Chapter 2
Lyra's POV
My head was pounding.
I opened my eyes and stared at a ceiling I didn’t recognize …cold stone, damp, smelling like pine and wet dirt. Not exactly my room.
I sat up too fast. Big mistake. The walls tilted and I had to grip the edge of the stone bench to keep from falling off. Great. Kidnapped and dizzy. Oocch !!! Ooh god
What a Perfect way to start my day.!!!
Where… where even was I?
The last thing I remembered: the box. The rooftop. The blood moon burning red. And then—him. That voice, that growl, that name he’d thrown at me like a curse.
Seraphina.
The door groaned open and I froze.
Boots. Slow, heavy boots hitting the floor before I even saw his face. And then there he was, filling the doorway like some dark fairytale villain who looked way too good to be real.
Draven Solas.
The guy from the woods. The guy with eyes like molten amber …the kind that make you feel like you’ve done something wrong even when you haven’t.
He walked in like he owned the whole damn building. Which… maybe he did.
“What’s your name?” His voice was low. Flat. Like he already knew I’d give the wrong answer.
My mouth was dry. “Why should I tell you anything?”
One eyebrow ticked up. “Because you’re in my territory. And I don’t take in strays.”
I pushed myself to my feet, legs shaky but holding. “I’m not a stray.”
He moved closer. Too close. Close enough that I could smell him ….smoke and earth and something wild, like the forest itself had teeth.
“No,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “You’re something else entirely.”
His hand shot out before I could move, clamping around my wrist. Not hard, but firm enough that I couldn’t just yank free. And then… he sniffed me.
He actually sniffed me.
“What the hell—!” I jerked back, or tried to.
His eyes darkened. His jaw locked like he was fighting himself. “You smell like her.”
“I don’t even know who the hell she is!” I snapped, yanking my wrist away. My voice bounced off the walls. “You keep saying that like it means something to me. It doesn’t! I don’t know you. I don’t know this place. I’m not whoever you think I am!” I shouted frustrated ..
His face barely moved. Just the smallest crack in his voice. “Her name was Seraphina.”
“Well, I’m not her.” Neither do I care.
“I know,” he said. Quiet. Rough. “She died.”
I froze. My anger stuttered out. “Oh. I… I’m sorry.” Kind of feel guilty that I shouted at him.
He stared at me for one long, impossible second, then turned and walked away like I was nothing.
“That’s it?” I called after him. “You’re just gonna—”
“You’ll stay here until I figure out what you are,” he said over his shoulder. “If you’re not lying, you have nothing to fear. If you are…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The door slammed shut.
And I was alone again.
⸻—————-
————————-
When the door opened next, it wasn’t him.
A woman in her forties, maybe older, slipped inside with a tray of food balanced on her hands. Silver streaks in her braids, skin the color of deep bronze, eyes sharp but warm.
“You’re the one they found in the forest,” she said softly.
I sat up straighter. “Who are you?”
“I’m Mira. Healer. And Draven’s… probably the only sane person he listens to.” She gave me a quick smile and set the tray down.
“You must’ve really pissed him off if he locked you in here.”
“I didn’t do anything.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to work out a knot. “I didn’t even know he existed until today.”
She gave me a long look. “You look like her.”
“Seraphina?”
Mira nodded.
“That name keeps coming up.” I huffed. “Who was she?”
Mira hesitated, then sat on the bench beside me. “She was the Luna of this pack. Draven’s mate. She died four years ago during the Lunar Alignment.”
“How?”
“They say rogues. But no one really knows.” Her gaze dropped. “Draven’s never been the same.”
“Okay, so let me get this straight.” I pointed at myself. “I look like this Seraphina. Smell like her. That’s why he’s acting like I’m some kind of ghost?”
“You don’t just smell like her.” Mira’s voice went soft. “You carry her energy. Her mark.”
I frowned. “What mark?”
She held out her hand. “May I?”
I hesitated, then nodded.
Mira pushed up my sleeve — and froze.
“What?” I demanded.
“Just like hers,” she whispered.
I looked down. There it was. A crescent-shaped mark edged with tiny flames, sitting on my forearm like it had been there all along. Except it hadn’t been. Not yesterday.
“What the hell…”
“You might not be her,” Mira murmured, “but you’re not just you either.”
That night, I didn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fire. Wolves howling. A woman screaming. A name echoing through the smoke.
Draven.
I sat up in bed, shaking, heart trying to punch its way out of my chest.
What was happening to me?
The next morning, they hauled me out of the cell. Two guards. Big, silent, and armed to the teeth. We walked through a long tunnel carved out of earth and stone, torches lighting the way. It smelled old. Like moss and secrets.
They led me into a massive hall that opened out onto the forest. Rough beams, fur rugs, symbols carved deep into the walls. Definitely not HGTV modern.
At the far end …of course — sat Draven. Arms folded. Eyes unreadable.
“You’re not a prisoner anymore,” he said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“But you’re not free, either.”
“Wow. Really selling it.” I crossed my arms.
“I want to know what you are,” he continued, voice harder now. “And why my wolf won’t stop reacting to you.”
“Maybe you’re just losing your mind,” I shot back.
Draven stood. Slowly. The weight of his presence hit me like a wall …not just anger, but something raw underneath.
“You walk into my world,” he growled, “smell like my dead mate, bear her mark, dream her dreams — and still pretend you’re innocent?”
“I’m not pretending!” My voice cracked. “I’m scared, I’m confused, and I have no idea what any of this means!”
Silence.
Our eyes locked. And for a heartbeat, I saw him differently. Not as the monster everyone whispered about. But as a man, grieving, guarded, lost.
His voice dropped. “What’s your name?”
I swallowed. “Lyra. Lyra Monroe.”
He stared at me like the name hurt. Like it meant something he couldn’t say.
Then he stepped down from the platform, slow and deliberate, until he was close enough for me to feel his breath. His hand lifted …not to grab me, not to threaten …just to brush my hair from my face.
And when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t cold. It was broken.
“If you’re not her… then why does it hurt to look at you?”