Claimed By The Wolves: Between Wolves and Vampires

POV Lyra:

Present Day

Before stepping into the mysterious bar, I glance at my friend, one eyebrow arched. Is Seraphine really going to make me enter this place in the middle of nowhere on my birthday?

When she told me we would celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday in an epic way, I imagined flashing lights, loud music, maybe a crowded club. Not… this. A lonely bar, far from everything, surrounded by silence and darkness.

I should have known better. When Seraphine used the words “memorable and unforgettable,” my internal alarms should have gone off. Unfortunately, they were clearly malfunctioning.

My best friend is loyal, joyful, and always by my side—but she also has an impressive talent for dragging us into trouble.

“Lyra, fix that face,” she says, reaching up to adjust my hair. She has done this ever since we met at the playground when we were four years old. “Trust me. Your birthday has to be celebrated here.”

I look around again. Nothing. No music. No voices. Not even the sound of a car passing by.

“Should I at least ask why?” I tease.

She gives me her usual wink, the one that clearly means: I might have gotten us into something questionable, but relax—it’s nothing serious.

“No. Just trust me.”

And I do. Because arguing with Seraphine is pointless. When she sets her mind on something, nothing and no one can change it. And today, she decided that my birthday would be celebrated in this distant, suspicious bar.

I had never heard of this place before. Neither had anyone I knew—except Seraphine. She overheard two men talking about it at college, and her curiosity did the rest. Normally, I wouldn’t mind one of her spontaneous adventures… but did it have to be today?

Before entering, my eyes land on the weathered wooden sign above the door.

Wolf Pack.

Now everything makes sense.

Seraphine knows about my fascination with wolves since childhood. Bringing me to a place like this on my birthday was no coincidence.

The moment we step through the old oak door, the bar falls into complete silence. Every conversation stops. Every laugh dies. All eyes turn toward us.

My stomach tightens.

The place is old and rustic, almost primitive. Dark wooden tables, a massive counter, walls decorated with photographs and drawings of wolves. My gaze wanders across the room, and within seconds I feel completely out of place. Unwanted.

The men and women seated around us stare openly, their expressions hard and displeased. The message is immediate and unmistakable.

We are not welcome.

“Seraphine… who exactly did you hear talking about this bar?” I ask, already considering turning around and leaving without looking back.

She seems oblivious to the hostile atmosphere and walks straight to the counter. Only then do I notice three men behind it, drying glasses, all of them watching us closely.

Their serious expressions make my urge to leave even stronger.

“Seraphine,” I call again.

She stops in front of the counter with a wide smile, completely unaware of the annoyed looks aimed at her.

Determined to grab her and get us out of there, I walk toward her—then suddenly stop.

The scent hits me.

Lemongrass.

Warm. Comforting. Familiar. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I search the bar for the source of the smell… and then I see him.

He comes from the back.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Brown hair with sun-kissed blond streaks, long and wavy. A full beard. Tanned skin. Tattoos covering his arms and neck. His black leather vest reminds me of the bikers who come to the Sanches festival every year.

My breath trembles when his gaze locks onto mine.

Golden. Earthy. Like an autumn sunset.

He slowly scans my body, and everywhere his eyes linger, my skin burns. My breasts feel heavy, my nipples tighten, and heat pools between my thighs.

When he finally looks away, I feel as though I’ve been released from some invisible grip—yet I remain completely hypnotized.

He walks over to the three men behind the counter and says something I can’t hear. I can’t focus on anything except him.

Who is he?

Shaken by the intensity of my reaction, I step closer to the counter, needing a better look. I have never felt like this before, and it leaves me confused and breathless.

I stop beside Seraphine, who is fully absorbed in the drink menu.

“I’ve decided—I want to try this craft beer,” she says excitedly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What about you, Lyra?”

I lower my eyes to the menu she places in front of me and blink a few times, trying to calm the storm inside my body.

“I’ll have the craft beer too.”

Seraphine claps her hands in delight and places the order with the blond man behind the counter. His thick beard and imposing build make him look like a Viking. He raises an eyebrow at her, then at me.

“There are two of them,” I realize when I notice another man who looks exactly like him standing nearby.

“That beer is very strong for huma—” he pauses, correcting himself. “For you.”

The man beside him nudges him sharply.

The third man has a red beard and brown eyes, his long hair tied back in a bun that highlights his sharp features. He is handsome, undeniably so—but my gaze betrays me, drifting back to the dark-haired man who makes my heart race.

And I’m caught when I notice him watching me again—before he deliberately looks away.

“Tharion, give them what they ordered.”

His voice.

Low. Rough. It sends a shiver straight through me.

Tharion nods and fills two wooden mugs to the brim, setting them down on the counter.

“Enjoy.”

The tension in the room finally eases. The other customers return their attention to their drinks, and I exhale in relief.

I take a generous sip.

And nearly moan.

The flavor is rich and smooth, nothing like the bitterness I expected. Before I realize it, my mug is empty.

“Lyra, slow down,” Seraphine laughs.

“It was delicious,” I reply, wiping foam from my lip.

She makes a face at her still-full mug.

“I think I’ll just have a regular beer.”

Tharion bursts out laughing when he notices my empty mug.

“You drank all of that?”

“Yes. And it was splendid.”

He raises his blond eyebrows in surprise.

After half an hour, I feel relaxed. Light. Happy. I silently thank Seraphine—maybe this was exactly what I needed.

The dark-haired man disappears after Tharion serves our drinks, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Still, laughing and talking with Seraphine makes the night perfect. Our lives have been so busy lately that moments like this are rare.

Tharion and his twin, Aerin, stay close, serving us and chatting. The other man—Lucien—takes care of the remaining customers.

As the hours pass, a strange sense of euphoria settles in my chest. Deep down, I know that coming to this bar on my birthday was the best gift I could have received.

I just don’t understand why yet.