Alpha Heir: Mask Of The Moon

Lyra crashed to the ground, dust clogging her lungs, as the training circle erupted into catcalls and snarls.

"Remain down, girl," sneered Ronan, Beta's son, pacing around her, a grin spreading across his face. "You made your point. You almost fight like a true Alpha."

Blood dropped from her lip. She brushed it away with the back of her hand and stood up regardless.

The pack watched-warriors, Elders, even her mother, face set in a scowl of hurt indifference. No one moved to stop it. No one ever did.

Lyra burst in, feigning to go left, elbowing Ronan's stomach before spinning to take out his legs. He went down with a caught-off-guard noise. People cheered-short, shocked-but the Elders didn't smile.

She'd won.

Again.

And it still would mean nothing.

Moments later, the signal bell clanged out from the inner walls. Once. Twice. With an urgent ring.

She stood stock-still. That bell rang but once. And it was for one reason alone.

Her father.

She ran across the courtyard, shoving aside guards and through the infirmary doors where the scent of herbs and blood hung in the air like rot. Her father, Alpha Thorne Blackthorn, lay motionless under a sheen of sweat. His chest scarcely rose.

The healers exhale words she did not want to hear. "Poison." "No cure." "Fading."

Elder Gavrik's face is to her, grim. "He will not return, Lyra. A new Alpha will need to be assigned."

She blinked, wanting words to reorder themselves into something less cruel. "He made me his heir."

"He taught you, yes," Gavrik says with a hard smile. "But the laws are fixed. The next Alpha must be male."

A silence fell so heavy it bruised her lungs.

"In three days," he continued, "the strongest of the bloodlines available will be sent to Nightbane Academy. There, a new Alpha will be born."

He turned and left before she could speak.

Lyra did not scream.

She did not weep.

She just gazed at her father's still hand, and then at the door.

Three days.

Three days to disappear.

Three days to become someone else.

For if they would not let a girl fight for the throne-

She'd be a boy who would.

***

Lyra's mirror in her room didn't know her.

Short hacked hair, roughly trimmed with her own knife. Grime plastered on cheekbones to smash the line of her face. Her breast tight compressed under her father's tattered leather tunic, her shoulders set, eyes set.

She'd had his eyes all along.

Now she carried his shadow.

Lyra wore the Academy uniform-sewn, remade, pulled from her father's hidden box of heirlooms. It smelled of smoke, pine, and something long buried. She clipped the crescent fang pendant under her collar. A piece of him to wear. A warning to them.

At the edge of the courtyard, a single horse waited, hooves swathed in the fog. No guards. No farewells. Only one figure remained beside the saddle, arms crossed, looking at her.

Her mother.

"I should stop you," her mother said softly, eyes raking the boy her daughter had become. "You could be exiled. Or killed."

"I could be Alpha," Lyra said.

***

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

And then her mother stood up and pressed something cold into Lyra's palm. A knife. Silver. Heavier for speed.

"Then cut deeper than they expect," she panted. "And never tire.

Nightbane Academy was a fortress nestled within the cliffs of the north, gates carved from obsidian and bone, towers radiating softly with moon-forged flame. Lyra-now Lior-fought under an assumed name, forged papers, and stolen heritage. No one challenged the newest male applicant for Alpha.

Why would they?

She looked like one of them now-proud, brooding, forged from scars and silence.

She was escorted to a dormitory ringed with howling wards. Inside were boys with sharp teeth and sharper egos, posturing in a space that reeked of testosterone, sweat, and dominance.

One looked up-a tall, broad-shouldered wolf with a scar running from cheekbone to collar.

His eyes narrowed as they landed on her.

"You're new," he said.

"I don't talk much," Lyra answered low, mimicking the deeper voice she'd practiced.

He smiled like a warning. "Good. Neither do I."

He was going to stir up trouble. She could feel it in her bones.

And Lyra had no room for trouble.

Only war.

***

The Academy didn't waste any time.

By dawn, all the students-old and new-were summoned to the central stone court, where the headmaster stood atop a blackened dais surrounded by runes that glowed like fire.".

"Welcome to Nightbane," Headmaster Rhys growled, his voice like gravel and thunder. "This is not a school. This is a crucible. Only the strongest will survive it whole. And only one will be named Alpha Successor."

His gaze roamed over the group, lingered a moment too long on Lyra.

"Your first test begins now. You've been matched up. Survive, and we may deem you worthy of our notice."

A low mutter ran through the group.

Survive?

Before anyone could ask, the ground trembled. The ancient gates creaked apart at the edge of the field, revealing a dense forest wrapped in morning fog and the stench of blood. Things rumbled somewhere inside. Bones littered the sill.

"Into the Vale," Rhys ordered. "Stalk what stalks you. Return with evidence, or not at all."

Names were called.

Lyra's heart began beating when she heard hers-Lior Thorn-paired with the last man she'd desire.

Kade Varyn. The same broad-shouldered wolf of the night before. The one who spoke as steel on stone and looked at her as if he could smell a lie on her skin.

Perfect.

They were handed two swords, one map, and one instruction: don't die.

The moment they stepped into the Vale, trees surrounded them.

This trial is not about hunting," Kade growled as they fought through the underbrush. "It's about weakness. They want to know who breaks."

Lyra said nothing.

Kade gave her a sidelong glance. "You don't talk much. Got secrets?"

"Perhaps I just don't waste words," she said in a low, slicing voice.

He smiled softly. "You fight like you've shed blood for something."

She didn't respond.

Because she had.

And now wasn't the time to bleed again.

A rustling in the branches above.

Then a snarl.

A blur of darkness came down from the trees-fangs shining, claws tearing. Kade shouted. Lyra didn't hesitate. She launched herself forward, blade extended, instincts sharpened to a fine point.

The creature-a silver-veined wolf-beast with eyes-sprang.

She caught it in mid-air, spinning, driving her dagger deep into its ribcage. It screamed, a guttural, human cry. Blood splattered. They crashed onto the earth.

Kade finished it off with a brutal strike to the neck.

Silence fell. Heavy. Breathing ragged.

Kade turned to her, eyes wide. Not with fear.

With recognition.

"You've killed before," he said, voice unreadable.

Lyra stood, pulling her blade free, blood dripping down her arm.

"You haven't?" she replied.

He stared at her for one long, suspicious second.

Then he smirked.

"Maybe you're not the weakest link after all, Thorn."