Lyra checked her gathering basket one final time, making sure the leather straps were secure, and the lined interior would protect the delicate herbs she was about to collect. Moon petal only bloomed in the highest mountain reaches, and only for 3 days after a full moon. Miss this window, and she’d have to wait another month, while the wasting sickness spread through the lower districts.

 Where are you watching from? I hope you’ve never been called invisible by people who should have seen you. Never had to prove your worth over and over to those who decided you were worthless before you even spoke. Never learned that sometimes the most important moments happen when no one is watching.

 The palace healer’s wing was quiet this early. Most still sleeping before dawn rounds began. Lyra preferred it this way. She’d grown up in these halls after her father died, saving the old alpha king from a shadow beast attack 15 years ago. The palace had taken her in, given her food and shelter and training. But they’d never let her forget she was here on charity.

 An orphaned omega with no family name, no pack bonds, no value beyond her ability to fetch herbs and prepare medicines. Sage, the head healer, found her by the supply room. The ancient woman’s silver hair was already pinned in its customary bun. Her sharp eyes missing nothing. You’re going for the moon petal today. Yes, ma’am. The sickness is spreading. We’re down to two days of treatment supplies.

Your father used to collect these, Sage said, her voice softening slightly. He had a gift for finding them, even in the worst conditions. You’ve inherited that at least. Lyra didn’t know how to respond to that. Compliments from Sage were rare and usually double-edged. She settled for a simple nod.

 Be careful in the high reaches. Weather can turn fast this time of year. If you see storm signs, come back immediately. No herb is worth your life. Yes, ma’am. Sage studied her for a long moment. Something unreadable in her ancient eyes. Then she pressed a small vial into Lyra’s hand. Warming tonic. If you get caught in cold, it’ll buy you time. Your father gave me one once, years ago. Saved my life.

 Consider this repaying the debt. Lyra clutched the vial, surprised by the gesture. Before she could thank her, Sage had already turned away, disappearing into the treatment rooms with her usual brisk efficiency. The climb took 4 hours. Lyra knew these mountains intimately, had spent countless days mapping the best routes, learning which paths were stable, and which were death traps.

 disguised as shortcuts, the moon petal grew in a specific alpine meadow, accessible only by those willing to risk the climb. She found the meadow exactly where it should be, carpeted in the distinctive silver blue flowers that gave the plant its name.

 Working quickly and carefully, Lyra harvested what she needed, taking only mature blooms and leaving enough to recede. Her father had taught her that in one of her few clear memories of him. Take what you need, leave what you must. The mountain provides, but only for those who respect it. By the time her basket was full, the sun had passed its zenith. Lyra allowed herself a moment of satisfaction.

 This would be enough to treat 50 patients, maybe more if they diluted it properly. The wasting sickness would be stopped before it could become an epidemic. That’s when she noticed the sky. It had been clear when she’d started collecting. Brilliant blue stretching endlessly. Now dark clouds masked on the northern horizon, moving with unnatural speed. Lyra’s stomach dropped.

 She’d seen storms build in the mountains before, but never this fast, never this dark. She needed to descend now. The wind hit when she was halfway down, nearly knocking her off the narrow trail. Snow followed, fat flakes that quickly became a wall of white. Visibility dropped from miles to feet in minutes.

 Lyra pulled her cloak tighter, trying to shield her face from the stinging ice crystals. She knew these paths, had walked them dozens of times. But in a complete white out, every landmark disappeared. The trees that should mark the turn looked identical. The rocks that indicated safe passage were buried under rapidly accumulating snow. Lyra’s hands were going numb despite her gloves.

 The cold bit through her layers, finding every gap in her clothing. She dressed for a day hike, not a blizzard. The warming tonic Sage had given her sat in her pocket, but she was saving it. If she got truly lost, truly desperate, she’d need it then. She pushed forward, trying to trust her instincts. Downhill was safety.

 As long as she kept descending, she’d eventually hit the lower forests where she could find shelter. That’s when she tripped. Her foot caught on something buried in the snow, sending her sprawling. Lyra caught herself on her hands, the impact jarring through her wrists. Cursing, she looked back to see what had caught her and froze. It wasn’t a rock or root. It was fur. white gold fur attached to a small wolf pup.

 The pup lay on its side, barely visible under the accumulating snow. It was tiny, no bigger than a medium-sized dog with soft downy fur that seemed to glow even in the storm’s gray light. But it was the wounds that made Lyra’s breath catch. Black smoking wounds that looked like something had burned through the pup’s delicate hide.

 She recognized them immediately because her father’s journals, the only possession she had from him, described them in detail. Shadow beast venom, the same thing that had killed him. The wolf’s amber eyes cracked open, finding hers with desperate intelligence, not a wild animal, a shifter, someone trapped in wolf form, dying from wounds that had no cure.

 Lyra should keep walking, should save herself. This wolf was already dead, and she’d die too if she didn’t find shelter soon. Every logical thought screamed at her to leave. But she couldn’t because those amber eyes held the same look she’d seen in mirrors for years, alone, forgotten, convinced death was inevitable.

 “I see you,” she said, her voice barely audible over the wind. “You’re not dying alone.” She tried to pull him, gripped his thick fur, and hauled with all her strength. The pup was heavy for his size, maybe 40 lb, but she managed to lift him into her arms, cradling his small, trembling body against her chest. Despite his small size, he felt heavier than he should, as if the wounds were weighing him down.

 The pup made a sound, low and pained. His eyes found hers again, and in them she saw acceptance. He knew he was dying, was trying to tell her to go, to save herself. Lyra held him tighter against her chest, her arms shaking, not just from his weight, but from the cold seeping into her bones. She looked around desperately.

 No cave, no shelter, nothing but open mountain side, and the storm trying to kill them both. The wind screamed past, stealing what little warmth remained in her body. She was maybe an hour from hypothermia. The pup had less time than that. Two bodies generated more heat than one. It was basic survival knowledge. Shared warmth could mean the difference between death and mourning.

 The decision wasn’t even really a decision. Lyra had been alone her entire life. If she was going to die, at least she wouldn’t die that way. She sat down in the snow, tucking the small pup against her chest inside her cloak. He was still warm despite the wounds, despite the cold.

 She wrapped her cloak tightly around both of them, creating a cocoon of shared body heat. With one arm holding him secure and the other wrapped around herself, she curled into a protective ball around the tiny creature. “We’re not dying alone,” she whispered into his soft fur. either of us. The pup shifted slightly and she felt his small head nuzzle against her neck, a gesture of comfort, of thanks, of shared surrender. Lyra’s eyes grew heavy.

 The cold was making her drowsy, and she knew that was dangerous. Sleep in a blizzard meant never waking. But her body was shutting down, conserving its last reserves. She tried to fight it, tried to stay alert. But exhaustion and hypothermia were stronger than will. Her consciousness slipped away as the storm raged around them.

 Two dying souls huddled together in the snow. Somewhere in her fading awareness, Lyra felt warmth spreading from where her hands touched the wolf. Felt something flowing between them, some exchange she didn’t understand. The last thing she registered before darkness claimed her completely was the sound of howling. Not the wind, something else.

 Something that sounded almost like words. She found you. She actually found you. When Lyra woke, her first thought was that she’d died. And the afterlife was surprisingly comfortable. She was warm. Not the desperate fading warmth of hypothermia, but real warmth. Heat radiated against her back and draped over her side. She was lying on something soft, though she couldn’t remember.

 Her eyes snapped open. She was still in the snow, still on the mountain. But the storm had passed, weak dawn light filtering through dispersing clouds. And she was definitely not alone. The weight draped over her side was an arm, a very human, very masculine arm, bare and corded with muscle.

 There was a leg tangled with hers, a body curved protectively around her back, and warm breath ghosting across the nape of her neck where her braid had come loose. Lyra’s heart, which had been beating slowly from cold, suddenly thundered to life. She tried to shift to see who was holding her, and the arm around her waist tightened instinctively. Don’t move yet. A voice rumbled against her neck. Rough and deep and still heavy with sleep. Still cold.

 Need to stay close. The voice triggered something in her memory. The wolf. The dying wolf with amber eyes and blood matted fur. But wolves didn’t speak. Shifters in animal form couldn’t use human words. Unless you shifted, Lyra breathed. The man behind her went very still.

 Then slowly, carefully, he pulled back just enough for Lyra to roll over and face him. She’d expected someone injured, weak, barely alive. Instead, she found herself staring at possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His face was all strong lines and masculine angles with a jaw sharp enough to cut and full lips that softened the harsh features.

 His hair fell past his shoulders in waves of honey gold, tangled and melting snow damp, but still somehow perfect. And his eyes, those same amber eyes that had watched her from a wolf’s face, now human and intense and fixed on her with an expression she couldn’t quite name. He was also very, very naked under the remains of her cloak.

Lyra’s face flamed. She tried to look away to give him privacy, but his hand came up and gently caught her chin, keeping her gaze on his face. “You stayed,” he said, his voice still rough. “I tried to tell you to go, to save yourself, but you stayed. I couldn’t leave you to die alone.” Something flickered in those amber eyes. Pain, gratitude, wonder.

 “What’s your name?” Lyra. I’m I was collecting herbs when the storm hit. I got lost and found you. I tried to move you and there was no shelter and you were so small and hurt and I thought at least we wouldn’t. She was babbling, her thoughts scattering under his intense stare. I’m Caspian, he said quietly. The name registered.

 Every wolf in the kingdom knew that name. Caspian, the alpha king who’d taken the throne six months ago after his older brother’s sudden death. Caspian, who was supposed to be on a ceremonial hunt in the mountains. Caspian, who was currently naked and wrapped around a nobody omega on a frozen mountainside. “You’re the king,” Lyra whispered. “I am.

” He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, just watched her process this with patient intensity. Does that change things? Before Lyra could answer, a sound made them both look up. A howl echoing across the mountainside. Then another and another. A chorus of voices that raised every hair on Lyra’s body. Caspian’s eyes widened.

 His gaze shifted past Lyra, and his expression transformed into something close to shock. By the moon goddess, he breathed. Lyra rolled over to see what he was staring at. 30 massive white wolves sat in a perfect circle around where they lay, not surrounding them threateningly, surrounding them protectively.

 And every single wolf had its head bowed, ears back in the universal gesture of submission and respect. They weren’t looking at Caspian. They were looking at her. The largest wolf sitting directly in front of them shifted. The transformation was fluid and quick, leaving a man with silver gray hair and ice blue eyes kneeling in the snow. He was older, perhaps 50, with scars crossing his bare chest and the bearing of a warrior. “Your Majesty,” the man said, though his eyes never left Lyra.

“We’ve been searching for you since the attack. The whole kingdom has been looking. He finally glanced at Caspian and relief flooded his face. “Thank the goddess you’re alive.” “Storm,” Caspian said, and Lyra heard genuine affection in his voice. “I would have died if not for her.

” He gestured to Lyra, who was trying very hard not to look at anyone’s naked anything. “This is Lyra. She found me dying and refused to leave. Storm’s ice blue eyes returned to Lyra, and she saw something in them that made her deeply uncomfortable. Recognition, awe, something that looked almost like reverence. She has the gift, Storm said quietly. The ancestral bond. That’s why the pack bows to her.

 I don’t I don’t have any gift, Lyra stammered. I’m just a healer’s assistant. I collect herbs and prepare medicines. There’s nothing special about me. Storm smiled and it transformed his harsh features into something almost gentle. You lay beside a dying king, shared your warmth and your will to live, and brought him back from the edge of death.

 The shadow beast Venom should have killed him hours before you found him. But look at him now. Lyra looked. Caspian was sitting up now, one hand clutching her cloak to maintain some modesty, and she could see his torso. Where there should have been black smoking wounds, there was only pink new skin. Scars, yes, but healed.

 Impossibly healed. That’s not possible, she whispered. Shadow beast venom has no cure. My father died from it. Everyone who gets infected dies. Everyone without the ancestral bond dies, Storm corrected. But those with the gift can cure even what seems impossible through connection, through shared life force.

 You healed him while you slept, girl. Purged the venom through sheer force of will and compassion. The 30 wolves surrounding them howled again, a sound of celebration and recognition. Lyra stared at them, at Storm, at Caspian, who was watching her with an expression. She couldn’t quite read. “Your father had the same gift,” Storm continued.

 “He saved the old king using it 15 years ago. It’s why shadow beast Venom killed him. He purged it from the king, but took too much into himself. We thought the gift died with him. But you inherited it. You just never knew.” Lyra’s hands were shaking. This was too much, too overwhelming. I need to get back to the palace. I have moonpal to deliver. People are sick.

 They need They need you, Caspian said softly. His hand found hers in the snow, squeezed gently. Lyra, you saved the king’s life. That alone makes you important. But if you truly have the ancestral bond, you’re invaluable. There hasn’t been a bond carrier in two centuries. I just wanted to collect herbs, Lyra said, and to her horror, felt tears burning. I wasn’t trying to be special or important.

 I just didn’t want you to die alone. And that, Storm said, is exactly why the pack recognizes you. The ancestral bond doesn’t come from seeking power or glory. It comes from those who see life as sacred, who can’t walk past suffering, who choose connection over survival. He bowed his head again, deeper this time.

 You are true Luna, whether you accept it or not, and this pack will serve you as faithfully as it serves its king.” The other 29 wolves bowed again in perfect synchronization. The gesture, the sheer weight of it, made Lyra want to run screaming down the mountain. But Caspian’s hand was still in hers, warm and solid, anchoring her to this impossible moment. “We should get you both down the mountain,” Storm said, rising.

 “Your Majesty, can you shift?” “I think so. The poison is gone.” Caspian squeezed Lyra’s hand once more before releasing it. “Though I’m going to need clothes eventually.” “We brought supplies,” Storm said with the faintest hint of amusement. He gestured to one of the other wolves, who trotted forward with a pack in its mouth.

 As Caspian stood and began dressing behind a conveniently placed boulder, Lyra tried to process everything that had happened in the last 12 hours. She’d gone from invisible healer’s assistant to someone a pack of 30 royal wolves bowed to. From collecting herbs to apparently having a legendary gift, from expecting to die alone in the snow to waking wrapped in a king’s arms.

 Her life had never been predictable, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. One of the wolves approached her, moving slowly and carefully. It was a beautiful creature, pure white with intelligent gray eyes. It pressed its massive head against her hand, and Lyra stroked its fur automatically.

 The moment she touched it, she felt something shift, like a door opening in her mind. Suddenly, she could feel the wolf’s emotions, protectiveness, respect, joy at finding their king alive, and underneath it all, a deep, resonant certainty. True Luna. Finally found. Finally here, Lyra gasped, pulling her hand back. The connection faded, but didn’t completely disappear.

 She could still sense the wolf, a warm presence at the edge of her awareness. That’s the bond, Storm said from beside her. She hadn’t heard him approach. You can feel them now. Once it’s active, it doesn’t fade. Every wolf in the royal pack, you’ll be able to sense their emotions, their location, their well-being. And they can feel you, too.

 Your care, your compassion, your strength. I’m not strong, Lyra protested. Storm’s smile was knowing. You carried a dying king through a blizzard with nothing but your body heat and your will to live. You’re stronger than you know. Caspian emerged from behind the boulder, now dressed in dark traveling leathers that the pack had brought. Even rumpled and mountainworn, he looked every inch a king.

 Powerful, commanding, absolutely out of Lyra’s league in every possible way. “Let’s get down the mountain,” he said. “The kingdom thinks I’m dead. We should probably correct that before someone tries to claim my throne. The journey down was surreal. The 30 wolves formed a protective circle around Lyra and Caspian with Storm in human form leading the way.

 Apparently, the pack had been searching for their king for 2 days, ever since the ceremonial hunt had gone wrong. “Tell me what happened,” Storm said as they walked. “We were separated during the hunt. By the time we regrouped, you were gone. We found signs of shadow beast activity, but that should be impossible. They were eradicated centuries ago.

Caspian’s jaw clenched. Someone summoned them. Had to be intentional. We were tracking an elk when they appeared from nowhere. Six of them. I killed three, but the others got me. Their venom works fast. I managed to shift and run, but the venom corrupted my transformation. Instead of my full wolf form, I ended up stuck as a pup.

 couldn’t shift back, couldn’t access my full strength. I was dying. I thought I’d find a quiet place to end it. Instead, I found her. He glanced at Lyra with something warm in his amber eyes. The most stubborn Omega in the kingdom, apparently. I prefer persistent, Lyra muttered. Storm’s expression had gone hard. Someone tried to assassinate you using forbidden magic. That’s an act of war.

Do you know who? No, but we’re going to find out. Caspian’s voice carried promise of retribution. Shadow beasts don’t just appear. Someone with serious magical knowledge summoned them. Someone who wanted me dead. They reached the palace by late afternoon, and the reaction to the king’s return was immediate and chaotic.

Guards rushed forward, servants scattered to spread the news, and within minutes the courtyard was packed with wolves in various forms, all trying to get close to their returned ruler. Caspian handled it with practiced ease, accepting their relief and joy while also projecting calm authority. But Lyra noticed he kept her close, one hand on her elbow, guiding her through the crowd. “The girl,” someone said.

 “Who’s the girl?” She found the king,” another voice answered. “Saved his life,” they’re saying. The whispers spread like wildfire. Lyra wanted to disappear, to retreat to the healer’s wing, where she was invisible and comfortable. But Caspian’s hand on her elbow kept her anchored. Sage appeared on the palace steps, her ancient eyes sharp and assessing.

 Her gaze went from Caspian to Lyra to the 30 wolves still surrounding them protectively. Your Majesty, Sage said, bowing. The kingdom mourned. We’re blessed by your return. Then her eyes found Lyra, and something shifted in her expression. Understanding, maybe even pride. I see you found more than moonpal in the mountains.

 I found my life, Caspian said, then louder, addressing the growing crowd. This Omega saved her king. Lyra will be honored appropriately. But first, I need rest, medical attention, and a very long briefing on what’s happened in my absence. Storm, organized the guard. I want to know everything about the hunting grounds where we were attacked.

 He finally released Lyra’s elbow, but not before leaning close and murmuring, “Stay in the palace. We need to talk soon.” Then he was swept away by advisers and guards, leaving Lyra standing in the courtyard with Sage and 30 wolves who still hadn’t stopped staring at her. “Come,” Sage said, her tone brooking no argument. “You look half frozen and completely overwhelmed. The healer’s wing is still your home for now.” “For now.

” The words carried weight Lyra didn’t want to examine. The next three days passed in a blur. Lyra tried to return to her normal duties, preparing medicines, organizing supplies, assisting with treatments, but nothing was normal anymore. People stared, whispered. The story of how she’d saved the king had spread through the palace like wildfire, growing more elaborate with each retelling.

 Worse, she could feel the wolves, all 30 of them, their emotions pressed at the edges of her awareness constantly. She knew when Storm was training, knew when the pack was restless, knew when they were content. It was overwhelming and invasive, and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

 Sage found her in the herb garden on the third evening, sitting among the medicinal plants with her head in her hands. “The bond is loud at first,” the old healer said, settling onto the bench beside Lyra. “It’ll quiet as you learn to control it. Like any sense, you can choose where to focus. How do you know so much about it? I was there when your father manifested.

Watched him learn to use the gift. He struggled at first, too. Sage was quiet for a moment. He would have been proud of you, saving the king, inheriting his power, following in his footsteps. I don’t want his footsteps, Lyra said quietly. I just want to be useful to help people. I don’t want to be special or important or whatever everyone thinks I am now.

 Too late, Sage said, not unkindly. The moment that pack bowed to you, your fate changed. True Luna isn’t just a title. It’s a responsibility. Those wolves will die for you now. The kingdom will look to you for things only someone with the ancestral bond can provide. You can’t go back to being invisible, Lyra. That door is closed.

 Lyra knew she was right, but knowing didn’t make it easier. The king has been asking for you, Sage added. Everyday, Storm keeps reporting that you’re recovering, but Caspian wants to see you himself. Why? Lyra’s heart did something complicated at the thought of facing him again. She’d been avoiding it, unsure how to act around someone she’d literally slept beside while he was dying.

Perhaps you should ask him yourself. Sage stood, her joints creaking slightly. He’s in the training yard, recovering through movement as alphas do. Go talk to him. Stop hiding in the herbs. Lyra wanted to argue, but Sage had already left, moving with surprising speed for someone her age.

 The training yard was in the north wing, an open courtyard where guards and warriors practiced. Lyra approached hesitantly, unsure if she was even allowed in this space. She was Omega healing track. Combat wasn’t her world. She heard him before she saw him. The thack of wood on wood, the rhythmic breathing of someone working through forms. Lyra peered around the edge of the doorway, and her breath caught.

 Caspian wore only light training pants, his torso bare and gleaming with sweat. He moved through sword forms with fluid grace, each strike precise and controlled. The new scars on his side, remnants of the shadow beast venom stood out against his golden skin. He was beautiful, powerful, completely out of her league. As if sensing her presence, Caspian stopped mid form and turned.

 His amber eyes found hers across the yard, and something in his expression made her heart skip. Lyra He set down the practice sword and walked toward her, and she tried very hard to keep her gaze on his face and not the very well-defined muscles on display. Storm said, “You were avoiding me.” “I wasn’t avoiding.

 I was recovering and working and trying to understand what happened. Have you figured it out?” “No, nothing makes sense. I’m nobody. I shouldn’t be able to do what I apparently did. The pack shouldn’t bow to me. You shouldn’t.” She stopped, unsure what she’d been about to say. Shouldn’t what? Caspian stepped closer, and Lyra became acutely aware of how much taller he was, how much heat radiated from his still training warm body, how his eyes seemed to see straight through every defense she tried to build. “You’re nervous,” he observed,

his voice dropping lower. “I’m professional,” Lyra lied. Caspian reached out slowly, giving her plenty of time to step back. She didn’t. His fingers wrapped around her wrist gently, his thumb pressing against her pulse point. “Your heartbeat says otherwise,” he murmured. “It’s racing.” “You’re the king.

 I’m not used to being this close to royalty.” “Is that the only reason?” The question was soft, intimate, and held implications that made Lyra’s mind go completely blank. Before she could formulate a response, Storm’s voice cut through the moment. Your Majesty Council is requesting your presence. They’ve identified the magic signature from the shadow beasts.

 Caspian’s expression transformed instantly, going from soft to hard. His hand dropped from Lyra’s wrist, though his fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Go,” Storm said to Lyra, not unkindly. “This conversation will involve things you don’t need to hear yet. But soon.” His ice blue eyes held promise. “Soon you’ll need to know everything, because what’s coming will affect you, too.

” Lyra fled, her heart still racing, her wrist still tingling where Caspian had touched her. She didn’t know what was coming, but something told her the mountain had been only the beginning. That night, Lyra woke to knocking, soft but persistent on her door. She lit a candle and opened it to find Caspian standing in the corridor, still wearing training clothes, looking like he’d just come from somewhere he shouldn’t have been.

 Can I come in? His voice was rough, tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. Lyra should say no. It was improper, possibly scandalous. But something in his expression made her step aside. Her room was small, barely more than a cell with a bed and a desk. Caspian looked absurdly large in the cramped space. He sat on the bed because there was nowhere else, and Lyra remained standing because sitting beside him felt too intimate.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. kept thinking about the attack, about dying in that snow, about waking up wrapped around you. His amber eyes found hers in the candle light. I should thank you properly for saving my life. You already thanked me multiple times. Not properly. He was quiet for a moment.

 The council identified the magic signature. It’s Noctis, a dark mage who was banished 20 years ago. He’s back and he wants my throne. Can you stop him? I don’t know. He’s powerful and he managed to summon shadow beasts, which should be impossible. We’re trying to figure out how he did it, but until then. Caspian ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear.

 Until then, I’m vulnerable. The kingdom is vulnerable. What do you need? The question came automatically. Lyra might be unsure about everything else, but helping was her nature. Honestly, I needed to see you, to know you were real, that the mountain wasn’t a fever dream. His smile was crooked, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen from him.

 Does that sound insane? A little, Lyra admitted, sitting on the bed because standing felt ridiculous. The mattress dipped, bringing them closer together. Their knees touched, and neither moved away. But I understand. I keep thinking about it, too. About lying in the snow, certain we’d die. About waking up to your pack boowing to me. It doesn’t feel real. It’s real, Caspian said softly.

 His hand moved to push a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers warm against her cheek. “You’re real. And more than that, you’re he trailed off, but his hand didn’t move. His fingers lingered against her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it made something in Lyra’s chest tighten.

 “I should go,” he said, but didn’t move. “You should,” Lyra agreed, but didn’t pull away. They sat like that for a long moment, barely breathing, the candle flickering between them. Then footsteps in the corridor made them both jump and Caspian stood quickly. Tomorrow, he said, Storm wants to train you to help you control the bond. He’s waiting in the old training courtyard at dawn.

All right. Caspian moved to the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. Lyra, I’m glad you’re the stubborn type. If you’d left me in that snow. He shook his head. Thank you. for being too stubborn to let me die. Then he was gone, leaving Lyra sitting on her bed with her face still tingling where he touched her and her heart doing absolutely ridiculous things.

 Training with Storm was both easier and harder than Lyra expected. The old warrior was patient but demanding, pushing her to sense the pack bonds consciously rather than letting them assault her awareness randomly. Focus on one wolf at a time, he instructed. Find Winter, the white female with the silver markings. Feel where she is, what she’s feeling.

Lyra closed her eyes and reached out with that strange new sense. The pack was a constant presence now, 30 points of warm awareness. She found Winter easily, recognized her, somehow. The female wolf was hunting, focused, and content. Good, Storm said. Now pull back. You don’t need to know her every moment.

 Just check in occasionally, like listening for a specific conversation in a crowded room rather than trying to hear everyone at once. It took hours, but gradually Lyra learned to dim the constant noise, to focus or unfocus at will. It was exhausting, but also exhilarating. She’d never had power before, never been special. This felt like discovering a sixth sense she hadn’t known was missing.

 Caspian appeared midway through the third day of training, leaning against the courtyard wall and watching with obvious interest. He’d traded his training clothes for something more formal, clearly having just come from official duties. She’s a natural, Storm reported. Another week and she’ll have full control. Good. Caspian’s eyes hadn’t left Lyra because we’re going to need it. Noctis has been spotted near the northern border.

 He’s gathering forces, planning something. An attack? Storm’s voice sharpened. Eventually, but first, I think he wants to test our defenses. See how strong we really are. Caspian finally looked at Storm. Which is why I need her trained, properly trained. Not just in the bond, but in combat. Self-defense at minimum. I’m a healer, Lyra protested. I don’t fight.

 You will if someone tries to kill you, Caspian said bluntly. Noctis knows about you by now. Knows you saved me. Knows the pack recognizes you. That makes you a target. The thought hadn’t occurred to Lyra. She’d been so focused on the strangeness of the bond that she hadn’t considered the danger. I’ll teach her, Storm said. Basic defensive forms, how to avoid and deflect rather than engage.

I’ll help, Caspian added, pushing off the wall. I want her to know what she’s facing, which is how Lyra ended up in very close quarters with a shirtless king learning defensive movements. Storm demonstrated the forms, but Caspian was the one who guided her through them.

 His hands on her hips, her shoulders, her wrists. Wider stance,” he murmured from behind her, his breath warm against her ear. His hands adjusted her feet, then slid up to her hips, positioning them correctly. “Like this lower.” Yes. Every nerve in Lyra’s body came alive.

 She could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell something that was distinctly him beneath the sweat and exertion. Her pulse thundered again. Caspian commanded when she failed to execute the move properly. She suspected she was failing on purpose. Now essra, if someone attacks, you can’t be distracted. You’re distracting, she muttered before she could stop herself.

 She felt rather than saw his smile against her hair. Good. Use that. Channel it into the movement. They trained for three more hours, and by the end, Lyra was exhausted, sore, and acutely aware of every place Caspian’s hands had touched her. Her body felt like it was on fire and not from the exercise. “You did well,” he said as they finished.

 “Better than I expected for someone who’d never trained combat before. I’m motivated,” Lyra said. “Apparently, someone wants me dead. That’s concerning.” Caspian’s expression darkened. I won’t let him touch you. Neither will Storm or any of the pack. You’re under royal protection now, whether you wanted it or not. I never wanted it, Lyra admitted.

 I just wanted to help people, to be useful in a quiet way. Too late for quiet, Caspian said, echoing Sage’s words, then softer. But you’re helping more than you know just by being here, by existing. Before Lyra could ask what he meant, Storm cleared his throat pointedly from across the courtyard. Caspian smiled, that crooked, vulnerable expression that made him look less like a king and more like just a man.

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “Same time, we’ll work on evasion techniques.” Can’t wait,” Lyra said dryly, though her heart was still racing as she watched him leave. The attack came without warning. 3 days later, Lyra was in the healing wing, treating a guard who’d injured his shoulder during training when she felt it through the bond.

 Terror, pain, confusion rippling through the pack like a shockwave. She ran without thinking, following the pull of the bond toward the eastern courtyard. What she found made her blood run cold. Shadow beasts, six of them, materializing from smoke and darkness. They were hunting the palace guards, and their venom was spreading fast.

 Already four guards were down, black wounds smoking. Storm was there in wolf form, fighting alongside 15 pack members. Caspian fought in human form with a sword that seemed to glow with its own light. But they were being overwhelmed. Lyra should run, should get help, should do literally anything except what she did. She ran straight into the fight.

 “What are you doing?” Caspian roared when he saw her. “Get out of here!” Lyra ignored him, dropping to her knees beside the nearest fallen guard. His wound was smoking, the venom spreading. She pressed her hands to it and reached for that feeling from the mountain. The sensation of pulling, of purging, of cleansing. Golden light erupted from her palms.

 The guard gasped as the venom began to recede, drawn out by whatever power Lyra possessed. It took everything she had, every ounce of concentration. But she pulled it all out, and the wound began to heal. She moved to the second guard, then the third. Each purging took more energy, left her more drained, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let them die when she could save them.

 A shadow beast noticed her, turned, lunged with claws extended. Storm intercepted it mid leap, his massive white form slamming into the creature with lethal force. He tore its throat out before it could reach Lyra, then positioned himself between her and the remaining beasts. The entire pack moved to surround her.

 30 wolves forming a living barrier protecting her while she saved the guards one by one. When the last shadow beast fell when the last guard was purged of venom, Lyra finally let herself collapse. Caspian was there instantly catching her before she hit the ground. “You brilliant, reckless idiot,” he said, but his voice was rough with emotion. “You could have been killed.

 They needed help, Lyra managed, her vision swimming. Couldn’t let them die. She’s drained, Storm said, now in human form and crouching beside them. Use too much energy. She needs rest and time to recover. Caspian lifted her without asking permission, cradling her against his chest. My chambers, they’re closest. Lyra wanted to protest that it wasn’t proper, that people would talk, but consciousness was slipping away like water through her fingers, and she was asleep before they left the courtyard. She woke in unfamiliar surroundings, a

massive bed with silk sheets, walls hung with tapestries, windows that overlooked the palace gardens, the king’s chambers. She was in the king’s chambers, and lying on the bed beside her, on top of the covers, but close enough to touch, was Caspian. He was asleep, one hand stretched across the space between them, palm up as if reaching for her even in unconsciousness.

 His face was softer in sleep, the constant vigilance of kingship temporarily lifted. Lyra’s movement must have woken him because his eyes opened slowly, focusing on her with immediate alertness. “You’re awake.” His voice was rough with sleep. “How do you feel?” “Like I purged shadow beast venom from four fullgrown guards,” Lyra said. “So not great.

 You saved their lives. All four would have died without you.” Caspian sat up and Lyra noticed he was still wearing his training clothes, still had dried blood on his arms. He hadn’t even cleaned up before staying with her. You also terrified me running into a fight like that. Someone had to help them.

 Someone had to, but not necessarily you. You’re too important, Lyra. The kingdom needs you. I need you. His hand found hers on the bed, fingers intertwining. When I saw that beast lunge at you, I thought my heart would stop. If Storm hadn’t been there. But he was, Lyra interrupted gently. The pack protected me, just like Storm said they would. They did.

 Caspian squeezed her hand. Do you understand now? Why they bow to you? Why they recognized you as true Luna? It’s not just the bond. It’s what you do with it. How you use power to save rather than dominate. That’s what makes you Luna, Lyra. Not a gift you inherited, but the choices you make. I don’t feel like a Luna.

 I feel like someone pretending to be something she’s not. Then we’re both pretending, Caspian said with that crooked smile. Because most days I feel like I’m playing at being king. Like any moment someone will realize I have no idea what I’m doing. The vulnerability in his admission made Lyra’s chest ache. She squeezed his hand back. You’re a good king.

 I’ve seen you with your people, your pack. They trust you. Believe in you. They trust you, too. Maybe more than they trust me. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles that made her breath catch. Stay tonight. You’re still too weak to move, and I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m certain you’re safe.

 That’s not proper, Lyra said weakly. I’m the king. I decide what’s proper. But his eyes were asking, not commanding, giving her the choice. Lyra should refuse, should maintain some kind of boundary. But she was exhausted, and the bed was comfortable, and Caspian’s hand was warm in hers. Just tonight, she agreed. Until I’m strong enough to walk back to my quarters.

Just tonight, Caspian echoed. But something in his eyes suggested he hoped for many more nights just like this. Lyra fell asleep with his hand still holding hers, feeling safer than she had since the mountain. The week that followed was a strange mix of training, council meetings Lyra was suddenly expected to attend, and increasing tension as reports of Noctis’ movements reached the palace.

 The dark mage was gathering an army. Shadow beasts, rogue wolves, creatures that shouldn’t exist, and he was moving toward the capital. “We have a week, maybe less,” Caspian said during a war council Lyra now sat in on. “He’s going to attack. The question is where and how we defend.” “The pack can hold the eastern flank,” Storm said, but we’ll need the regular guards to reinforce the southern approach. What about the healers? Lyra asked, speaking up for the first time.

 If there’s going to be a battle, we should prepare a field hospital. Have healers ready to treat wounded as they come in rather than waiting for them to be carried back to the palace. The council members looked at her like she’d grown a second head. Then Caspian smiled. That’s brilliant, Sage.

 Can you organize it? The old healer nodded. With Lyra’s help, she’s got the steadiest hands and the fastest healing ability we’ve seen in generations. Which is how Lyra found herself coordinating a field hospital while also training with Storm and somehow still expected to attend every council meeting.

 She was running herself ragged, barely sleeping, subsisting on whatever food people pressed into her hands. Caspian found her in the healing wing late one night, head down on a desk, having fallen asleep while organizing supplies. “When did you last sleep?” he asked, gently shaking her awake. “I’m sleeping now,” Lyra mumbled.

“I mean properly in a bed.” “3 days, maybe four.” “She couldn’t actually remember.” Caspian sighed and scooped her up despite her protests. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion. I have work to do. It’ll be there in the morning. Right now, you’re sleeping. He carried her through corridors Lyra was too tired to track, ending up in his chambers again.

 He set her on the bed and pointed at the pillows. Sleep. That’s an order. You can’t order me. I’m not in your military. Fine. It’s a very strong suggestion from someone who cares about your well-being. That made Lyra pause. You care about my well-being? Caspian sat on the bed beside her, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

 Of course I do. You’re He seemed to struggle for words. You’re important to the kingdom, to the pack, to me. To you, to me, he confirmed. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the mountain. Since I woke wrapped around you in the snow. You saved my life, Lyra.

 But more than that, you made me remember what it feels like to be more than just a king. To be just a person. Lyra’s heart was doing that thing again where it forgot how to beat properly. Caspian, I’m I’m nobody. You’re the alpha king. This doesn’t make sense. It makes perfect sense, he said softly. The pack knows it. Storm knows it. Even Sage knows it.

 You’re my mate, Lyra. The moon goddess chose you for me long before we met in that snow. The word mate hung between them, heavy with implication. Lyra had heard it whispered in the halls, had seen the way people looked at them when they were together. But hearing it from Caspian directly was different. What happens now? She whispered.

 Now? Now we fight. We defeat Noctis and save the kingdom. Caspian’s smile was gentle. And then, if you’re willing, we see where this goes. No pressure, no obligations, just us figuring it out together. I think I’d like that, Lyra admitted. Good. Caspian stood but didn’t leave. Sleep, Lyra. Tomorrow we train.

 The day after we fight, but tonight just sleep. She did. And for the first time in days, she didn’t dream of battles and blood. She dreamed of snow and amber eyes and a future that might actually include happiness. The attack came at dawn 3 days later. Noctis led his army of shadow beasts and corrupted wolves straight for the palace gates.

 The defenders met them with steel and tooth and claw. Lyra was in the field hospital when she felt it through the bond. Terror, pain, wolves dying, her wolves dying. I have to go, she told Sage, already moving toward the battle. You’re a healer, not a warrior. I’m their Luna, Lyra interrupted. And they’re dying. I’m going. She ran toward the eastern flank where the pack was fighting.

 Storm was there in the thick of it, coordinating the wolves with practiced efficiency, but they were being overwhelmed. Too many shadow beasts, too much dark magic. Lyra reached for the bond and pulled hard. Come, she sent to all 30 wolves simultaneously. Your king needs you. I need you. The response was immediate.

 Every wolf on the battlefield turned toward her as one. Through the bond, she could feel each of them, sense their positions, understand their instincts, and somehow, impossibly, she could guide them. “Move left,” she urged Winter. “Flank the beast on the north side. Storm three behind you. Shadow and river, reinforce the southern line.

 It was like conducting an orchestra, if the instruments were deadly predators, and the music was the rhythm of battle. The pack moved as one, perfectly synchronized, devastating in their precision. Caspian fought near the center, holding the line against a massive shadow beast. He was magnificent, all power and grace, but he was bleeding, hurt.

 Lyra ran toward him without thinking. A shadow beast noticed, turned, lunged with claws extended. Storm intercepted it, tearing it apart. But two more appeared, then three. They were focusing on Lyra now, recognizing her as important. The entire pack shifted to defend her. 30 wolves forming a living barrier, protecting their Luna while she ran to their king.

Lyra reached Caspian just as he fell. Black venom already spreading from a wound in his side. She dropped beside him, pressed her hands to the injury, and pulled. The venom fought. It was stronger this time, more concentrated. It burned as she drew it out, searing through her own system like liquid fire.

But she held on, gritting her teeth, refusing to let go until every drop was purged. Golden light erupted around them, so bright the nearby shadow beasts actually recoiled. And in that moment, with her hands on Caspian’s wound and their lives literally intertwined, the mate bond that had been forming since the mountain snapped completely into place. The sensation was overwhelming.

 Suddenly, she could feel him, not just physically, but emotionally, his pain, his fear for her, his love, because it was love pure and simple and absolute. The bond flooded her system with warmth and power, and the healing intensified. Caspian’s wound closed completely, the venom purged, his strength returning. But it did more than heal him.

 The golden light expanded, flowing outward through their connection to encompass the entire pack. Every wolf she was bonded with, every injured warrior, every defender on the battlefield. The light touched them, healed them, gave them renewed strength.

 And standing at the edge of the light was Noctis, the dark mage whose shadow beasts were disintegrating in the golden glow. Impossible, he snarled. You’re just an Omega. You shouldn’t have that kind of power. She’s true Luna, Caspian said, standing with Lyra’s help. Bonded to both Pack and King. Your magic can’t touch her. Can’t touch us. The light intensified, and Noctis screamed as it engulfed him.

His form dissolved, breaking apart into shadow and smoke that the dawn light burned away. When the glow finally faded, the battlefield was quiet. The shadow beasts were gone. Noctis was gone and Lyra was standing in Caspian’s arms, both of them alive and whole and victorious. The pack bowed, all 30 wolves surrounding them in a circle of respect and recognition.

 Their Luna had saved them. Their king had found his mate. The kingdom was safe. “That was terrifying,” Lyra said into Caspian’s chest. That was magnificent, he corrected, tilting her face up to look at him. You’re magnificent and you’re mine if you’ll have me. I think the mate Bond made that decision for us, Lyra pointed out. The bond made the connection. But the choice is still yours. His amber eyes were serious.

 Be my mate, my Luna, my queen. Not because you have to, because you want to. Lyra looked around at the pack, at Storm who was grinning, at the defenders who were all watching with hope in their eyes. She thought about the mountain, about waking wrapped around this man, about the impossible journey that had led from invisible healer to standing on a battlefield as the one who’d saved the kingdom.

 “Yes,” she said simply, “I choose you. I choose us. I choose this.” Caspian kissed her then in front of the pack and the warriors and anyone who cared to watch. It was a claiming kiss, possessive and tender at once. And when they finally broke apart, the wolves were howling their approval. “We should probably address the kingdom,” Storm said dryly.

 “They’re going to have questions about the new queen who just killed a dark mage with light magic.” “Let them question,” Caspian said, not taking his eyes off Lyra. They’ll figure it out. She’s true Luna. The pack recognizes her. That’s all that matters. The coronation happened 3 days later. Lyra wore white furs and had flowers woven into her hair that had been braided by hands, far more skilled than her own.

 She stood before the kingdom with Caspian beside her, 30 wolves arranged in a circle around them, and accepted the crown that Sage placed on her head. The kingdom recognizes Lyra as true Luna, Sage announced, her voice carrying across the packed courtyard, bonded to both king and pack. Queen by right of sacrifice and love. Let any who would challenge this speak now.

 The silence was absolute. No one challenged. No one dared. The celebration lasted 3 days. Lyra spent most of it overwhelmed by the attention, by people who now wanted to talk to her when they’d ignored her for years. But Caspian stayed close, always within reach, grounding her when it got too much.

 On the third night, after the formal events ended, they finally had time alone. Caspian’s chambers, now their chambers, were quiet. The chaos of the day finally over. “How are you feeling?” he asked, watching her remove the ceremonial jewelry with fingers that shook slightly. Like I’m dreaming, like any moment I’ll wake up in my tiny room in the healer’s wing.

 You’re not dreaming, Caspian assured her, moving to help with a particularly stubborn clasp. His fingers were warm on the nape of her neck. “You’re queen now, my mate, my Luna. This is real. I know it’s just Lyra turned to face him. A month ago I was nobody. Now I’m queen. It’s a lot to process. You were never nobody, Caspian said firmly.

 You were just waiting to be seen. The mountain saw you. The pack saw you. I saw you. His hands framed her face. And now the whole kingdom sees what I’ve known since I woke wrapped around you in the snow. You’re extraordinary, Lyra. always have been. “You’re biased,” she said, smiling despite herself. “Completely,” he agreed, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.

 “But that doesn’t make it less true.” They stood like that for a long moment, just breathing together. Then Caspian pulled back slightly. “If you want to wait,” he said quietly, “to complete the bond fully. I’ll wait as long as you need. No pressure, no expectations. Lyra’s heart did that complicated thing again where it forgot how to function.

 What if I don’t want to wait? Then we don’t wait. His eyes darkened with something that made heat pull in her stomach. But I need you to be sure, Lyra. Once we do this, you’re bound to me for life. Mate bonds don’t break. I’m sure, she whispered. I’ve been sure since you found me arranging herbs in the garden and decided I was worth knowing.

 Since you trusted me with your vulnerabilities, since you made me feel like I mattered. She rose on her toes to press her lips to his. I choose you, Caspian, for life, for whatever comes next. For everything, he agreed and kissed her properly, deeply, with all the passion and promise of a mate bond finally fully completed.

 The morning light found them tangled together, the mate mark fresh on Lyra’s shoulder where Caspian had claimed her. She traced the matching mark on his collarbone, marveling at how different her life looked now compared to a month ago. What are you thinking? Caspian asked, his voice still rough with sleep. That I’m glad I’m the stubborn type.

 If I’d left you in that snow, she shook her head. Everything would be different. Everything would be empty. Caspian corrected, pulling her closer. But you didn’t leave. You stayed. You saved me. And now we get this. Forever. Forever. Lyra agreed and let herself believe it.

 Four years later, Lyra stood in the gardens with her three-year-old daughter, watching the girl giggle as Stormman wolf form let her climb on his back. The old warrior had taken to his role as surrogate grandfather with surprising enthusiasm. “Careful, Kira,” Li recalled. “Storm isn’t as young as he used to be.” “I can hear you,” Storm said, having shifted to human form. “And I’m perfectly capable of entertaining one small princess.

” “She’s not a princess,” Lyra reminded him. “She’s she’s true Luna’s daughter,” Storm interrupted. same difference and she’s showing signs of the bond already. I can feel her curiosity when she touches the pack. Lyra had noticed that, too. Kira had her father’s golden hair and her mother’s blue eyes, and she’d inherited the ancestral bond.

 At 3 years old, she could already sense the pack’s emotions, could soothe them when they were agitated. She’ll be formidable, Caspian said, appearing behind Lyra and wrapping his arms around her waist like her mother. I’m not formidable. I’m a healer who got very lucky. You’re true Luna who saved a kingdom and rules beside her king with wisdom and compassion. Caspian corrected, nuzzling her neck.

 That’s formidable. Lyra watched Kira playing with Storm, watched the pack lounging in the garden in various states of contentment, and marveled at how far she’d come. From invisible healer’s assistant to queen, from nobody to somebody who mattered. But the best part, the part that still made her breath catch was knowing that somewhere on a frozen mountain under a blanket of snow, she’d made a choice.

 to stay, to help, to refuse to let someone die alone. And that one choice, that one act of stubborn compassion had led to everything. To love, to family, to a life she’d never imagined, but wouldn’t trade for anything. “What are you thinking?” Caspian asked, his lips brushing her ear.

 that I’m glad I collected herbs that day, that the storm hit, that I found you. Lyra turned in his arms to face him. Every impossible thing that had to happen for us to be here together. I’m grateful for all of it. Even the parts where you nearly died. Especially those parts because they led to waking up with 30 wolves bowing to me and to you. Caspian smiled.

 that crooked, vulnerable expression that made him look less like a king and more like the man she’d saved in the snow. “Always to me,” he promised. “Now and forever. Forever,” Lyra agreed and kissed her mate while their daughter played, and the pack watched over them, and the kingdom flourished under the rule of a king and queen who’d chosen each other against all odds. Some stories begin with grand gestures and dramatic declarations.

 Theirs began with an omega too stubborn to let someone die alone in the snow, and a king who woke to find that his salvation had been waiting in the most unlikely place. And that, Lyra thought, as Caspian held her close, and their daughter’s laughter filled the air, was the best kind of story. The kind that started with an ending and became a beginning.

 The kind that proved that sometimes the most important thing you can do is simply stay. simply refuse to give up. Simply choose connection over survival. The pack had known it from that first moment when they found their king alive and an omega they’d never met protecting him with her body. True Luna wasn’t about power or gifts or royal blood. It was about this, about choosing to see others as worthy of saving, about refusing to let anyone suffer alone.

 And if that made her a queen, then Lyra wore the crown gladly. Not because she’d sought it, but because she’d earned it by being exactly who she’d always been. Someone who couldn’t walk past suffering. Someone who chose compassion over self-preservation. Someone who believed deeply and absolutely that every life mattered.

 The pack had recognized it. Caspian had recognized it. And now, finally, Lyra recognized it, too. She was true Luna, not because of a gift she inherited, but because of the choices she made. And she chose love every single time. If you enjoyed this story of unexpected bonds and finding where you truly belong, please subscribe for more werewolf romance tales.

 Leave a comment telling me what you thought of Lyra and Caspian’s journey from that frozen mountain to building a kingdom together. Your support means everything and helps me create more content like this.