Lucien POV: The Moment I Saw Her

I saw her before she had a name.

Not before she was born. Not before the mark began to stir beneath her skin. But before she became the force that now walks these halls like a prophecy in motion.

She was sixteen. I remember because I was in heat. Not the kind that tore flesh from bone, but the quieter kind—when the hunger in you isn't for blood, but for something you can't define. Something that moves through the forest like wind and nerve and wildfire.

We were patrolling the borderlands—Silas, Kael, and me. Ronan was already in a bad mood. Dorian hadn't joined us. He rarely did, even then.

The rogue we were tracking turned out to be a rumor. But the girl?

She was real.

She wasn't supposed to be in our territory. Not that deep. Not that alone.

She moved like a creature born from wild magic—barefoot, sharp-eyed, laughing to herself like the woods answered her in riddles. Her shift hadn't manifested yet, but her aura hit me like a scream only I could hear. It made my teeth ache.

I didn't move.

I didn't speak.

I just watched her from the ridge, hidden in shadow, wind brushing my hair as she spun once beneath the tree canopy and threw a rock into a stream like it had insulted her.

That's when the scent hit me.

Wolf.

But not just that.

Marked.

It hadn't surfaced on her skin yet, but I could smell it in her blood. Like a distant storm rolling in across land that didn't know it was dry. My wolf stilled inside me, quieted like prey. But it wasn't fear.

It was reverence.

It was... fate.

And I hated it.

I hated her.

I watched her until she was gone.

And then I tried to forget.

I didn't.

I couldn't.

I followed her trail for two days. Not closely. Not enough to be seen. Just enough to know her patterns. Where she slept. How she spoke to the night. What she murmured in her sleep. What kind of dreams made her flinch.

I learned her name from a scent-match weeks later. A minor report. A warning from a beta-run Pack across the ridge.

Lyra Vale.

Unbonded. Orphaned. Nomadic.

Feral.

She wasn't a threat.

Not yet.

But I made it my business to know where she ran. Who she spoke to. Who she stole from. When she cried. When she laughed. I even smelled her heat once—months later, from a wind carried over a ridge.

It was the most intoxicating fucking thing I'd ever known.

And I didn't touch her.

Not once.

Because some sick part of me knew—she wasn't ready. Not for me. Not for what I was. Not for what the world would try to turn her into once they caught the fire she carried in her blood.

So I stayed away.

But gods, I wanted her.

Not gently.

Not kindly.

I wanted her consumed.

Years passed.

I told myself I'd forgotten.

But then they brought her in.

I didn't recognize her at first. She was bruised, bloodied, her clothes torn, the scent of chains on her skin. Her head was down. Shoulders drawn tight.

And then she looked up.

And I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

Same eyes. Same fire. But sharper now. Focused. Her gaze hit me like a blade. She didn't flinch. Didn't cower. She dared me to look away first.

I didn't.

I couldn't.

That night, I sat in my room, claws out, pacing like I was dying. I wanted to storm her chamber. I wanted to scream at whoever touched her. I wanted to wrap my hand around her throat just to feel if she still had the pulse I remembered beneath my fingers.

But I didn't touch her.

Not then.

You want to know when obsession turned to love?

It wasn't when she smiled.

It wasn't when she bled.

It was when she walked into the Alpha chamber and called us cowards.

All of us.

Even me.

She said it with her chin high and her lip split, her hands shaking but her voice steady.

"You think having power makes you worthy of it? You think my body will make you stronger? I'm not yours. You're mine. And you just haven't earned it yet."

Something broke open in me.

A hole I didn't know was still buried inside me. A hunger that had nothing to do with heat or lust or rage.

I loved her.

Because she didn't ask to be strong.

She chose to be.

And the worst part?

I knew even then—I would never be enough.

I wasn't supposed to be Alpha.

I killed the one who was.

He deserved it.

He was cruel and entitled, and I learned early that wolves don't follow orders—they follow fear.

But fear doesn't last.

What lasts… is loyalty.

I built mine by giving wolves freedom. Letting them bleed for their right to exist.

I never expected to be chained by someone else's fire.

But that's what she is.

Not a flame.

Not a spark.

She's the fucking sun.

And I'm just another goddamn moth pretending I'm not already burning alive.

Now she walks past me in the halls like I'm not watching her every breath.

Now she curls her lips at the others but softens when no one sees.

Now she walks like she carries the weight of someone else's death—and I know it's her mother's. I know she went into that Vault and didn't leave the same.

And I wonder if the Lyra who might've needed me is gone.

And I wonder if I ever deserved her at all.

But every time she looks at me—really looks at me—I know something else.

If she ever calls my name with love in her voice…

If she ever reaches for me in want, not strategy—

I will fall to my knees.

And I will not get up.

Not even if the world burns for it.

Because I was hers before she ever knew I existed.

And I will be hers long after she forgets my name.