The Werewolves of Nyxryn

Chapter2

I didn’t remember lying down.

One minute I was pacing, trying to smother the panic eating at me, and the next, my body had simply given out, pulling me into restless, shallow sleep once again. My dreams were a blur—Malrik’s face twisted with anger, Elira’s small hand tugging at mine, evil eyes burning from the dark.

The sound that woke me wasn’t a voice.

It was a sharp, startled yelp.

I jerked upright, heart hammering, and for a moment I forgot where I was. The wooden beams overhead, the velvet curtains, the mountain view—it all came back in a rush.

Then my eyes dropped to the door.

And I saw her.

A woman—no, a servant, by the plain apron and the tray she had just dropped on the floor—stood just inside the room. Or rather, hopped around on one leg, clutching her ankle with both hands.

I guess my homemade trap had done its job...

A thin wire I’d pried from the bedframe stretched low across the doorway, tied to the heavy iron fire-poker I’d found propped near the hearth.

Primitive.

Sloppy.

But enough to trip someone who thought they were just walking into a prisoner’s room in order to kill me.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

Enough to at least give me a couple of seconds to run and hide.

The servant’s wide, dark eyes snapped up to me, terror flashing across her face like she thought I might leap at her the next second. She looked human. Completely human. Freckles dusting her nose, messy brown hair tied back, the faint smell of bread clinging to her clothes. She was not a monster like the werewolf who had brought me here. No glowing eyes. Nor fur. No fangs. Just... human... like me.

Still, my pulse raced. Because I knew better than to trust appearances by now.

“You—” The woman's voice broke, and she winced again, rubbing at her shin with both hands.

“What—what was that thing?”

“Safety,” I said flatly, standing up from the bed, my bare feet silent on the thick rug. My body screamed with exhaustion, but adrenaline made me sharp. Fully awake.

“I'm not just sitting here, waiting for you to kill me.”

Her brow furrowed.

“So you set a trap for me?”

“I set a trap because I didn't know what or who was coming for me,” I spoke, forcing my voice not to shake.

“And if you were here to do anything other than to bring me food, you’d be bleeding out on this rug right now.”

The servant blinked at me, her fear warring with confusion.

“I—I was just told to bring you something to eat.” She gestured helplessly to the tray, now tilted dangerously on the floor. Bowls clattered against each other, spilling broth and bread onto the rug. My stomach twisted painfully at the smell of it, but I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t trust this woman. I didn’t trust any of them. This food could be poisoned for all I knew. Because even if these monsters wanted me dead, I wanted something more. I wanted to get the hell out of here. I wanted to get back to Malrik and Elira, to make sure they were safe. To keep my family alive, even if it meant dying myself.

I straightened, eyes locked on the trembling woman who seemed to be just a couple of years older than me.

“Please,” I begged, hoping she would help me.

“Where am I? And how the hell do I get out of here?”

The servant’s face paled at my questions, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might scream. Instead, she whispered:

“If they hear you say things like that, you’ll be dead before sundown.”

The servant bent to gather the spilled bread, muttering apologies under her breath, though she wasn’t the one who had anything to apologize for. My trap, my suspicion—hell, my existence here—was the real problem. The young woman set the tray back on the small table by the bed, her hands fidgeting at the edges of her apron before she finally glanced up at me again. Her voice had softened, a little less afraid now.

“My name’s Lyra,” she said.

“I thought… maybe it’d help if you knew at least one name here.”

Lyra.

The name curled around in my head, something simple and human in a place that felt anything but.

“I’m Veyra,” I answered automatically, though part of me hated giving that piece of myself away.

Lyra nodded.

“Nice to meet you. The pack was buzzing this morning. They said a human girl had been brought in by Orik. I didn’t think they meant… well.” She looked me over, not unkindly, but with that same sharp curiosity I’d seen in customers sizing up produce at the grocery store. Her gaze slid away quickly, like she realized she was staring at me.

“The Alpha gave strict orders that you weren’t to be harmed. Just fed, until he calls for you.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“Fed? Until he slaughters me in front of everyone?”

Lyra flinched, but she didn’t deny it, and that silence made my stomach twist. I crossed my arms, staring her down.

“Are you…” I hesitated, then pushed through the thought.

“Are you like me? Are you stuck here? Do they keep you as… what, a slave? A servant they never let leave this place?”

For a second, I thought I saw sympathy flicker in her dark eyes. But then she actually laughed. Not cruelly—more like she couldn’t believe what I’d just said to her.

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head, and a strand of chestnut hair slipped loose from her braid.

“I’m not captive. I’m an Omega.”

Her tone carried weight, like the word should mean something to me. But it didn’t. All it sounded like was another title in a world I didn’t understand. I narrowed my eyes.

“An Omega?”

“Yes,” she said, and for once, her shoulders relaxed, as though she was on familiar ground.

“The lowest rank inside a pack. We aren’t fighters, not warriors, and we certainly aren’t highly ranked. But we keep the house, serve the food, and make sure everything runs smoothly. It’s not glamorous, but… It’s a place. A home. I want to be here. And by working here, it grants my family the Alpha’s protection as well.”

She said it with such quiet conviction that it stunned me.

“You want to work here?” I repeated, unable to stop the disbelief dripping from my voice. Her lips quirked in a wry little smile.

“Better than starving on the outside of the borders. Better than having no pack at all.”

My throat tightened. Her words echoed too closely to my own life, my own miserable routines of scraping pennies together to keep Malrik and Elira fed. Still, I couldn’t stop the bitter thought: a home? Among monsters?

“I don’t understand,” I muttered.

“You act like this is all normal. Like this is—this is just life. But they’re not human. They’re wolves. Beasts.”

Lyra’s smile faltered, replaced with something I couldn’t quite read—pity, maybe, or a warning.

“You’ll see soon enough. The Alpha will explain. And when he does, you’ll realize things aren’t as simple or black and white as human and monster.”

I wanted to argue, to scream at her that she was wrong, that there was no way this could ever be normal. But the fight drained out of me before I could. My shoulders slumped, the weight of exhaustion and dread pressing down so hard it nearly crushed me.

“The werewolf… Orik, he said I killed his brother,” I whispered, the words tasting like poison.

“But it wasn’t—I didn’t mean—I didn’t even know what I hit. It was a mistake. A terrible mistake. I just want to go home.”

Lyra’s expression softened, but her next words were a knife all the same.

“Then you’ll have to beg the Alpha for it. Because only he can decide whether you go home… only he will be able to seal your fate.”