Chapter 1: Nightmares and secrets

Lyra's POV

Ice-blue eyes pierce the darkness, their intensity making me cringe. I stumble backward, my feet tangling in an unseen root. As I fall, a massive white wolf emerges from the shadows, its pristine fur marred by splatters of crimson. The coppery scent of blood fills my nostrils, growing stronger as the creature approaches, lips curled back to reveal razor-sharp teeth. The hunger radiating from it is palpable. No, not hunger – ravenous, all-consuming starvation.

I should be terrified, but I can't look away.

"Wake up," I command myself, recognizing the dreamscape but unable to escape its grip. "Wake up, Lyra..."

The wolf's gaze is too intelligent, too predatory. I brace myself for the attack, but instead, it begins to shift. Fur recedes, limbs elongate, and suddenly, a man stands before me. Moonlight caresses his muscular form, and I find my eyes trailing up his body, drinking in every sculpted plane and curve. His voice cuts through the forest like a blade as I reach his face.

"Take off your dress for me. I need to see you."

An unexpected wave of desire courses through me, so intense it finally shocks me awake.

I bolt upright, gasping for air as if I've been underwater. Sweat plasters my nightgown to my skin, and the sheets are a tangled mess around my legs. My face burns with a mixture of lingering desire and embarrassment. 

"Get it together, Lyra," I mutter, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "It was just a dream."

But even as I say it, I can't shake the feeling that it was something more. Something... prophetic.

My mother's voice carries up the stairs, interrupting my brooding. "Lyra, come down! You've got a delivery!"

"Coming!" I call back, but my voice is still rough with sleep.

I grab a robe from the floor and hurry downstairs. Mom stands by the door, a bored-looking delivery man beside her. He thrusts a compact box at me, gesturing impatiently at his digital pad.

Once he's gone, Mom squeezes my shoulder excitedly. "First present of the day!"

"Present?" I echo, momentarily confused, until realization dawns. "Oh, right."

"Happy eighteenth birthday, sweetheart!" Mom kisses my cheek. "Now go open your present!"

I'm about to do just that when I notice the blank sender address. Ice floods my veins, starkly contrasting the heat of my earlier dream.

"Mom," I stammer, "I don't feel well. I need to go."

I race back to my room, the package a ticking time bomb in my arms. With trembling hands, I tear it open.

Three items tumble out: a sheer red bra with matching panties and stockings so delicate they look like they might disintegrate at a touch, a rose-shaped vibrator in soft pink silicone, and an envelope with my name written in painfully familiar handwriting.

I slump against the door, a mix of disgust and resignation washing over me. This has been happening for three years now. The first "gift" arrived on my sixteenth birthday – baby pink lingerie and a small dildo, with a note instructing me to "look pretty and pleasure myself.

Who does this to a sixteen-year-old? More importantly, who keeps it up for three years?

There's never an address or a name. Even the delivery service is baffled when I try to trace it. 

Part of me wanted to incinerate the whole package without reading the note, but morbid curiosity won out. I ripped open the envelope, unfolded the paper, and shook hands.

"My gorgeous girl, you know you're all mine. Save yourself for me and me alone. Don't mess around with any other man, even your mate. If you do... you might just find him gone."

Bile rises in my throat. This isn't just creepy anymore – it's a threat.

"I will find you," I snarl, hurling the note across the room. "And when I do, you're the one who'll be gone, you disgusting pervert."

I shove everything back in the box and bury it in my closet. I'll deal with it later. Right now, I need a scalding shower to wash away the feeling of invisible eyes on my skin.

The rest of the morning passes in a haze of birthday pancakes and presents from my parents. For a little while, I almost forget about the "gift" and its implied menace. 

Then, over lunch, Dad drops a bomb.

"Elara's coming home for your birthday dinner, Lyra!"

I plaster on a smile while my stomach sinks. "Great," I lie through my teeth.

To put it mildly, Elara and I have a strained relationship. We couldn't be more different if we tried. She's all golden beauty—long blonde hair, vivid blue eyes like summer violets, and sun-kissed skin. I'm the family changeling with my short, wavy brown hair, eyes the color of a stormy sea, and skin so pale it's nearly translucent beneath a smattering of freckles.

Dad says I look like Grandma. Elara never fails to remind me how hilarious she finds that comparison.

As evening approaches, I brace myself for Elara's grand entrance. Right on cue, she sweeps in, wearing a form-fitting crimson dress that makes my simple emerald blouse and white pants look downright frumpy. 

Her eyes find me at the center of the table. I steel myself for the inevitable barbed comment, but she surprises me. "You look quite nice, Lyra."

"Green does suit her," Mom chimes in, setting down another place setting. "I'm just going to get your cake."

As she bustles off, I turn to Dad. "Who else is coming?"

Elara answers instead, her tone sickeningly sweet. "It's my boyfriend. I told Mom and Dad earlier. I'm introducing him to the family."

"On my birthday?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

Elara's eyes flash. "Who says everyone has to freeze and be nothing on your birthday?" She turns to Dad, who's staying suspiciously quiet. "Anyway, I think you're going to like him. You know him – he's the Alpha Heir of Shadowmoon Pack."

My jaw drops. "Our pack?"

Elara just smirks. Despite my annoyance, I can't help but be impressed. She's done it – snagged herself an Alpha Heir.

The doorbell chimes, and Elara practically skips to answer it. I hear the door open, followed by a deep male voice. But it's not the words that catch my attention – it's the scent that wafts in.

Pine. Musk. Mint. Citrus. 

The combination hits me like a drug, and I inhale deeply. My entire body floods with a warmth I've never experienced before. Desire coils low in my belly, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to chase down the source of that intoxicating aroma.

What is happening to me?

Elara reappears, a tall young man at her side. They're both smiling, but my grin has vanished. 

Our eyes lock, and the world shifts on its axis.

At that moment, I know three things with absolute certainty:

This man is Elara's boyfriend.

He is my fated mate.

My life just got infinitely more complicated.

"Everyone," Elara announces, oblivious to the silent earthquake reshaping my existence, "I'd like you to meet Xander Blackthorn, the Alpha Heir of Shadowmoon Pack."

Xander's eyes haven't left mine. I see the same shock, the same recognition, reflected in their hazel depths. 

As my family swarms around him, showering him with greetings and attention, I remain frozen. My heart pounds so loudly that I'm sure everyone can hear it.

This can't be happening. The universe cannot be this cruel.

But as Xander's gaze finds mine again over my sister's shoulder, I know it's true. The mate bond hums between us, an invisible thread pulling us together even as circumstances conspire to keep us apart.

Happy birthday to me, indeed. My life as I know it is over.