MARKED BY MY ENEMY MATE

You cannot cage what was born in moonlight and flame.

The heat was gone.

But Lyra didn't feel relief.

She felt hollow.

Cold.

She sat in her chambers wrapped in a blanket of silence, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace. Her limbs ached, her skin raw with lingering sensitivity, but it was her heart that throbbed the most—like a bruise left behind by something she couldn't quite name.

Kael was gone. Of course he was. He always left before the sun rose.

Like a coward. Like a man torn in two.

Last night… what they shared—it had meant something. Hadn't it?

She touched her lips, remembering the way he kissed her—like the world was ending. Like he wanted her more than breath itself.

But in the end, he still said no.

Not like this.

Not until you want me without the bond.

Her wolf growled softly within her.

> We did want him. Bond or not. That was our choice.

Lyra rose slowly, pulled on her cloak, and crossed to the window. The court below stirred with early movement—guards switching shifts, priestesses lighting lanterns, whispers carried on the wind.

They were afraid of her now. She could feel it.

And perhaps… that was exactly how it needed to be.

She didn't knock when she entered the Archives. She didn't ask permission.

She was done waiting for truth to be spoon-fed in fragments.

The guards hesitated at first but then stepped aside. Her eyes dared them to stop her.

The Archives were a maze of stone shelves, dusty tomes, and parchment that reeked of time. Magic clung to the place—old and protective, like the breath of the Moon itself.

She moved through it with purpose.

And found what she needed in the Restricted Vault.

A single scroll. Black wax seal. Hidden behind volumes of territory laws and obsolete bloodline decrees.

Moonblood Rebellion.

Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal.

The scroll unraveled slowly. The ink shimmered faintly with age and power.

> "From the womb of the First Luna shall rise a bloodline cursed with fire and moonlight. Feared by Alphas. Hunted by kings. For she will burn through lies. And where she walks, the old order shall fall."

Lyra's breath hitched.

A sigil appeared at the bottom of the parchment—a lunar eclipse pierced by a flame. The same shape that had begun to form within her mark.

It was her.

Her family had never told her. Kael had burned this.

He'd known.

She wasn't just a girl caught in the court's storm.

She was the storm.

A surge of emotion welled inside her—betrayal, power, grief. Her hands sparked with heat again, glowing faintly. The scroll blackened at the edges, curling under invisible flame. She dropped it.

And that was when she sensed it.

A shift in the air.

Movement.

Not a guard. Not a scribe.

Something wrong.

Her instincts flared, and she turned just as a blur of shadow shot from the ceiling.

She threw herself back, rolling hard across the floor. A blade sliced the air where her throat had been a second before.

The attacker landed soundlessly. Black cloak. Masked face. Silver dagger in hand.

Assassin.

Again.

How many more would come?

Lyra didn't scream. She didn't run.

She bared her teeth.

The wolf in her rose, surging to the surface in a tide of fury. Her eyes glowed silver. Her fingertips sparked as she gathered energy into her palms.

"You picked the wrong night," she hissed.

The assassin struck again, fast and silent.

But Lyra was faster.

She ducked the blade, slammed her palm into his chest. Flame burst from her hand, sending the man flying across the chamber and into a stack of ancient texts.

He grunted—but didn't stay down.

He rolled to his feet, threw a hidden knife. She caught it mid-air.

Then she lunged.

No technique. No training.

Just instinct and wrath and something ancient screaming in her blood.

She tackled him hard, knocking them both to the ground. They struggled—blade flashing, limbs tangling. He managed to slash her arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot.

But she didn't stop.

She growled—a true wolf's growl—and her hands ignited again. She gripped his mask and burned through it, revealing wide, terrified eyes.

And in that moment, Lyra saw him.

Not just his face.

His memories.

His orders.

His fear.

> Kill the girl. Before she becomes what she is. Before she destroys them all.

She inhaled sharply, jerking back. Her magic flickered, disrupted by the vision.

The assassin tried to crawl away.

Lyra stood over him, blood dripping from her arm, her eyes glowing with the moon's judgment.

She raised her hand to finish him.

But something stopped her.

Not fear. Not mercy.

Clarity.

If she killed him now—if she let this new power consume her—it would prove everything they said. That she was dangerous. That she wasn't in control.

And worst of all… Kael would look at her with fear instead of fire.

She clenched her hand.

The flame vanished.

"Take him alive," she told the guards who had just come running, faces pale.

She didn't even flinch when they looked at her like she wasn't one of them anymore.

Because maybe she wasn't.

Maybe she was something more.

Later, as Thorne tended to her wounds in silence, he finally spoke.

"You found the prophecy, didn't you?"

She nodded.

He sighed, placing herbs gently on her cut. "Kael burned his copy. He wanted to protect you."

"Or protect himself," she said coldly.

Thorne didn't deny it.

He simply said, "If the court sees what you're becoming… they'll kill you. And Kael both."

She looked out the window.

The moon hung low.

Full.

Watching.

She whispered, almost to herself, "Then let them try."

Thorne left without another word.

And Lyra sat there in the stillness, her arm wrapped in linen, her mind wrapped in fire.

She could still see the assassin's face.

Still feel his memories—cold flashes of whispered commands, veiled threats, dark oaths sworn under moonless skies.

He hadn't acted alone.

He was part of something bigger.

Something festering inside Kael's own court.

She stood slowly and crossed to the mirror, studying herself. The blood on her robe had dried brown. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, but their silver glow pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Was this what the Moon had planned all along?

To mark her. To test her. To isolate her.

> You are not theirs. You are not even his. You are something else now.

Become it.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

She didn't answer.

But the door opened anyway.

Kael stepped in.

His eyes flicked to her bandaged arm immediately. To the stain on her robe. His jaw tightened—but he said nothing.

Just shut the door behind him.

Lyra turned her back to him and stared out the window.

"Did you know?" she asked.

His silence answered first.

Then: "I didn't know who. But I suspected something was coming."

She turned sharply, fury sparking in her chest. "Then why wasn't I warned?"

"I thought keeping you in the dark would protect you."

Her laugh was bitter. "That's becoming a pattern with you."

He flinched at that. The silence between them stretched, taut and dangerous.

Finally, Kael stepped closer. "He was one of my guards."

Her heart stopped.

"What?"

Kael's eyes were storm-dark. "Elite unit. Vetted. Trusted. He's been with me for years. He would've died for me."

Lyra's breath caught in her throat.

And now… he would've killed her.

Kael's voice dropped. "This goes deeper than rogue packs. Someone inside the court wants you gone."

"They're scared," she said. "Of what I'm becoming."

"Maybe." His gaze locked on hers. "But they're also scared of what I might do for you."

That stopped her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Lyra said quietly, "Would you kill for me, Kael?"

He didn't hesitate.

"I already have."

Her chest rose with a shaky breath. Her voice trembled. "Would you die for me?"

He took another step closer, so close now she could feel the heat of him.

"No," he said softly. "I'd live for you. That's harder."

The words undid her.

But she couldn't show it.

Not yet.

Because everything had changed now.

And if she let her heart win again, it might burn them both.

Later that night, the assassin's face haunted her.

His words. His memories. The fear in his eyes.

Someone had sent him with a very specific purpose.

Kill the girl before she becomes what she is.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

Not about the attack.

But about what he hadn't said.

Not one word about Kael.

No threat to the Alpha. No mention of betrayal.

They hadn't come to break Kael's rule.

They'd come to end hers.

The next morning, the court was buzzing.

Rumors spread like wildfire—about the attempted assassination, about Lyra's powers, about how she'd fought him off alone.

The phrase "Moonblood" was beginning to slip through lips like poison.

When Lyra walked into the council chamber later that day, the room fell silent.

The high lords turned toward her like hounds scenting blood.

One of them rose—Lord Garrin, old and gray and mean around the eyes.

"Lady Lyra," he said, "we request that you remain confined to your chambers until this matter is investigated thoroughly. For your safety—and ours."

Lyra tilted her head. Smiled without humor.

"I was attacked in your Archive, by one of your men," she said evenly. "And you want to confine me?"

Lord Garrin didn't flinch. "With respect, we no longer know what you are."

Kael's voice cut across the room like a blade.

"She is under my protection."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Lyra didn't look at him.

She looked at them all.

"I'm not asking for your protection," she said. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm not afraid of your whispers. I'm not afraid of your fear."

She stepped forward, voice rising.

"But you should be afraid of me."

And then she turned and walked out—head high, shoulders straight, fire in her blood and thunder at her back.

The door slammed shut behind her.