By the time the feast ended, I was three kinds of exhausted.
The physical fatigue from the week’s training weighed on my limbs.
The mental strain of the Summit’s politics pressed behind my eyes.
And the awareness of Callen’s gaze—gone from the balcony but lingering in my mind—left my nerves frayed.
“Breathe,” Brenna murmured as we slipped down a side corridor toward the training wing. “You look like you’re about to eat someone.”
“If someone deserves eating,” I said, “I’d like to be prepared.”
She snorted. “Well, don’t start with the kitchen staff. Tomas would complain.”
We turned the corner.
Lyra waited against the wall.
She wore a dress so pale blue it was almost white, her gold hair coiled elegantly at the nape of her neck. Her lips were painted a deeper berry than usual. A faint flush warmed her cheeks.
Her eyes were cool.
“Omega,” she said.
The old slur snapped across my nerves like a whip.
Brenna bristled. “Excuse—”
“Don’t,” I said sharply, laying a hand on her arm. “She’s not worth it.”
Lyra’s gaze flicked to my wrist—at the beads Nana had given me, visible just below my sleeve.
“Nice trinkets,” she said. “Did Elyra decide you were worthy of your dead parents’ bones now that you’re useful again?”
Rage flared, hot and sharp.
Ashra rose, snarling.
*We can bite her,* she said. *Just a little. Enough to scare.*
*No,* I said silently.
I made my voice cold.
“Careful,” I said. “If you sneer at them in front of Nana, she’ll take your tongue.”
Lyra’s lips curved. “Ah, yes. The beloved omega matriarch. So tragic she wasted all that loyalty on a girl who turned out to be a walking fire hazard.”
I smiled.
It felt nothing like my usual brittle ones.
It felt…sharp.
“You’re jealous,” I observed.
Her laugh was brittle. “Of what? Your splendid record of dish-washing? Your reputation as pack curse? Or perhaps your *mate*—a man who looks at you like he’s trying to decide if you’re worth the trouble or just a very pretty bomb?”
Brenna inhaled sharply. “Lyra—”
“Jealousy’s a bad look on you,” I said evenly. “It makes your nose wrinkle.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I am not jealous,” she snapped. “I am disgusted. That the Goddess saw fit to give a treasure like a fated bond to someone like you. A half-raised omega with no manners and too much power.”
“Someone like you,” I repeated slowly.
“Yes,” she said. “Someone with no breeding. No rank. No—”
“Someone who scrubbed your boots,” I cut in, voice ice. “Carried your discarded plates. Took the blame when you spilled wine on yourself near guests. Someone you could bully because you thought I’d never have teeth.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
Brenna’s hand tightened on my arm.
“Listen carefully,” I said quietly. “I did not ask for this. Not the wolf. Not the mate. Not the power. The Moon Goddess didn’t send me a pretty bond as a reward for good behavior. She just…finally woke up whatever my parents left in me. If you have a problem with that, take it up with her. Not me.”
Lyra’s eyes glittered. “Don’t you dare pretend you’re some gracious martyr in all this,” she hissed. “You *revel* in it. The attention. The whispers. The way Tiernan looks at you. I saw you dancing. You ate it up.”
I went still.
Every instinct screamed at me to deny.
To deflect.
To shrink.
Instead, I made myself hold her gaze.
“I *enjoyed* dancing,” I said, surprising myself with the admission. “For the first time in my life, I liked being in the center of a circle instead of pressed against the wall. That doesn’t mean I owe you an apology for it.”
Her nostrils flared.
“You owe us *all* an apology,” she spat. “For upsetting the balance. For making Rhys doubt his own pack. For turning Elyra into your personal guilt project. For dragging Stormwake into our politics. You’re a storm in a teacup, Kaia. And when you spill, we drown.”
Ashra growled, low and dangerous. *Say the word,* she murmured. *We’ll show her what drowning feels like.*
*No,* I said. *She wants us to lash out. To prove her right.*
I took a quiet breath.
“Is that what you really think?” I asked. “That I *chose* to be born to my parents? That I *chose* for them to die for your Luna? That I *chose* to have a wolf that woke late and loud instead of quietly at sixteen like everyone else?”
Her jaw clenched.
“You chose to flaunt it,” she said. “You chose to stand on that floor and let him touch you. In front of *everyone*. As if you belonged there.”
“I *do* belong there,” I said. “Not because of him. Because of me. Because this is my pack too, no matter how much you tried to scrub me out of the picture.”
She laughed harshly. “You think one dance and a new room make you pack, omega? You think tying on a few beads make you Mira Thorn? You’re still the same girl who cried in the laundry room when Corin tore up your one nice dress.”
The memory hit hard.
Fourteen. Threadbare blue dress, the only thing I owned that wasn’t patched. Corin ripping it in front of me because Lyra had tripped and spilled juice near the Luna, and someone had to be punished for the embarrassment.
Tears I hadn’t wanted to shed burning my eyes.
Shame.
Anger.
Nana’s gnarled hands sewing the pieces back together that night, her own mouth tight.
Ashra bristled. *She used your pain as a toy. Again.*
This time, I didn’t look away.
“I remember,” I said quietly. “I remember every hand that pushed me down, Lyra. I also remember every hand that helped me up. You were never one of those.”
She flinched.
Good.
“Here’s the thing,” I continued, my voice steady. “For years, you could hurt me without consequence. You don’t get that anymore. You think I’m dangerous to the pack because I can set fire to walls. I think you’re dangerous because you chip at people until they bleed and then pretend it’s their fault for being weak.”
Brenna’s eyes were huge.
Lyra’s face went white, then red.
“You’re nothing but a glorified weapon,” she snapped. “And weapons rust.”
I smiled faintly. “Some do,” I said. “Others get sharper every time someone tries to dull them.”
Her lips trembled.
For a second, I thought she might slap me.
Ashra wanted her to.
Instead, Lyra drew herself up, smoothing her dress with a shaking hand.
“Enjoy your borrowed status,” she said coldly. “When the Summit ends and Stormwake leaves, you’ll be right back where you started. A misfit. A liability. Don’t think Rhys will treat you like a princess just because you danced with a visiting alpha.”
“I don’t want to be a princess,” I said. “I want to be *seen*.”
She laughed bitterly. “You have no idea what being seen costs.”
“Then enlighten me,” I said.
Her eyes glittered.
“My mother was Rhys’s *first* chosen,” she spat. “Before Elyra. Before he grew up and realized a pretty warrior wasn’t enough for his precious image. He tossed her aside when the Luna from the east promised an alliance. She drank herself to death when I was six. You think you’re the only one he’s thrown away? The only one this pack has chewed on and spat out?”
The words hit like thrown stones.
I had never heard that story.
Brenna’s face crumpled. “Lyra…”
“Save your pity,” Lyra snapped. “I don’t want it.”
My anger wobbled.
“Lyra,” I said carefully. “I…didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “No one talks about the lives broken in the *making* of a pack. Just the shining parts. The brave parts. The sacrifices that look good in songs.” She sneered. “You think your parents are the only ones Elyra feels guilty about? The only ones whose ghosts she prays over at night?”
My throat worked.
Something ugly and complicated knotted between us—shared hurt, twisted by years of different treatment.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t you dare pity me,” she said again.
“I’m not pitying you,” I said. “I’m…recognizing we both got chewed up by the same machine. It just spit us out in different directions.”
She stared at me, breathing hard.
Then she laughed, harsh and broken.
“You really are dangerous,” she said.
“How?” I asked.
“You make things…sound reasonable,” she spat. “Like pain can be shared instead of sharpened. I’d rather keep my knives.”
“Suit yourself,” I said softly.
She stepped aside, giving us room to pass.
As we moved by, she said, not quite under her breath, “Storms pass. Pack law doesn’t. Remember that, elemental. When he leaves, you’ll still be under ours.”
A chill traced my spine.
Brenna tugged me away before I could answer.
We walked in silence until the corridor turned.
“Wow,” Brenna breathed. “That…was a lot.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You didn’t set her hair on fire,” she observed.
“I wanted to,” I muttered.
“So did I,” Ashra grumbled.
“But you didn’t,” Brenna continued. “You know that’s…huge, right? Old Kaia would’ve either taken it silently or started a brawl. New Kaia talked about…feelings. And shared trauma. And didn’t die.”
“Don’t make it sound like a therapy session,” I said.
“Whatever it was,” she said. “It was…growth.”
I snorted. “Growth hurts.”
“Bones do that too,” she pointed out. “When they’re getting longer.”
“Stop making sense,” I said.
She smiled faintly.
Inside, Ashra paced.
*She’s not wrong,* she said. *The Beta’s pup is brittle. Her edges cut her too, you know.*
*That doesn’t excuse what she did,* I replied.
*No,* Ashra agreed. *But it explains. And we are not the only orphan of bad alphas in this house.*
I sighed.
“I’m so tired,” I muttered.
“Sleep,” Brenna said firmly. “Dream of nice things. Like rivers. And punching people.”
“Those are nice things,” Ashra said.
I managed a weak laugh.
“Wake me if the house catches fire,” I told Brenna at my door.
“Only if it’s not you doing it,” she said.
I rolled my eyes and slipped inside.
The room was dark and still.
I leaned my back against the closed door and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, knees pressed to my chest.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
I let two fall.
No more.
Ashra curled around my heart like a shield.
*We did well,* she murmured. *We did not bend the way they wanted. We did not burn the way they feared. We did our way.*
“Our way,” I echoed.
Exhaustion dragged at my bones.
I crawled into bed without bothering to undress fully, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
Sleep claimed me quickly.
This time, the dreams were filled with rain.
And a hand in mine, steady, warm, keeping me from being washed away.
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