She shook her head and backed away as she remembered the forest. The frantic scramble through the dark. His hand pulling hers, the desperate run to the cave. His voice urging her to flee, to live. Then the wolves had descended, and she had watched in horror as they mauled him. She had seen him collapse, blood soaking the ground. She had seen him die.
Yet here he stood, whole, breathing, smiling at her like it amused him.
The sight of him before her looking so alive and dressed in well fitting clothes unlike the tattered rags he had worn in the forest confused her and she wondered if her saviour from that night had a twin.
"You're… you are supposed to be dead."
"Yet here i am." Caius tilted his head, his smile deepening. "I'm supposed to be. But death doesn't hold me the way it holds others."
Her stomach twisted. "You were the one who helped me."
He took a slow step toward her, and though his movements were casual, predatory grace coiled in every shift of his body. "Helped?" His chuckle was low, humorless. "That wasn't help. That was a game."
Her knees threatened to give. "A game?"
"Did you really think you had stumbled across some poor soul wandering the forest?" His eyes glittered. "I wanted to see how far you would run. How long you would last. And you surprised me pleasantly." He leaned close, his breath brushing her ear. "Most don't fight back. Most beg."
Her heart thundered against her ribs. The branch in her hands, the wild swing at the wolves, the last sight of him lying still, every memory sharpened into a cruel mockery now. She remebered the words of the old lady, there ere five brothers.
"You…" Her voice cracked with anger and fear. "You are one of them."
Caius smiled, wolfish, the shadows curling at his feet as if alive. "I am their shadow. The second son. The silent fang."
Lyra stumbled back until her spine hit the cold wall. Her hands trembled, nails biting into her palms. "Why? Why pretend?"
His expression didn't shift, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. "Because I wanted to watch you. To see what you'd do when cornered. And you didn't disappoint." He reached out suddenly, his hand brushing her chin, tilting her face up. She tried to jerk away, but his grip was iron. "You fought for me. You bared your little teeth at the wolves for a stranger. Brave… or foolish."
For a long moment, silence stretched. Only the crackle of the torches filled the room, the shadows deepening around him as if the fire dared not touch him.
Then, just as suddenly, he released her. Lyra staggered, clutching the wall for balance, chest heaving. Caius stepped back, fading once more into the corner, his outline blurring with the shadows themselves.
"You will see soon enough," he murmured. "You're not like the others. The blood in you sings differently. My brothers will tear at each other for you. But me?" His eyes flashed silver as the darkness swallowed him. "I'll be watching, waiting."
And then he was gone. The room felt colder, emptier, as if he had dragged all the warmth with him.
Lyra sank to her knees, shaking. Her mind screamed, torn between terror and disbelief. The boy who had bled in the dirt, the one she had thought dead, was not only alive, he was one of them. One of the Five, one of her captors.
And she was in their den.
Lyra sat on the cold stone floor long after Caius was gone, her knees pulled tight to her chest. The air still seemed to hum with his presence, the corners of the room darker than they had any right to be. Her hands trembled so badly she pressed them hard against her shins, trying to steady herself.
She should have screamed. She should have clawed at the door, begged for escape, anything. Instead, she was frozen in silence, the memory of his touch on her chin burning like fire.
He was never a victim.
He was never on my side.
It was all a trick.
And i fell for it.
Her stomach rolled as she replayed it, his warm hand dragging her through the forest, his frantic urging to run, the desperate scramble into the cave. Had even his fear been an act? Or worse, had his blood been real when the others mauled him? Was that too just part of the game?
The word repeated in her skull like a drum. Game. Game. Game. That is what she was, a piece in a game she had not known she was playing.
Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. She would not cry. Not here. Not where he might be watching from some unseen corner, drinking in her weakness like fine wine.
The door creaked. Lyra stiffened, her head snapping toward it, expecting Caius to slink back in with that terrible smile. But it wasn't him. The older woman returned, her arms full of folded linens. She paused when she saw Lyra on the floor, but said nothing, only moved to the bed and began changing the blankets with quiet efficiency.
Lyra's voice cracked as she asked, "Who is he?"
The woman didn't look up. "Who?"
"Him," Lyra whispered, her throat tightening. "The one with the eyes. He emerged from the shadow."
This time the woman froze, her hands stilling on the fabric. Slowly, she turned to face Lyra, and there was something grim in her expression. "So you have met Caius."
Lyra's skin prickled. "That's his name?"
The woman nodded once. "The second Alpha. The one the others call the Ghost Fang. He walks in darkness. No door can bar him, no lock can hold him. You'll never see him unless he wants to be seen."
Her chest constricted. Ghost Fang. The name alone felt like a curse.
The woman's gaze softened, though it was still weighted with sorrow. "If he has shown himself to you… then he has already chosen to play with you."
"Play," Lyra spat, her nails digging into her arms. "That's what he called it. This is all a game to him."
The woman bowed her head. "Caius doesn't play as others do. He doesn't care for flesh, for dominance, for heirs. He cares for the hunt of the heart. For breaking what is whole. For twisting what is strong."
Lyra's throat went dry. She wanted to deny it, to scream that he was wrong about her, that she was no one worth his attention. But the memory of his eyes, silver like knives, hungry… told her otherwise.
"Why me?" she whispered.
The woman's silence was her only answer.
She was just an unfortunate pawn, placed in circumstances above her power and control. Her only use was to be toyed with and discarded when she no longer held any use to them.
Lyra thought of all the other helpless women who had felt the same crippling hopelessness she felt.