Bound by Fate

Lira's POV

The morning sun was warm on her face, but it brought no comfort.

Lira sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisted in the soft material of the blanket. Her stomach curled with dread. The dream still clung to her skin like morning dew, the white wolf's words echoing louder than the crackling fire from last night.

"You were never weak. You were silenced."

She hadn't known strength could sound so much like grief.

Still wrapped in her thoughts, Lira finally stood, bare feet touching the cold floor. She looked around the room again—lavish and warm, with a fireplace, thick curtains, and a carved wooden wardrobe. It was too much. She didn't deserve it.

She should be sleeping on a floor, too afraid to move. That's how it had always been.

Don't draw attention. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't look anyone in the eyes. Don't make mistakes.

Here, in this foreign pack, those rules screamed louder than ever.

One mistake and he'll punish you.

The Alpha.

She hadn't seen him yet, not properly. Only his shadow when she'd first arrived—tall, broad, and silent. His scent had unsettled her, something wild and ancient curling beneath it like forest fire and snow. It made her skin prickle. And somewhere deep inside her chest, something had stirred.

She had ignored it.

She had to.

Lira changed into the simple dress left on the end of the bed. It was soft blue linen, clearly new, but she half expected it to be yanked off her for "not earning it." That's what her father would have said.

She folded her old dress carefully and tucked it under the bed, like burying a corpse. It smelled like smoke, bruises, and dried blood.

There was a knock at the door—sharp and commanding.

She flinched so hard she nearly dropped the folded dress.

"Yes?" Her voice cracked.

The door opened a sliver and a woman stepped in—tall, with dark brown skin, silver-streaked curls tied back in a tight bun, and warm amber eyes that didn't quite soften. She wore a long apron and had the look of someone who didn't tolerate nonsense.

"You're awake," the woman said. "Good. I'm Mira. I handle the kitchen and the lower household. You'll be joining me for the morning. Come."

Lira blinked. "The kitchen?"

Mira narrowed her eyes. "You know how to use a knife, don't you?"

Lira hesitated. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

"Then follow me."

The halls were quiet. Lira kept her steps soft and her eyes down. Even in this new place, she expected to be struck for breathing too loudly.

The pack house was larger than her family's entire home. Windows lined the corridors, and golden light spilled over wooden floors polished to a mirror shine. Paintings hung on the walls—forests, wolves, a woman with silver hair sitting on a throne of bones.

It all felt unreal.

Mira led her to the kitchen—huge, filled with the clatter of pans, the smell of bread and roasted meat, and the warmth of a giant hearth.

"Stay out of the way," Mira said. "Watch. Learn. Help. Don't break anything."

Lira nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am."

The day passed in a blur of chopping vegetables, scrubbing pots, and carrying baskets of ingredients. The other kitchen workers barely spoke to her, except for a younger girl named Risa who smiled once and whispered, "Don't let them scare you. The Alpha's not cruel like the stories say."

Lira didn't believe her.

Stories lied. So did people.

By midday, her hands were raw, but she didn't complain. She didn't ask for food or water. She just kept working, waiting for someone to snap at her. Waiting to be punished.

But no one did.

When the sun started to set, Mira gave her a nod. "Enough for today. Go on. Eat something before you collapse."

Lira stared at her. "Eat?"

Mira raised a brow. "Yes, child. Eat. There's stew on the back stove."

Lira moved slowly, as if expecting to be yanked away for daring to touch it. She ladled a small amount into a wooden bowl and sat alone at the far end of the table.

Each bite felt stolen.

She didn't taste it.

She just waited for someone to tear the bowl from her hands and throw it across the room.

But no one came.

After dusk, Mira walked her back to her room. The halls were quieter now, shadows stretching long across the floors.

Lira hesitated outside her door.

Mira studied her carefully. "You haven't seen him yet, have you?"

Lira's heart stopped. "The Alpha?"

Mira nodded. "He's... not what you expect. But don't cross him. He doesn't take disrespect lightly."

Lira swallowed. "What does he want with me?"

Mira didn't answer right away. "You'll have to ask him that yourself."

Lira almost laughed, bitter and scared. As if I'd dare ask.

"Rest," Mira said, opening the door for her. "You'll need your strength. You're not just surviving anymore. You're being watched now."

Lira froze. "What do you mean?"

But Mira had already closed the door behind her.

Later that night, Lira sat by the fire, staring into the flames. Her fingers curled into her skirt. The wolf inside her was silent again, like she'd receded after the dream.

Still, something buzzed beneath her skin. Like the pull of gravity from an unseen moon. She felt eyes on her—always. Watching. Waiting.

Not just the pack's.

His.

She didn't know what he looked like, but something inside her did. That voice from her dream... the one that whispered mine in a low, growling rumble...

Was it his voice?

The thought chilled her.

She didn't want to belong to anyone. Not ever again.

But some part of her, buried under years of scars and silence, ached to be claimed—not as a slave or a burden, but as something precious.

Lira closed her eyes and curled into the blanket.

Don't hope, she told herself. Hope is dangerous.

Still...

When she finally drifted to sleep, she dreamed of violet eyes and silver fur again.

And somewhere, far away in the house, a pair of dark eyes turned toward her room—drawn by a bond she didn't yet understand.