Above, the Elders watched in stunned silence as the glowing purple light began to spill out of the Pit like a rising tide. Lyraki stood at the edge, his fists clenched so hard his claws drew blood from his palms.
When the cage was finally winched back up, Elara wasn't the trembling girl who had gone down. She stood tall, her eyes no longer their soft hazel, but glowing with a faint, ethereal violet hue. The blood on her face had dried, and she looked at the Elders with a gaze that made them instinctively take a step back.
"The Pit is silent," Malphas whispered, his voice trembling. "She… she calmed them."
Lyraki stepped forward, his eyes locked on Elara. He saw the change in her the raw, burgeoning power of the "Whisperer." He reached out a hand, and this time, it wasn't a king claiming a prisoner. It was an Alpha acknowledging a peer.
"She has passed the Trial," Lyraki announced, his voice booming through the chamber. "Let it be known: Elara of the Redwood is no longer a prisoner. She is the Ward of the Obsidian Throne. Any who speak against her, speak against me."
But as he led her back to the upper levels, away from the prying eyes of the Council, he leaned in close to her ear. "You did well. But you've painted a target on your back that even I might not be able to shield. The other Kingdoms… they will hear of this. They will come for the girl who can silence the dead."
"Let them come," Elara said, her voice sounding older than her years. "The voices in the Pit told me something, Lyraki. My father didn't just commit treason. He was looking for the other shards. He wasn't trying to destroy you; he was trying to find someone who could carry the weight. He was looking for me."
Lyraki stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Then the war isn't just between packs anymore. It's a race for the fragments."
The following morning, the fortress was a hive of activity. Lyraki had called for a Great Hunt not for prey, but for information. He had spent the night in the archives, and he now stood before a map of the continent, a heavy obsidian dagger pinned through a location known as the Whispering Glade.
"If your father was hunting shards, he started here," Lyraki said, tracing a line on the map. "It's neutral territory, but it's crawling with Rogues and Silver-Slayers."
"I'm going with you," Elara said, entering the war room. She was dressed in leather scouting gear, a small silver dagger at her hip.
Lyraki looked her up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. "It's dangerous, little omega. My men won't be able to protect a human in the thick of a fight."
"I'm not a human anymore, and I'm certainly not 'little,'" she countered, her violet eyes flashing. "I can sense them before they even see us. I am your best radar."
He stepped toward her, the tension between them snapping like a live wire. The "Mate" bond was growing stronger with every hour they spent together, a physical pull that made her heart race whenever he was near. He reached out, his thumb brushing over the pulse point at her neck.
"If we do this, Elara, there is no going back. The world will know you are mine. The Kings of the North and the Witches of the East will not stop until they have your head or your heart."
"They can try," she said, her hand resting over his.
The moment their skin met, a shockwave of gold and purple light erupted between them, blowing the maps off the table and causing the Lycan guards outside to howl in unison. The bond was sealed. She wasn't just his ward or his seer.
She was his fated equal.
"Pack the horses," Lyraki commanded, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. "We hunt for the moon before the sun sets on this kingdom."