parading around high-society galas. Lord Veyrith would probably sell half the territory’s land just to secure a royal marriage for her."
"Probably," Elyra agreed quietly, slipping into the back row of desks where the shadows were deep and she wouldn’t have to press her raw back against the wooden chairs.
The lecture dragged on for two endless hours, but Elyra barely absorbed a word of the professor’s slides on regional territory laws. Her mind kept drifting back to the dark cellar, to the freezing water of the subterranean pool, and to the massive, silent shadow that had stood at the top of the stone steps.
He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t spoken. He had just stood there, completely shrouded in blackness, watching her blood cloud the water before vanishing without making a sound.
When the bell finally rang, signaling the afternoon break, the room dissolved into the loud chatter of students packing up their laptops and bags.
"Come on," Kira said, hooking her arm gently through Elyra’s uninjured side. "Let me buy you a hot broth from the campus cafe. You look like you’re about to pass out on the floor, and I know for a fact you skipped breakfast."
"I’m fine, Kira, really..."
"You’re not fine, you’re stubborn," Kira corrected, steering her out into the bright, sunny hallway. "And since I’m the one carrying the extra gauze in my satchel, you’re going to sit down and let me feed you."
They made it halfway down the main glass-walled corridor leading toward the student lounge when the crowd ahead of them suddenly parted.
The noise in the hallway died down, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence. Students pulled back against the lockers and walls, whispering under their breath as a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black tactical uniform cut straight through the middle of the hall. He wore the silver wolf-head crest of Lord Veyrith’s personal security detail pinned to his chest.
He didn’t look left or right. He walked with the heavy, unyielding stride of an enforcer sent to collect a debt.
Right in front of Elyra and Kira, he stopped.
His eyes... cold, hard, and utterly devoid of respect, settled directly on Elyra’s pale face. He didn’t bow. He didn’t use her name or any title.
"The Alpha wants you back," the guard said, his voice flat and commandingly rough. "Now."
Kira immediately stepped half an inch in front of Elyra, her jaw setting in a fierce, protective line. "She’s in the middle of her classes. We have a mandatory group seminar in twenty minutes..."
"I wasn’t sent to negotiate with a councilor’s daughter," the guard cut in coldly, his eyes flicking to Kira for a fraction of a second before locking back onto Elyra. "Lord Veyrith gave a direct command. Drop what you’re doing and report to the main estate immediately. The car is waiting at the lower gate."
Elyra felt her stomach drop into a tight, sickening knot. A recall in the middle of the school day was unheard of. Her father explicitly hated her being seen near the main house during daylight hours, preferring her buried in the lower pantries or out of sight entirely.
"Why?" Elyra asked, forcing her voice to stay level, though her heart was hammering against her ribs. "Did something happen at the house?"
The guard didn’t bother answering. He simply turned on his heel, his heavy boots clicking against the polished floor as he walked back toward the exit, fully expecting her to fall in line behind him like a obedient dog.
"Elyra, don’t," Kira whispered urgently, catching her sleeve. "He can’t just drag you out of school like this without an official reason. Text your dad’s secretary..."
"If I don’t walk out that door, he’ll send Garick next time," Elyra said softly, looking at Kira with a tired, weary shake of her head. "And you know what Garick does when he has to come get me."
Kira’s hand trembled on Elyra’s sleeve, her lips pressing into a tight line of pure frustration. She knew there was no choice. Disobeying a direct summons from an Alpha on public campus grounds was considered insubordination, an excuse Lord Veyrith would gladly use to strip away the rest of Elyra’s tiny freedoms.
"I’ll text you when I can," Elyra murmured, pulling her sleeve gently out of Kira’s grip. "Don’t worry. It’s probably just an emergency mess in the banquet hall that needs cleaning before the evening staff arrives."
She didn’t wait for Kira to reply. She turned and followed the guard’s broad, dark back out into the bright afternoon sun, stepping into the rear of the blacked-out SUV waiting at the curb.
The drive back to the Bloodridge estate was dead silent. The guard kept his hands locked at ten and two on the steering wheel, refusing to answer a single question, pushing the SUV well over the speed limit as if he were running out of time.
When the vehicle pulled up to the estate, they didn’t take the side service driveway where Elyra was usually forced to enter. The guard led her straight up the sweeping front steps, through the tall double doors of the main entrance, and down the private glass corridor leading to Lord Veyrith’s executive office.
The heavy mahogany door was already unlatched.
"Inside," the guard growled, stepping back to let her pass alone.
Elyra took a shallow, cautious breath, pressing her arm against her ribs to keep her coat from rubbing her back, and stepped over the threshold.
Lord Veyrith stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the northern mountain pass. He wasn’t wearing his formal Alpha suit jacket or his council rings. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair was uncombed, and his hand clutched a glass of dark whiskey.
He didn’t turn around right away when the door clicked shut behind her.
Elyra stood near the entrance, her boots sinking into the thick carpet, her hands clasped tightly over her satchel. "Father."
Lord Veyrith took a long, hard swallow from his glass. When he finally turned to face her, Elyra felt a cold spike of shock go through her.
He looked wrecked. Deep, dark purple shadows bruised the skin under his eyes, and the sharp, arrogant lines of his face were twisted into a tight knot of stress. There was no booming anger in his expression today. No loud, terrifying thunder.
There was fear.
It was raw, suppressed, but unmistakable. The Alpha of Bloodridge... the man who ruled this territory like a dictator and treated his own daughter like garbage, was visibly terrified.
"You’ve heard the talk at the university," her father said. His voice was rough, dry, like he had spent the last twelve hours shouting. It wasn’t a question.
Elyra kept her head down, her voice low and neutral. "I heard people talking about King Vaelric Draeven’s arrival."
Lord Veyrith walked heavily toward his mahogany desk, setting the glass down with a hard thud against the wood. He didn’t look at her; his fingers twitched nervously as he picked up a heavy sheet of thick parchment sealed with black wax.
"The rumors aren’t rumors," he muttered, pacing a erratic line behind the desk. "Vaelric will be here by sunset tomorrow. His advance units have already locked down the perimeter roads. He isn’t coming for a polite border summit. He isn’t coming to negotiate."
He stopped, his dark eyes snapping up to lock onto hers.
"He sent an ultimatum," her father spat out, the words dripping with bitter terror. "A demand for an Alpha’s daughter to seal the northern security accord. A permanent marriage contract to guarantee peace between the Lycan throne and the southern packs. If I refuse... his vanguard has orders to level every compound in Bloodridge."
Elyra listened silently. She watched his hands shake as he held the parchment.
Elowen, she thought instantly. Of course. Elowen was his pride, his golden heir, the daughter he had spent eighteen years preparing for high society and pack leadership. The thought of handing his perfect, prized daughter over to a cold, ruthless monarch whose reputation made hardened warriors flinch—it was breaking him.
Elyra felt a dull, hollow weight settle in her chest. She almost felt a strange, bitter pity for him. He had built his whole world around Elowen’s future, and now a bigger predator was forcing his hand.
"I see," Elyra said quietly, keeping her gaze on the carpet. "Did you bring me back to help the kitchen staff set up the hall? Or do you need the upper guest suites scrubbed before his guards get here?"
She braced herself mentally for the work... the endless hours of heavy lifting and cleaning that would rip her back wide open again before the sun set.
Lord Veyrith looked at her. Really looked at her.
For the first time in years, his eyes lingered on her face, taking in her small frame, the faded cotton of her oversized shirt, and the dark circles under her eyes. There was no love in his expression. No sudden warmth, no guilt, no fatherly regret.
There was only cold, calculating math.
"You won’t be working in the kitchen, Elyra," Lord Veyrith said, his voice dropping into a flat, deadly register that made her skin crawl.
Elyra frowned, her eyebrows pulling together. "Father?"
Lord Veyrith tapped his thumb against the black wax seal of the contract.
"Elowen is the future of this pack," he said, each word spoken with absolute, icy detachment. "She carries the royal wolf line. She is trained to command our guards, manage the council, and keep this family’s name alive when I’m gone. I am not giving my heir to a Lycan who will treat her like a political hostage."
He stepped around the edge of his desk, stopping a few feet away from her.
"The accord specifies an Alpha’s daughter of the Veyrith bloodline," he continued, looking down at her like he was evaluating a piece of property. "It doesn’t specify a name. King Vaelric has never set foot in this territory. He doesn’t know Elowen’s face, and he has never looked at our internal pack records."
The air in the office suddenly felt thin. Elyra’s breath hitched, a sudden, cold panic piercing straight through the numbness in her chest.
"Father... what are you saying?" she whispered, her voice barely carrying across the rug.
Lord Veyrith straightened his shoulders, his face hardening into absolute stone.
"You will be presented tomorrow evening," he said, his tone flat, final, and completely merciless. "You will wear the formal dress. You will sign the registry. And you will leave this pack as Vaelric Draeven’s bride in place of your sister."