Dawn came gray and heavy, the kind of light that made the world look older than it was. Lyra padded through the mist toward the Bloodfang clearing. Every step felt like dragging herself back into a cage.
Smoke from the dying fire clung to the air. The pack was already stirring, eyes following her with that familiar mixture of disdain and curiosity. They never called her by name—just the white wolf, the omen, the mistake the Moon forgot to take back.
She kept her head low. Defiance, even in posture, was something Kaine punished quickly.
When she reached the edge of the denning ground, the scent hit her: Kaine's presence—dark and electric, the way the air smells before lightning strikes. He stood near the central stone, arms crossed, the gold in his eyes catching the light.
"You're late," he said.
"I—" The word caught in her throat. "I lost track of time while patrolling."
Kaine's gaze slid over her like a blade. "You think I don't feel when you run from me?" His voice was quiet, but the threat beneath it was sharp enough to still every whisper around them. "You think I don't feel when you block our bond?"
"I didn't mean—" she began, but he was already shaking his head.
"Enough," he said, and raised his voice to the pack. "You all see her—our so-called Luna. The one the Moon blessed with white fur and green eyes." His sneer twisted. "Tell me, brothers and sisters—has her blessing brought this pack fortune? Or ruin?"
A low murmur rippled through the wolves. No one dared speak outright, but the sound was answer enough.
Lyra's stomach knotted. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the sight of the Alpha's glare locked her jaw.
"Do you know what she is?" Kaine said. "A curse. Since the night the rogues attacked—since her precious parents died—every border has been restless. Every hunt thinner."
The mention of them hit harder than any insult. For a heartbeat, the world blurred.
------FLASHBACK ------
She was sixteen again, standing between her adoptive parents as they faced the roaring shapes of rogue wolves under a blood-red moon. Her father, gentle and broad-shouldered, had pushed her behind him; her mother's last words were a breath against her ear—Run, Lyra. Don't look back.
They had found her as a pup years before, small and white and shivering by the riverbank. They never asked where she came from; they simply called her their miracle. And then they were gone—torn away in a single night.
When the rogues fell, Kaine had been the one to pull her from the wreckage. "You're safe now," he'd said back then, voice soft. "You belong to me."
She had believed him.
------END OF FLASHBACKS------
"Do you even hear me, Lyra?" Kaine's voice dragged her back to the present. The pack ringed closer. His expression hardened into something final.
"I, Alpha Kaine of Bloodfang," he said, each word deliberate, "reject you as my mate."
The words hit like claws to the chest. The bond that tied them snapped—an invisible cord tearing free. Pain flared bright and hollow all at once, a searing emptiness that stole her breath. She gasped, clutching at nothing, as the connection vanished.
The pack's murmur grew louder. Someone laughed. Someone else whispered, finally.
Kaine stepped closer, close enough that she could see her reflection in his golden eyes—small, broken, and trembling. "You're no Luna of mine," he said. "From this day forward, you are nothing. A rogue."
He turned his back on her.
For a long moment, Lyra couldn't move. The ground felt unsteady, the world too quiet. Then something in her cracked. She straightened slowly, lifting her head. Her green eyes met the ring of onlookers.
"Then I'll be nothing," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "Better nothing than yours."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Kaine froze, shoulders stiffening—but he didn't turn around.
Lyra backed away, step by step, until the forest swallowed her. The silence behind her was louder than any roar.
Only when she was deep among the trees did she collapse against the earth, shaking. The pain in her chest burned and then dulled, leaving a strange calm behind. Somewhere far above, the morning sun broke through the clouds, touching the edge of her white fur with light.
You are not his to command, the soft inner voice whispered again.
Lyra lifted her head, eyes glinting with something fierce and new.
She would not die here.
Not yet.