Chapter 23 – Offer from the Enemy

The summons came just before noon.

Lyra stood on the sun-drenched balcony of the east wing, watching the clouds churn like storm-tossed thoughts. Her hands gripped the railing hard enough to ache. She hadn't slept. Not truly. Ever since Kael's words, she'd felt unmoored—adrift between what she was becoming and who she'd once been.

Now, a new complication arrived.

A knock on the carved door behind her. Thorne's voice: quiet, careful.

"He's here. Alpha Draven."

She didn't turn. "Let him wait."

A pause. "He's brought warriors. Gifts. A formal banner."

Lyra's jaw clenched. "Of course he has."

The receiving hall was colder than usual.

Draven made sure of that.

He stood tall, clothed in obsidian-trimmed furs, silver cuffs at his wrists and no armor—an intentional choice. He needed no protection here. Not when his power came wrapped in diplomacy and words sharp enough to draw blood.

Behind him, five warriors stood in still silence, each bearing the marks of the Northern Wastes. Tall, scarred, loyal. A threat disguised as an escort.

Lyra descended the steps slowly, every inch of her posture controlled. Dressed in black, silver threads braided into her hair, she looked like something risen from shadow and starlight.

Draven bowed low, fist over heart. "Lady Lyra."

"Just Lyra," she said coolly.

He straightened, eyes never leaving hers. "You are changed."

"People keep telling me that."

He smiled—not mocking, but keen. "And yet… still standing. A rare thing, to survive the Moon's Judgment. Rarer still to carry its fire without being consumed."

Kael entered the hall then, the tension in the room snapping like a drawn bowstring.

He didn't smile.

Didn't speak.

He simply walked to Lyra's side and stood close. Protective. Possessive.

Draven's gaze flicked between them. "Ah," he said lightly. "So the rumors are true."

Kael's voice was stone. "What do you want?"

Draven folded his hands behind his back. "Peace. Unity. And an offer."

"To the court," Kael said, already dismissing him.

Draven shook his head. "No. To her."

Lyra's breath caught.

Kael stiffened.

Draven's eyes returned to her, softer now. "You've survived trials that would break most Alphas. You've faced death and returned with the mark of the old blood. Your court doubts you. Your power frightens them. But my people… they would see you as a sign. A leader. A queen in your own right."

"You want an alliance," Kael growled. "Through marriage."

"Yes." Draven didn't flinch. "To unite our packs. And to give her a throne free of chains."

Kael stepped forward, but Lyra caught his arm. Her voice was calm.

"Let him finish."

Draven's smile widened—just slightly.

"My court is ruled by merit, not legacy. No council of dusty old wolves to whisper behind your back. No elders threatening exile. You would be free to lead beside me, not beneath anyone. Not even me."

Kael snapped, "She leads with me now."

"Does she?" Draven asked, gaze cold. "Because from what I hear, she can barely walk these halls without being followed, feared, or doubted."

Lyra didn't speak.

She couldn't.

Because every word was true.

Later, they stood in the war room again.

Kael paced like a caged beast, armor clinking with every step.

"You won't consider it," he said, voice low. Dangerous. "You can't."

Lyra leaned against the far wall, arms folded. "It's not about marrying him. It's about what he offered."

"You think he's different? He wants power like every other Alpha. You're just another prize to him."

"And what am I to you?" she asked quietly.

Kael froze.

She didn't look away. "A weapon you love? A threat you fear? Someone to be locked away when she burns too brightly?"

His face twisted. "You know that's not true."

"I don't know, Kael," she said. "You say you care, but every time I gain something new, you pull further back. When I burned and rose, you flinched like I'd become something unrecognizable."

"Because I was afraid," he said hoarsely. "Afraid that I'd lose you to something I couldn't reach."

She stepped closer. "But he doesn't fear me. He offered to share power—not chain it."

Kael's voice dropped to a snarl. "You choose him… and I'll raze his lands."

Her silence cut deeper than any blade.

Then, finally, she said:

"You don't get to threaten me like I'm yours."

Kael flinched.

Lyra turned away, the ache blooming beneath her ribs so sharp it made her dizzy.

She didn't want Draven.

But for the first time, she had tasted the idea of standing at the center of her own fate.

Not as someone's mate.

Not as someone's fear.

But as a leader.

And part of her hungered for it.

That night, as storm clouds gathered over the mountains, Lyra stood alone in her chambers, staring at the crest Draven had left behind—two wolves bound in silver flame.

Outside, thunder cracked.

Inside, her reflection stared back—silver-eyed, marked, becoming something new.

She didn't know what tomorrow would bring.

But she knew one thing.

The rain came just past midnight.

Thin at first. Then pounding. A storm that matched the chaos in Lyra's chest. She stood barefoot on the balcony, letting the cold soak through her nightgown, her hair plastered to her back as wind howled like wolves in mourning.

She hadn't dismissed the guards.

They'd dismissed themselves.

No one dared approach her anymore.

Not since the Trial.

Not since the Moon marked her.

Not since she stopped hiding the glow in her hands when her emotions cracked her composure.

She stood there, skin burning with magic that refused to sleep, and for the first time… she didn't try to contain it.

She just felt.

The betrayal. The ache. The hunger for something more.

Behind her, the door opened.

She didn't turn. She didn't need to.

Kael stepped into the room, the storm's fury following him in the tension of his movements.

"You're cold," he said.

She didn't respond.

"You'll get sick."

Still nothing.

He stepped closer, each word clipped with restraint. "I didn't come to fight."

"Then why are you here?"

"To talk."

She exhaled, low and slow. "That's new."

He flinched at her tone. "Lyra—"

"No," she said, finally turning. The wet silk clung to her, but she didn't care. "You've already said enough."

He didn't speak. Just watched her—eyes dark, jaw tight, torn between pride and guilt.

She looked feral in the stormlight. Like a goddess carved from moonfire and rage. And it terrified him how much he wanted to kneel before her and beg for forgiveness he didn't know how to voice.

"I don't want Draven," she said finally.

Kael's shoulders dropped with something like relief. "Then—"

"But I want what he offered," she cut in, her voice trembling now. "A voice. A seat at the table without having to bleed for it. Power without being seen as a threat."

"You do have a voice," he said. "With me—"

"No," she snapped. "With you, I have a bond. I have love. But every time I try to lead, you remind me I'm still learning. Still dangerous. Still… other."

She stepped closer now, chest rising with each breath, fire blooming beneath her skin.

"I'm not your Luna," she whispered. "Not if that means standing behind you. I am not a shadow. I am not an ornament for your war council."

His voice cracked. "I never saw you that way."

"But you see me as something to control. Something to shield."

"Because I don't want to lose you."

She stilled.

He ran a hand through his damp hair. "Do you think I don't lie awake every night wondering what that fire in you will become? Wondering if I'll have to make a choice one day between the woman I love and the safety of this court?"

Her heart twisted at the word.

Love.

He'd never said it so plainly before.

But it wasn't enough.

Not anymore.

She reached behind her and lifted Draven's silver crest—the one she'd nearly thrown into the fire—and tossed it to Kael's feet.

"I didn't accept his proposal," she said. "But I didn't reject it either."

His jaw tightened.

"I want you to understand something, Kael," she continued. "I'm not threatening you. I'm not leaving you. But if you want me at your side, it can't be as your weakness, or your weapon. I will not let anyone—you included—decide my worth."

Silence. Only the storm between them.

Kael looked down at the crest. Then at her.

And for once… he didn't argue.

Instead, he dropped to one knee—not in submission, not in fear—but in silent, bitter acknowledgment.

"You are not mine to command," he said. "But gods help me, Lyra… I want you to choose me anyway."

She swallowed hard.

The fire dimmed.

And without thinking, she crossed the room and knelt with him, eye to eye.

Her fingers brushed his jaw.

"I don't want power instead of love," she whispered. "I want a love that doesn't fear my power."

He closed his eyes. Her touch burned him. Branded him.

"Then help me learn," he said hoarsely. "Because I don't know how to be what you need. But I'm willing to bleed for it."

Their foreheads touched.

The storm softened.

No kiss.

No promises.

Just two broken pieces trying to find a way forward in a world too fragile to hold them.

Later that night, long after Kael left, Lyra stood at the mirror once more.

She saw herself again—not as a girl.

Not even as a wolf.

But as something wholly new.

Power and pain and promise wrapped in silver fire.

And though she still didn't know exactly who she was becoming…

She knew this:

She wouldn't run from it.

Not anymore.