Chapter 7 Seven

Chapter 7

Cassien’s POV

The fortress of Noctara was built to withstand war. Its black stone walls had stood for centuries, carved into the mountain itself, silent and immovable. But tonight, as Cassien walked its halls, he could feel the cracks not in the stone, but in the loyalty of the people inside it.

Whispers followed him wherever he went. Whispers about the wolf girl, about the ritual, about his judgment. Some called him reckless. Others called him cursed. Even the guards who bowed as he passed did not meet his eyes for long. Their fear was clear, and their fear was turning to doubt.

Cassien ignored them. Outwardly, at least. His stride remained calm, his cloak flowing behind him as if the world itself bent to his presence. But inside, he felt the weight pressing heavier with every passing day.

He had chosen her.

He knew what it meant. To take a wolf into Noctara was sin enough. To resurrect her with forbidden blood magic was worse. To bind her to him, even loosely, was unthinkable. Yet he had done it, and he did not regret it.

What he did regret was how easily the memory of his parents returned when he looked at her. He had seen wolves tear his family apart, had sworn to kill every one of them, had lived for nothing but vengeance. And then she came, broken and bloodied, and something inside him shifted. She should have been an enemy. He should have left her to die. But he hadn’t.

Now she was his responsibility. His creation. His curse.

Cassien stopped at the edge of the training yard, watching from the shadows as Lyra struggled to lift a blade. The weapon looked heavy in her hands, too heavy for someone who had been half-dead only days ago. But she didn’t stop. She swung again and again, clumsy but determined.

Her pale skin glistened with sweat, her red eyes flashing each time the blade struck the training post. She was still too weak to master the weapon, but strength was building in her, slow and steady.

Cassien’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t ready. Not for battle, not for the hunger, not for the weight that came with what she was now. But she had no choice. None of them did.

“Watching her won’t make her stronger,” a voice said behind him.

Cassien turned. Elder Maeron stood there, his long robes sweeping the ground, his face lined with age and bitterness. His eyes, once loyal, now looked sharp with doubt.

“You’ve put us all in danger,” Maeron said flatly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Cassien didn’t answer. His gaze returned to Lyra.

Maeron stepped closer, lowering his voice. “The council is divided. Half believe you’ve doomed us, the other half believe you’ve lost your mind. There are whispers of rebellion. If Lucien were still here…”

“Lucien is gone,” Cassien cut him off. His voice was calm, but it carried an edge sharp enough to silence the elder. “And if the council is foolish enough to rebel, they will remember why I sit on the throne, not them.”

Maeron swallowed hard, but he didn’t back down. “The girl is dangerous. She is neither wolf nor vampire. She is something worse. And when the hunger consumes her, will you still call her yours?”

Cassien’s eyes narrowed. “She is mine now. My choice. My creation. And no one will touch her.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Maeron bowed stiffly and left, but Cassien could feel the man’s fear lingering in the air even after he was gone.

Cassien stepped into the yard.

Lyra froze mid-swing, turning to face him. Her chest heaved, her arms shaking from the effort of wielding the blade. She looked exhausted, but her eyes held fire.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said.

Her jaw tightened. “I have to.”

“You’ll break.”

“Better to break trying than sit in a corner waiting for them to kill me,” she snapped. Her voice shook, but her hands gripped the blade tighter. “I know what they say about me. I hear them whispering. I know I don’t belong here. So either I learn to fight, or I’ll die. And I won’t die again.”

Cassien studied her for a long moment. She had changed since the night he found her in the forest. There was strength in her now, raw and rough, but real. She still shook with fear sometimes, still looked lost, but underneath it was steel.

“Good,” he said finally. “Keep that fire. You’ll need it.”

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she had expected him to mock her. Instead, he reached forward and took the blade from her hands. His touch brushed against her fingers, and for the briefest second, she felt it that strange connection, that pull she couldn’t explain. She drew back quickly, her face flushing.

Cassien ignored it, holding the blade easily with one hand. He swung it once, the movement smooth and precise, then handed it back to her. “Again,” he ordered.

She obeyed.

For the next hour, he corrected her stance, her grip, her movements. She stumbled, cursed under her breath, nearly dropped the weapon more than once, but she kept going. And each time she faltered, he pushed her harder. Not cruelly, but with purpose. He wasn’t training her to be a soldier. He was training her to survive.

When she finally collapsed to the ground, sweat-soaked and trembling, Cassien stood over her. “You are stronger than you think,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, her red eyes filled with something she couldn’t name. Gratitude? Fear? Maybe both. “And if I’m not?” she whispered.

“Then I’ll make you stronger,” he replied.

Silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. For the first time, Lyra didn’t feel like a prisoner here. For the first time, she felt like she had a place even if it was only because Cassien had decided she did.

But she also knew what that meant. If the only thing keeping her alive was his will, then the moment he faltered, she was dead.

That night, as she lay in her chamber, she thought about his words. You are mine now. She hated how they made her feel. Trapped, bound, but also… safe. No one in her pack had ever claimed her like that, not even her father. No one had ever said she belonged, even if it was in such a strange, twisted way.

And deep down, in the part of her that still hurt from every bruise, every rejection, every betrayal, she realized she didn’t want to let go of that.

Outside her door, the whispers continued.

Inside the council hall, Maeron and the others plotted.

And somewhere in the mountains, Lucien’s anger burned, waiting for the moment to strike.