CHAPTER 7 : THE PERFECT MATE

Lyria’s heart slammed to a stop. A dry branch snapped under her boot. CRACK. The sound was deafening. Instantly, the voices behind the hedge cut out. She went still. Every muscle in her body locked tight. For a terrifying moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Then— “Did you hear that?” The deep voice was closer. Too close. Lyria’s pulse thundered in her ears. The men were coming fast. She didn’t wait. Spun around, slinking deeper into the gardens, ducking behind a wall of towering moonflower bushes. Footsteps followed. Crunching gravel. Louder. Nyra growled, “Keep moving.” Lyria didn’t argue. She’d been trained as Luna for years—she knew how to move silently, but fear twisted her movements, made every step harder. The footsteps kept coming. Then stopped. Agonizing seconds of silence followed. Worse than the chase itself. She had no clue where they were—if they were looking. A second voice broke the tension. “Probably a servant.” The first guy didn’t buy it. “Check anyway.” Lyria’s stomach knotted. She eased down behind a stone fountain, cold marble pressing against her back. Forced herself to stay still. One minute. Then another. Eventually, the footsteps faded. The men retreated, deeper into the gardens. Only then did she breathe. Her hands shook. Not just from fear. From the realization—the conversation was real, not some nightmare. Someone wanted her dead. They were moving soon. Very soon. But who? By the time she made it back to the palace, she was no closer to an answer. The corridors felt different now. Buzzing with excitement. Servants rushed from room to room, warriors grinned, nobles whispered, the whole place alive. Festive, almost celebratory. She figured out why pretty fast. Selene Ashwood. Everything led back to her. “The new Luna is incredible.” “She’s so kind.” “So graceful.” “She helped the kitchen staff this morning!” “She visited injured warriors personally!” “She’s the best thing that’s happened to the pack!” Lyria clenched her jaw. The speed of it all was shocking. Selene had barely arrived—days, not weeks—and everyone adored her. It wasn’t right. People don’t capture hearts overnight, not naturally. Lyria knew. She’d spent years earning respect—years of sacrifice, exhaustion, proving herself worthy. Selene just appeared. And people loved her at once. Something about it felt off. Not jealousy, not exactly. There was something simmering underneath all that admiration—a wrongness she couldn’t put her finger on. A burst of laughter echoed down the hall. Lyria looked up—and instantly regretted it. Kael and Selene. Together. Again. They came out of a council chamber. Selene was speaking, her silver eyes sparkling. Kael listened, actually listened, and then he laughed. Really laughed. Warm. Relaxed. Happy. Lyria froze. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked that happy. Months? Longer? The realization hit her hard—not because she wanted him back (so she said), but because it made her wonder: Had he been unhappy with her? That question clung to her long after they disappeared around the corner. And it hurt. More than she cared to admit. The afternoon was worse. Everywhere she went, Selene’s influence spread. Servants bragged about her. Warriors respected her. Even the council elders looked charmed. Lyria watched quietly, searching for mistakes. Evidence. Something to prove her instincts right. But Selene was flawless. Always smiling, always kind, always saying the perfect thing. Too perfect. No one’s that perfect. Not ever. The thought dogged her all day. She ended up outside the infirmary, where a crowd had gathered. Curious, she moved closer. And saw why. Selene sat beside an injured warrior’s bed, holding his hand, speaking softly. The man’s family surrounded her, some crying, others just overwhelmed. Lyria watched as Selene leaned in and whispered something to the injured man. He smiled. His wife burst into tears. “Thank you, Luna.” More gratitude, more affection. Lyria felt invisible. Just a ghost wandering through her old life. Then she spotted something odd—really odd. She recognized the injured warrior: Marcus Hale. One of the pack’s strongest. Two weeks ago, he’d suffered severe internal injuries. The healers predicted months to recover. But now—he looked way better. Too much better. Lyria frowned. Even the healers looked confused. Another mystery. Another thing that didn’t add up. By evening, the exhaustion sank into her bones. The whispers, the isolation, the accusations—everything weighed on her. But Kael bothered her most. She needed answers, whether she wanted them or not. She found him alone on the western balcony before sunset. The same balcony they’d spent so many evenings on—planning futures, dreaming, laughing. Now it felt strange. Like someone else’s memory. Kael sensed her right away. His shoulders stiffened—not the reaction she hoped for. Once, seeing her made him smile. Now it just made him tense. They stood in silence. Painfully long. Lyria broke first. “Do you believe them?” Kael knew exactly what she meant. “The treasury accusations?” “Yes.” His jaw tightened—a bad sign, she knew. “I’m investigating.” Not good enough. “You didn’t answer,” she said. Kael looked away, to the distant mountains—and she knew. Before he spoke, she just…knew. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” The words shattered her. Not because they were cruel, but because they were honest. And honesty stings. Fifteen years together, and now…strangers. Doubting each other. She felt hollow. Turned and walked away. Because there was nothing left to say. Night came fast. The palace threw a welcoming banquet for Selene—naturally. The whole pack was ready to celebrate their new Luna. Lyria thought about skipping, but curiosity got the better of her. She needed to see, to understand what others missed. The banquet hall sparkled under crystal chandeliers, music and laughter everywhere. Selene sat at the center, radiant, adored, perfect. Every eye watched her. Kael’s most of all. He couldn’t take his gaze away, protective, affectionate—almost obsessed. Like nothing else existed. It bothered Lyria. Not because he cared, but because he seemed utterly enchanted. The difference mattered. Selene charmed everyone that night—children, warriors, elders, even skeptical nobles. It felt surreal, like watching a perfectly scripted play. Then it happened. Something small, something only Lyria saw. Selene stood up. A servant bumped her—nothing dramatic, just a brief collision. But in that moment— The moon-shaped mark on Selene’s neck flickered. Lyria froze. No breath. The mark disappeared. Gone. Completely gone for less than a second. Then came back as if nothing had happened. Lyria stared, shock spilling through her. No. Impossible. Mate marks didn’t disappear. They never did. Marks from the Moon Goddess were permanent. Unchanging. But she saw it. She knew she did. Selene’s mark vanished. Just for an instant, but it vanished. A cold dread swept through her. Suddenly every odd feeling, every uncanny detail made sense. The perfection. The charm. The timing. The replacement. The mark. Something was wrong. Awfully wrong. And for the first time since the Blood Moon Festival— Lyria had proof.