The night air in Silver Moon Palace was thick with the scent of stone, perfume, and secrets. Torchlight flickered across the walls, shadows stretching and retreating as if the palace itself were alive, watching, waiting.
Kael Draven moved through the halls, silent and deliberate. His amber eyes scanned every corner, every flicker of motion. His wolf throbbed beneath his skin, senses taut, instincts whispering warnings he could not yet name.
Something shifts tonight, he thought. Something… or someone.
He rounded a corner near the fountain courtyard, and there she was—Lyria. She had come to fetch water for the servants' evening meal, unaware of the Alpha lingering above on the balcony, eyes fixed, heart and wolf both alert.
Their gazes met almost by accident. Kael's breath caught, a subtle thrill winding through his chest. Lyria froze, feeling the weight of amber eyes like a pulse at her back. She should have looked away, fled even, but her feet rooted themselves to the cool stone.
He's… looking at me, she thought, pulse hammering, body humming with something she didn't understand.
Kael descended the balcony staircase, steps measured, deliberate. His presence was magnetic, predatory, yet restrained. The air around him seemed charged, almost vibrating, drawing her in like a tide she could not resist.
"Lyria," he said, voice low, dangerous, carrying the hint of amusement and hunger.
She shivered at the sound, brushing her fingers against the edge of the fountain as though grounding herself. "Alpha Kael," she managed, voice soft, almost breathless.
He stopped a mere step away, close enough that the heat of his body pressed against her senses, far enough that she could still draw breath. His amber eyes roamed her face, lingering on the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck, the glimmer of vulnerability she could not hide.
So beautiful… so untamed… so aware, he thought, wolf coiling, instincts flaring. And mine. Not yet, but mine all the same.
Lyria felt the tension thrumming between them, the pull of something forbidden and thrilling. Her chest rose and fell faster, skin tingling with warmth, a magnetic pull she could neither deny nor name.
Kael leaned just slightly closer, enough that she caught the faint scent of him—smoke, musk, and something darker that made her pulse quicken. His lips curved, just a fraction, teasing, testing.
"You should not be here alone," he murmured, voice low, dangerous. "It is… unwise."
"And yet," she whispered, matching his tone, "I am here."
The near-contact set their nerves ablaze. Every instinct, every pulse of desire, danced between them, restrained only by willpower and circumstance. It was a game of tension, a delicate push and pull where neither dared fully surrender.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace, Isolde and Maris plotted quietly. "The Alpha is distracted," Isolde murmured, eyes sharp. "He notices her—Lyria—more than he should. This could complicate our plans."
Maris inclined her head. "Shall we interfere, mistress?"
Isolde's lips curved faintly. "Not yet. Let the tension build. Let the bond grow subtle and fragile. Soon, it will break in our favor—or fail spectacularly. Either outcome serves us."
Across the palace, Serina's maid delivered another report: the last wife's schemes were intensifying, and the palace was on the brink of silent chaos. Every whisper, every glance, every small movement was a weapon in the unseen war.
Kael lingered near Lyria, wolf and man both alert. Their eyes met, the unsaid words heavy in the air: desire, awareness, caution, and something dangerously close to obsession. Neither moved, yet the tension between them crackled like lightning waiting to strike.
And in that charged moment, the palace seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the first real collision—of lust, of will, and of fate itself.