She hadn't slept. She had spent the hours since Cassian locked the door listening to the radiator hiss like a dying animal and feeling the frantic, rhythmic pulsing of her own blood.

Lyra stood by the tall, arched window, her silhouette a fragile line of ivory silk against the bruised purple of the pre-dawn sky.

Beneath her ribs, Selene was a mess of jagged nerves, the wolf's instincts screaming of a predator's approach.

The click of the lock was a gunshot in the silence.

Cassian tore through the room. His black hair was wild, his storm-gray eyes luminous with a terrifying, silver-edged fury.

He brought with him the scent of the front lines—biting frost, wet leather, and the raw, suffocating musk of an Alpha whose authority had been challenged at the roots.

"The scouts found your scent trail at the servant's passage, Lyra," he said, his voice a low, vibrating snarl that made the crystal carafes on the sideboard hum.

"You were actually going to do it. You were going to walk out into a border war because you didn't like the tone of my voice at a gala."

"I was going to leave because I am already dead here, Cassian," Lyra said, turning to face him. Her voice was terrifyingly calm—the kind of calm that exists only at the center of a hurricane.

"You look at me and see a title. You touch me and see a habit. I am not a person to you; I am a border you've already conquered and forgotten to garrison."

Cassian was barely suppressing. He closed the distance between them in three predatory strides, his presence expanding until he consumed the very air she needed to breathe. 

"You are my mate," he hissed, his hand lashing out to grip her waist, pulling her flush against the hard, unforgiving planes of his chest. "You belong to this house. You belong to me. There is no version of this world where you walk away from the Ashveil name."

"The name is all that's left," Lyra gasped, her hands coming up to push against his shoulders. "Look at me, Cassian! Not at the Luna. Look at

me

. Do you even know who I am anymore?"

"I know you're mine!" His roar shook the foundations of the suite.

He didn't see her tears. He didn't see the way her hand moved to protect her stomach. He only saw the defiance, the breach in his perfect, silent kingdom.

Lyra wrenched herself out of his grip, didn't look back as she bolted for the door.

She knew that if she stayed in this room, the silence would finally finish what his neglect had started.

"Lyra! Stop!"

She reached the landing of the grand staircase, her bare feet silent on the cold white marble.

Below, the foyer was a vast, echoing cavern of shadows. She gripped the heavy mahogany railing, her breath coming in ragged, crystalline puffs.

Behind her, the air didn't just move; it exploded.

Cassian reached the top of the stairs, his face a mask of primal, unadulterated rage. He saw her moving away, saw the literal embodiment of his failure turning her back on him, and the last thread of his restraint snapped.

He didn't strike her. He didn't need to. He unleashed his Alpha Aura—a concentrated blast of pure, metaphysical dominance designed to bring an entire pack to its knees.

The pressure hit the hallway like a physical shockwave. In the library down the hall, the glass panes of the bookcases shattered simultaneously, the sound of a thousand crystal needles hitting the floor.

Lyra felt the blow in her marrow. Her wolf, Selene, let out a high, thin yelp of pure terror before being crushed into silence. The pressure slammed into Lyra's back, a wall of invisible force that stole her balance and turned her knees to water.

Time seemed to fracture into a series of jagged, disconnected images.

She felt her hand slip from the mahogany rail. She saw the vast, terrifying drop of the white marble stairs stretching out below her. She heard Cassian's voice—no longer a snarl, but a frantic, jagged scream of her name—as he realized, too late, what his power had done.

"Lyra!"

She hit the first step with a bone-deep jar that knocked the air from her lungs. Then she was falling. The world became a kaleidoscope of spinning shadows and the biting cold of the stone. Every impact was a dull, wet thud that vibrated through her skull.

She tried to reach out, to find a handhold, but the Alpha Aura was still pressing down on her, a merciless weight that ensured her descent was as violent as possible.

She reached the bottom of the grand staircase with a final, sickening crack.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than the roar.

Lyra lay sprawled at the base of the stairs, her ivory silk gown fanned out around her like the wings of a broken bird.

Her head was tilted back, her amber eyes wide and staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling she had spent three years memorizing.

Above, at the top of the landing, Cassian was frozen. He looked down at his hands, his chest heaving, his face drained of all color until he looked like the ghosts he was so fond of creating.

"Lyra?" he whispered, the word a fragile, broken thing.

He descended the stairs in a daze, his movements clumsy and human. When he reached the bottom, he dropped to his knees beside her, his large, scarred hands hovering over her as if he were afraid he would turn her to ash if he touched her.

"Lyra, please. No. I didn't... I didn't mean..."

He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, and that's when he saw it.

On the pristine, white marble of the foyer, a dark, viscous liquid was beginning to bloom. It started from beneath her silk skirt.

Too much blood.