Lyra must have drifted off at some point, because when she finally woke, the air was warm and heavy with the faint scent of firewood and something floral.

For a moment, groggy and confused, she almost believed it had all been a horrible dream, the dungeons, the chains, Damon’s hand at her throat.

But the softness beneath her wasn’t the cold dirt floor of a cell. And the warmth felt like safety but she stayed still for a long moment, only listening. The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of a fire somewhere across the room, her head pounded dully and her throat ached with thirst.

Then the door creaked which made Lyra sit up quickly as the fur blanket slipped from her shoulders as her hands grabbed it tightly.

Then she heard Soft footsteps move closer, it was not heavy like his, then a woman’s voice, cool and amused, broke the silence.

“Well. You are awake.”

Lyra froze.

Heels clicked slowly across the stone floor as the woman approached, her perfume thick and cloying in the air.

“I was starting to wonder if you were going to sleep through your own funeral,” the woman added with a cruel little laugh.

Lyra said nothing, her fingers digging into the fur.

The footsteps stopped directly in front of her.

“What’s the matter?” the woman said after a beat, her voice curling like smoke. “Nothing to say? Or is it because you can’t even see who’s standing right here?”

Lyra’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t reply.

The mocking laugh came again, it was soft and poisonous.

“You actually think,” the woman murmured, beginning to circle her, “that just because you have his bond, you belong here? That you can just show up out of nowhere and replace me? You poor, blind little thing.”

She stopped behind Lyra then her fingers suddenly curled harshly into Lyra’s hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose her throat.

“You can’t even see me,” the woman whispered near her ear, her breath hot against Lyra’s skin. “Pathetic.”

Lyra jerked her head away, but the woman only laughed under her breath.

“You really don’t understand yet, do you?” she continued. “You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. Do you know how many thought they could take my place?”

Her nails scraped along the back of Lyra’s neck.

“Three hundred seventeen,” she hissed. “Every single one thought they could stand where I stand. Be what I am. And do you know where they are now?”

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a vicious whisper.

“Dead. All of them. Rotting in the ground. And you…” Her hand snapped around Lyra’s jaw, forcing Lyra’s blind gaze upward. “You’re next.”

The words slid straight into Lyra’s chest like a knife but she forced her voice to stay calm.

“If I’m such a threat, why are you whispering instead of telling him?”

The woman’s nails dug deeper before she shoved Lyra’s face away.

“Because Alpha Kieran,” she spat his name like poison, “doesn’t need to know. I clean up my own messes.”

Kieran.

Hearing his name spill from another woman’s mouth sent an odd, twisting pang through Lyra anger, defiance, something else she didn’t want to name.

The woman stepped back, heels clicking sharply as she straightened herself.

“You won’t last the night,” she said flatly, like the decision had already been made. “You’ll be gone before sunrise. So enjoy the little time you have left, sweetheart.”

Her footsteps moved toward the door, and she slipped out without another word.

The silence that followed felt heavier than her voice.

Lyra stayed where she was, hands trembling as she pulled the fur tighter around herself, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

She’d meant it. Every word.

Three hundred seventeen.

And now Lyra.

She didn’t hear the door open again until a softer, hurried voice spoke.

“Your breakfast, miss.”

Lyra didn’t answer.

A tray clinked softly as it was set down beside the bed.

The warm scent of bread and honey wafted through the air, and her stomach gave a faint, betraying growl.

When she still didn’t move, the servant quietly left, closing the door behind them.

The room fell silent again, save for the crackling fire and Lyra’s shallow breaths.

Finally, she reached out, her fingers finding the edge of the tray.

A plate of bread.

A small dish of honey.

A steaming cup.

She hesitated, the woman’s threat still echoing in her head:

You won’t last the night.

But her throat burned.

She lifted the cup, feeling its heat against her palms, and took a careful sip.

It was bitter.

She swallowed anyway, taking another before setting it down.

She tore off a piece of bread and started chewing, her mind still fogged with the woman’s voice, her nails, her laugh.

Halfway through her second bit the dizziness hit.It slammed into her like a wave. Her fingers slipped from the bread, knocking it onto the tray.

The room tilted violently.

Lyra gasped, hands fumbling for anything to hold onto as her knees buckled.

Her stomach lurched, and she crashed onto the stone floor, the cold stealing her breath.

The cup.

Poison.

Her fingers scraped uselessly along the ground as her vision already nothing but black darkened even more around the edges.

Somewhere far away, she heard the door slam open.

Then his voice.

Raw. Terrifying.

“Kieran,” she croaked weakly the name a faint whisper on her lips.

It was the only word she managed before the darkness swallowed her whole.

“NO!” he roared, the sound shaking the walls. “Don’t you dare don’t you dare close your eyes! Stay with me…”

Strong arms scooped her up, his scent hitting her all at once smoke, cedar, something electric and sharp that cut straight through the haze.

“Stay with me,” he murmured against her hair, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

She tried to cling to the sound of his voice, to the way his hands cradled her like she might shatter.

The last thing she felt before the dark won was his breath brushing her temple, and the low, furious promise he growled into her skin:

“No one touches what’s mine.”