Bridget cursed loudly as she struggled to her feet, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes burned with fury as she glared at Lyra. She had not expected to be beaten so badly, to be thrown around like she was nothing more than a common wolf.

"You little-" Bridget snarled, preparing to launch herself at Lyra again despite her injuries. Her pride was wounded more than her body, and she wanted revenge.

But before she could take even one step forward, a strong hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her cold.

"That's enough, Bridget."

She spun around to see who had dared to interfere. Standing behind her was a tall man with graying hair and sharp blue eyes that seemed to see everything. His name was Owen Dixon. Even in his early fifties, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had never lost a fight.

"Owen?" Bridget's voice was filled with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You can go, leave this to me," Owen said simply, his voice carrying the authority of an alpha. He had been friends with Bridget's pack for years, and she knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone.

Bridget looked like she wanted to protest, but she took several steps backward, putting distance between herself and Lyra while keeping her eyes on the fight.

Lyra's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as she watched this exchange. What was Owen Dixon doing in the middle of the Darkwood Forest? As the alpha of a neighboring pack, he should have been miles away, dealing with his own territory. Her gaze moved between Owen and Bridget, trying to understand what was happening.

Owen turned to face Lyra directly, clasping his hands behind his back in a casual pose. They stared at each other for a long moment, the forest around them eerily quiet. Finally, Owen broke the silence.

"Your father and I are old friends, you know," he said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather instead of standing in a place where people came to die.

Lyra's confusion deepened. "What does that have to do with-"

"Don't worry," Owen interrupted, his voice taking on a mock-caring tone. "I'll try my best to make your death less painful. For his sake."

Before Lyra could even process what he had said, Owen raised his hand and pointed a single finger directly at her chest. Dark energy erupted from his fingertip like black lightning.

The blast hit Lyra square in the chest with tremendous force. She felt her feet leave the ground as she was thrown backward through the air. Her body crashed into the thick trunk of another ancient tree with a sickening thud before she fell face-first onto the mossy ground.

Pain shot through every part of her body as she groaned and tried to push herself up. Her chest felt like it was on fire where Owen's attack had hit her. This was different from Bridget's physical strength - this was something else entirely.

She had to get up. She had to fight back. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Lyra forced herself to stand, using the tree behind her for support.

But as soon as she was on her feet, the world around her changed.

Black skeletons rose from the forest floor like nightmares coming to life. Their empty eye sockets glowed with an unnatural green light, and their bone fingers reached for her with clicking sounds that made her skin crawl. There were at least a dozen of them, surrounding her completely.

Lyra's eyes went wide with recognition and horror. She had read about creatures like these in the old books her grandmother had kept hidden away. These were not natural beings - they were creations of dark magic. Witchcraft. Necromancy.

Everything suddenly made sense. Bridget's impossible speed and strength. Owen's devastating attack. The way they both seemed so confident despite knowing how powerful she was.

"Witchcraft," she gasped, the word escaping her lips like a curse.

The skeletons closed in around her, their bony hands grabbing her arms and holding her in place. She struggled against them, but there were too many, and their grip was surprisingly strong.

Trapped and unable to move, Lyra looked between Owen and Bridget with a mixture of fear and fury in her eyes.

"What are you planning to do with me?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the terror clawing at her heart.

Owen let out a cold scoff, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "You'll find out soon enough," he said, his voice carrying a promise of pain.

The skeletons tightened their grip and forced Lyra back against the rough bark of the tree behind her. Their bone fingers dug into her arms like iron shackles, holding her completely still. She could feel the ancient wood pressing against her spine as she struggled uselessly against their supernatural strength.

Owen stepped closer, his eyes glowing with the same dark energy that had knocked her down moments before. He raised his hand again, but this time instead of pointing at her chest, he pressed his palm directly against her forehead.

"Hold still," he commanded, though she had no choice in the matter.

Lyra felt something invasive and wrong pushing into her mind. It was like icy fingers crawling through her thoughts, searching for something deep inside her consciousness. The sensation made her want to be sick.

"No!" she gasped, trying to pull her head away, but the skeletons held her firm.

Owen's power surged deeper, past her thoughts, past her memories, reaching for the very core of what made her who she was.

She could feel him searching through her sea of consciousness with his qi, looking for the most sacred part of her being.

"There it is," Owen whispered, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. "Your wolf spirit. Give it to me."

"Never!" Lyra screamed, but even as she said it, she could feel him grasping for the soul of her wolf. It was like someone trying to tear out her soul.

She threw all of her remaining strength into breaking free, pulling against the skeletons with everything she had. But they were stronger than her now - much stronger. Their magic-enhanced grip didn't budge even an inch.

Owen's fingers tightened their hold on something deep inside her consciousness, something that felt like it was connected to every fiber of her being. Then he began to pull.

The pain that shot through Lyra was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It felt like he was ripping away part of her very existence, tearing out the wild, fierce part of her that had always been her greatest strength.

She screamed - a sound that was both human agony and the howl of a wounded animal. The cry echoed through the forest, sending birds fleeing from their roosts and making the very trees seem to tremble.

But Owen didn't stop.

He kept pulling, yanking at her wolf spirit with relentless determination, deaf to her cries of pain and horror at what he was doing to her.