The gates of Lupis Academy loomed like the open jaws of a monster.
Lyra stood at the threshold in silence, her new cloak too heavy on her shoulders and the chain of the bond too tight around her soul. She could feel the eyes on her — curious, cold, full of judgment.
She didn't belong here.
She wasn't strong.
She wasn't claimed by choice.
And worst of all... she still hadn't shifted.
The academy courtyard buzzed with wolves — most in their late teens or early twenties. Warriors-in-training. Future Alphas. Feral, hungry energy rippled in the air like static. A large obsidian moon statue sat in the center of the courtyard, cracked down the middle like it had been clawed by the gods.
Lyra took a cautious step forward — and the whispers began.
"That's her..."
"The defect Kael marked?"
"He must've been desperate."
"She has no wolf. She doesn't deserve the bond."
"She'll be dead by week's end."
She tried to ignore them, but the heat of their words clawed into her skin. Her eyes locked forward, jaw tight, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Inside the main hall, a tall instructor in silver-trimmed armor approached.
"Lyra Vale," the woman announced. "You will join Combat Tier Three. Keep up, or die trying."
Before Lyra could respond, the instructor turned on her heel and led the way.
She was escorted to a training ring in the back of the academy grounds — a sunken pit surrounded by watching students. Some lounged, others sparred, but all of them paused as she entered.
Three girls stepped forward — all lean muscle, sharp claws, sharper eyes. Their uniforms marked them as upper-rank students.
"Well, well," the tallest one purred, circling Lyra like a vulture. "The Luna no one wants."
Lyra tensed. "I didn't ask to be anyone's Luna."
"Oh, sweetheart. You didn't ask because you know your place." The girl stepped close, nose wrinkling. "You smell like weakness."
The others laughed. Lyra said nothing.
The girl smirked. "What, no snappy comeback? No wolf to bare her teeth?"
"She hasn't even shifted," one of them sneered.
Lyra's silence shattered.
She lunged.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't perfect. But it was pure fury. Her fist cracked across the smug girl's jaw, knocking her off-balance. The other two jumped in with snarls, and suddenly she was surrounded — claws raking, fists flying.
Pain flared across her ribs. Her back slammed into the dirt. A kick to her side knocked the wind from her lungs.
But Lyra fought like she'd never fought before.
Every blow reminded her she was still alive.
Every drop of blood reminded her she had something left.
The circle of students roared with amusement — some cheering, some laughing, some simply watching like vultures circling roadkill.
Lyra was about to black out when a voice — deep, thunderous — silenced the entire yard.
"That's enough."
Kael.
The crowd scattered like startled prey. He didn't yell. He didn't need to.
He stepped into the pit, coat trailing behind him like shadow, his expression carved from stone.
The girls backed away instantly.
Kael's eyes landed on Lyra — battered, bleeding, but still standing.
"You," he said to the ringleader. "If you ever touch her again, I'll let her kill you next time."
The girl paled and nodded, retreating without a word.
Kael turned to Lyra, eyes flicking over the bruises blooming on her arms, the blood trickling from her lip.
"You should've defended yourself sooner," he said.
"I did," she rasped, straightening. "I survived."
His lips almost twitched — almost.
Then he stepped closer, voice low enough for only her to hear.
"They smell your weakness. You need to make them smell your fire."
"I will," she whispered back, chest heaving.
His gaze dropped — to the bond mark on her neck.
"Good."
He turned and walked away, leaving her in the ring with a hundred stares burning into her back.
But this time, she didn't feel small.
This time... she felt seen.
By the time the crowd had fully dispersed, Lyra's knees gave out.
She dropped to the dirt, vision swimming, ribs screaming in protest. Her palms were torn and bleeding. Her lip was split open. Her pride... bruised but not broken.
Her breathing came in ragged gasps. The copper taste of blood clung to her tongue.
You survived, she reminded herself.
Not because anyone helped her. Not because of Kael.
Because she'd refused to fall.
She forced herself to her feet, every movement agony. Somewhere beneath the dirt and pain, a spark stirred in her chest — quiet and dangerous.
That wasn't fear. That was wrath.
The infirmary was dim and cold, lit only by the flickering flame of wall-mounted torches. Lyra sat on a stone cot while an older she-wolf in a healer's cloak dabbed ointment on her split brow.
"You shouldn't have fought back," the woman murmured. "Not this early. They want you gone, girl."
Lyra met the healer's gaze. "They'll have to try harder."
The woman paused… then smirked faintly. "Good."
That night, Lyra lay on the narrow bunk in her private stone room — a luxury only afforded because of her bond to Kael.
She hated it.
She hated the walls, the silence, the pulse of the bond mark that wouldn't let her forget that her fate was no longer hers.
You are mine, he'd said.
She curled tighter under the thin blanket, her bruises throbbing. Her wolf was still silent — no presence, no whisper of instinct, no stirring of inner strength.
It was like she was empty inside.
A knock broke the stillness.
She tensed. "Who is it?"
No answer. Just the sound of a door creaking open.
Kael.
He stepped inside without invitation, eyes scanning the room before settling on her curled form.
"You're healing slower than I expected."
"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth.
His gaze drifted to the bandages on her arms. "You're reckless."
She sat up slowly, flinching as her ribs protested. "I'm surviving."
Their eyes locked. The tension between them was a tightrope, strung between rage and something darker. Hungrier.
He didn't move closer — but the room still felt smaller. The air heavier.
"You earned their respect today," Kael said.
Lyra scoffed. "No. I earned their curiosity. And maybe their hate."
"Good," he said. "Hate can be useful."
She narrowed her eyes. "What about you? What do you want from me?"
He was silent.
Then, quietly, "I don't know yet."
That answer scared her more than anything else.
His gaze lingered on her for one heartbeat too long before he turned.
"Rest. The trials begin at dawn."
He vanished into the shadows before she could ask what kind of trials — or what they'd cost her.
As the door shut behind him, Lyra exhaled slowly.
She wasn't safe here.
But for the first time, she didn't want to be.
She wanted to fight.
She wanted to prove them all wrong.
And somewhere, in the pit of her soul, something old and wild stirred.
Watching.
Waiting.