Chapter 3 Rayder

"Sit, Cyrus," Alyssia commanded, pointing to a high-backed leather chair that felt too big for my bound frame.

I sat, my joints aching from the adrenaline crash of the morning. I felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. My hair was gone, my scent was masked, and my name was a lie. I looked at my hands—stained darker by the walnut oil—and wondered if I would ever see the pale, soft skin of Selene Thatcher again.

"You need to understand the den you are walking into," Alyssia said, pouring two glasses of a dark, bitter-smelling tea. She pushed one toward me. "The Choice of the Goddess pack is not like the Red Moon. In your home, strength is the only law. Your Alpha, Thorne, rules through fear and muscle. But here? Here, we rule through fate."

She paced the room, the hem of her fur coat sweeping the floor. "The Alpha of this pack, Alpha Valerius, believes every action is dictated by the Moon Goddess’s direct will. They don’t just make alliances; they consult the Oracle. They don't just pick heirs; they wait for signs. And the biggest sign they’ve received in a century is the prophecy of Rayder."

"The fated mate," I whispered, the tea warming my cold fingers.

"The Enemy mate," Alyssia corrected, her eyes flashing violet. "The prophecy says Rayder will be bound to a soul from a bloodline that seeks his pack’s destruction. Because of this, the pack is divided. Half of them want to kill any 'enemy' wolf who crosses the border, fearing the prophecy. The other half—the Alpha’s half—wants to control the mate, to use the bond to absorb the enemy pack."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the draft in the room. I was that enemy. My father was the Red Moon’s greatest weapon. If they knew who I was, I wouldn't just be a bodyguard. I would be a political prisoner.

"Rayder knows this," Alyssia continued. "He’s twenty, he’s powerful, and he’s angry. He hates that his life has been turned into a chess game by a Goddess he’s never seen. He’s been through six bodyguards in two months because he tests them. He breaks them. He wants to prove that he doesn't need protection—or perhaps, he’s looking for someone who hates the system as much as he does."

"And you think that's me?" I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"I think you have nothing left to lose, and that makes you dangerous," she said, leaning over the desk. "Listen to me, Selene—Cyrus. The palace is full of spies. Thorne has eyes here, and Valerius has eyes in the Red Moon. You must never shift. Not even if you are dying. If you shift, your feminine scent will explode through the masking oil. The bond between fated mates is a physical frequency; if you get too close to your mate while shifted, the air itself will practically catch fire."

"Is Rayder my mate?" The question felt heavy, like a stone in my mouth.

Alyssia shrugged, a movement that was both graceful and cold. "The Goddess plays cruel games. But whether he is or isn't, you must treat him as a target you are paid to protect. Keep your distance. Speak only when spoken to. And for the love of the ancestors, keep that chest binding tight. If one person suspects you are a girl, you won't make it to the gates."

She handed me a map of the palace and a schedule. "Tonight is the Inter-Pack Gala. It’s held at the High School on neutral ground—a tradition to keep the peace between the youth of the packs. You will be by Rayder’s side. You will see Red Moon wolves there. You might even see the men who took your parents."

My grip tightened on the ceramic tea cup until it cracked. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" Alyssia asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Can you stand three feet away from the monsters who destroyed your life and not shift? Can you watch them laugh and drink while your mother rots in a cell?"

"I have to," I said, my voice cracking. "For them. If I die tonight, the Thatcher line ends. If I stay alive, I can find the proof. I can bring Thorne down."

"Then let's go," she said, straightening her coat. "The Prince doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The drive to the palace was silent. As we ascended the mountain, the trees thinned, replaced by towering statues of the Moon Goddess in her various phases. 

The palace of the Choice of the Goddess pack was not a home; it was a statement. Built from dark obsidian and white marble, it sat atop a jagged cliff like a predator watching its prey. Unlike the rustic, wood-and-stone architecture of my home in the Red Moon, this place felt cold, clinical, and dangerously wealthy.

As I walked through the iron gates behind Ms. Alyssia, my ribs throbbed beneath the linen binding. Every breath was a reminder of the lie I was living. I kept my head down, my gaze fixed on the polished boots Alyssia had given me. They were heavy, steel-toed, and two sizes too big, stuffed with rags at the front to make my gait look wider, more masculine.

"Keep your shoulders square, Cyrus," Alyssia hissed under her breath. "And stop looking at the floor. A bodyguard watches the room, not his own feet. You aren't a servant. You’re a shield."

I adjusted my posture, forcing my shoulders to broaden. I felt the dark oil on my skin itching, but I didn't dare scratch. We passed through a courtyard where dozens of young wolves were training. These were the Alpha’s elite—the future of the pack. They fought with a ferocity that made my blood run cold. They weren't just training for sport; they were training for a war I was caught in the middle of.

We were led into a massive training hall that smelled of sweat, ozone, and expensive leather. At the far end of the hall, a group of older men,the Council sat on a raised dais. But it wasn't the old men who drew my attention.

It was the boy standing in the center of the ring.

He was stripping off a sweat-soaked shirt, revealing a torso built of lean, functional muscle and a map of faint white scars. His hair was the color of a winter storm, and his eyes,even from this distance were a piercing, arrogant gold.

Rayder. The Alpha’s son. The boy fated to mate an enemy as the rumour said. 

He had just finished a sparring match. His opponent, a wolf twice his size, was currently wheezing on the floor, clutching a broken nose.

"Is this the best we have?" Rayder’s voice echoed through the hall. It was a rich, smooth baritone that carried a jagged edge of boredom. "I asked for a bodyguard, not a punching bag. If my father thinks I need protection from someone I can drop in under ten seconds, he’s lost his mind."

"Prince Rayder," Alyssia called out, her voice cutting through the tension of the room.

Rayder turned. His gaze swept over Alyssia with a flicker of respect, then landed on me. He narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he caught my scent,the bitter mix of copper, tobacco, and mud.

"Who’s the stray, Alyssia?" Rayder asked, stepping out of the ring. He grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his neck as he approached us. He was taller than I expected, and as he got closer, the sheer weight of his Alpha-born presence hit me like a physical blow. 

My wolf, buried deep beneath the binding and the oil, let out a low, involuntary whimper of submission. I suppressed it, gritting my teeth until my jaw ached.

"This is Cyrus," Alyssia said, her voice steady. "My son. He’s spent the last few years in the Northern Territories. He’s looking for work, and I hear you’ve been... difficult to please."

Rayder stopped three feet in front of me. He was close enough that I could smell the heat coming off his skin, the scent of ozone, rain, and something spicy, like cinnamon. It was a powerful, intoxicating smell that made my head spin.

Stay down, I told my wolf. Stay silent.

Rayder hopped over the ropes of the ring, his movements fluid and feline. He didn't put on a shirt. He didn't care about the cold. He walked straight up to me, ignoring Alyssia entirely.

He was a head taller than me, forcing me to look up. Up close, his scent was even more intoxicating—the smell of rain on hot pavement and crushed mint. It was the scent of the enemy, yet my body wanted to lean into it.

"Cyrus," he said, tasting the name. He leaned in close, his nose centimeters from my neck. I held my breath, praying the walnut oil and tobacco would hold. 

"You smell like a man who’s been sleeping in a chimney. Tell me, Northern Wolf, can you do anything other than stand there and look pathetic?"

I didn't blink. I thought of the Enforcer’s laugh. I thought of the mud. I channeled every ounce of my grief into a cold, hard stare.

"I can do plenty," I said, my voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I can start by teaching you that a Prince shouldn't lead with his chin. It’s an invitation for a blade."

The room went so quiet I could hear the flickering of the torchlight on the walls.

Rayder’s eyes flashed a brilliant, dangerous gold. "Is that so?"

He swung.

The expansion of the fight scene followed,a brutal, fast-paced exchange of blows where I used my father's "Shadow-step" technique to stay out of his reach. Every time he tried to use his superior strength to pin me, I slipped away like smoke. I wasn't trying to hurt him; I was trying to survive him.

Rayder stumbled half a step, his eyes widening in genuine surprise.

"He’s fast," one of the Councilmen remarked, leaning forward.

Rayder laughed, a short, barking sound. "Fast isn't enough."

He came at me again, and this time, he wasn't testing me. He was playing. He moved like a predator, a blur of silver and gold. I dodged, parried, and deflected. I used his momentum against him, sliding across the polished floor. I knew I couldn't win a test of strength,my binding made it hard to take deep breaths, and he was a True Alpha but I could be a shadow.

We danced across the hall for five minutes. I was gasping for air, my ribs screaming, when Rayder finally caught me. He swept my legs out from under me and, before I could recover, he was on top of me, his knees pinning my shoulders to the floor.

He pressed his forearm against my throat. Not hard enough to crush it, but enough to let me know the fight was over.

Our faces were inches apart. I could see the flecks of amber in his eyes. I could feel the thrum of his heartbeat. For a terrifying second, I thought he might smell the girl beneath the oil. I thought he might feel the softness of my skin.

But Rayder was looking at my eyes.

"You fight like a man who has nothing to lose," he whispered, so low only I could hear. "Why is that, Cyrus? What are you running from?"

"I'm not running," I rasped, staring back at him with every ounce of hate I held for the Alpha world. "I'm waiting."

Rayder stared at me for a long beat, his expression unreadable. Then, he stood up, offering me a hand. I ignored it, pushing myself off the floor and wiping the dust from my pants.

"He’s stayin'," Rayder announced to the Council, not looking back at them. "He’s small, he’s weird, and he smells like a chimney, but he’s the only one who didn't blink when I swung. Pack his things, Alyssia. He starts tonight."

"Tonight?" I asked, trying to steady my breathing.

Rayder turned, his golden eyes flashing with a wicked light. 

“We have a gala at the High School tonight. The neighboring packs are coming to discuss 'alliances.' It’s going to be a room full of people who want to put a knife in my back. I hope you’re as good with a blade as you are with your mouth."

As he walked away, I felt a wave of nausea hit me. The High School gala. The neighboring packs.

The Red Moon Pack would be there.

I had been Cyrus for less than twenty-four hours, and I was already being walked straight into the lion’s den. I looked at Alyssia, my eyes wide with panic. She simply gave me a sharp, imperceptible nod.

The mask stays on, Selene, her eyes said. Or the head comes off. 

Tonight, I would have to walk into that cage in front of the people who wanted me dead.