Chapter 3
Lyrian
The night had settled into its usual rhythm again, but it wasn't boring. It never was. In here, there was always something happening. There was always something to catch my attention.
I was wiping down glasses, the repetitive motion almost meditative, when the burn of my birthmark intensified from its usual dull ache to a searing flash. My hand jerked, nearly dropping the crystal tumbler I'd been polishing. What the hell?
Something was wrong. Very wrong, and whatever it was, this marked a turning point in my life. I could feel it.
The tavern's front door hadn't opened yet, but already the atmosphere had shifted. The regular patrons—three truckers playing cards, a handful of local betas, and two omega females hiding in the corner—all tensed at the same time, as if responding to an electrical current in the air. Even Mae, who couldn't sense shifter dynamics, stopped mid-motion while restocking the beer cooler.
When the door swung open, the impact was immediate and devastating. The alpha's presence rolled through the room like the biggest tsunami in recorded history, drowning out every other scent, every other sensation, and anything else. My barriers shuddered under the assault of his raw power. I'd never felt anything like it.
He entered alone, but his presence occupied the space as if he'd brought an army. Tall, impossibly broad-shouldered, with dark hair streaked with silver at the temples that spoke of both power and experience. But it was his eyes that caught and held me—amber with flecks of gold, predatory and intelligent. Those eyes swept the room once, cataloging every detail, every person, every potential threat or advantage.
When they landed on me, my world stopped spinning.
The glass in my hand slipped this time, but I caught it before it could shatter, forcing myself to set it down instead of letting it betray my trembling hands. If I had let that happen, he would already know he found what he was looking for.
Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run, to flee through the back door and disappear into the night. I'd done it before. I could do it again.
But I remained frozen, caught in his gaze like a deer in headlights. Somehow, I knew that running away would be a mistake.
The mark behind my ear burned hotter still, as if responding to his presence. The magic in my blood, usually so masterfully contained, surged against my control. My fingers tingled with it, and I had to clench them into fists to prevent visible sparks from manifesting—something that hadn't happened since I was a child first learning to control my abilities.
He moved toward the bar with the fluid grace of a predator, each step measured and deliberate. The wolf tattoo on his left arm seemed to ripple with power he couldn't control, and I recognized the ancient magical craftsmanship that had created it. This wasn't just any alpha—this was someone who understood old magic, who wielded power both modern and ancient.
He was someone I had to deal with, and someone I'd never faced before. I didn't know if I was prepared for the challenges he was bringing.
"Whiskey," he said as he reached the bar, his voice deep and resonant. It made my entire body shiver with both arousal and fear. "Your best."
I forced myself to move, to reach for the top-shelf bottle with hands that wouldn't quite steady. And given the kind of man he appeared to be, I knew he could notice my nervousness.
His scent enveloped me—pine needles after rain, woodsmoke, and something darker, more dangerous. Something that made my omega nature stir despite all my careful suppression. My body was betraying me again. If he found out who I was, it wouldn't be my mistake. It would be my body's.
"Neat or on the rocks?" I managed to ask, proud that my voice remained steady even as my pulse raced. Or did it really? Could I trust my mind to process what was happening in me and around me?
"Neat." His eyes hadn't left me, studying every movement with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "You're new here."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway, clinging to the familiar script. "Eight months." I poured his drink, keeping my movements precise despite the trembling that wanted to overtake me. "That's $12."
He placed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. "Keep it." His nostrils flared, testing the air, and I strengthened my scent-blocking spells, layering them one over another until they formed an impenetrable wall. But something in his expression suggested he'd caught something—a trace, a hint of what lay beneath my facade.
He may have just found what he was looking for, or perhaps even the person he was hunting. And maybe that person was me.
"Thank you," I said after a few seconds of consideration, moving to put some space between us despite his words, desperate for any excuse to step back, to put distance between us. But his hand shot out, catching my wrist before I could retreat.
The contact sent a jolt through my entire body. Heat raced up my arm, and my magic responded, rising to the surface like a wave. I was almost not able to contain it. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel my heart racing.
Even though I wasn't sure, I felt that he was doing this on purpose. He wanted to see what my reaction would be.
"Interesting," he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear it. "Very interesting."
What was so interesting? I almost asked him, but I held back. I knew that would be a mistake.
I tried to pull away, but his grip, while not painful, was implacable. "Sir, I need to attend to other customers." It was a lie—the tavern had gone eerily quiet, everyone trying to pretend they weren't watching this interaction while being hyperaware of every moment. They were all tense because of him.
"What's your name?" He asked, still holding my wrist, his thumb now making small circles against my skin. Each movement sent fresh sparks of awareness through my body.
"Lyrian," I answered before I could stop myself. Stupid. I should have given him the fake name I'd been using, but something about him seemed to bypass all my careful defenses, drawing truth from me against my will.
His eyes narrowed just a bit at my response, and I saw recognition flicker in their depths. He knew something. About me? About my name? About what it might mean? The possibility sent fresh panic coursing through me.
"Lyrian," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "Tell me, Lyrian, how does someone with your... let's say, particular qualities... end up tending bar in a place like this? I feel like you should be doing something greater with your life."
The question carried layers of meaning, and I felt the trap in it. He was right about the last part. I should be doing something better with my life, but at the moment, the option just wasn't available to me.
He suspected—no, he knew something wasn't right about me. But how much did he know? What had given me away? I was so careful about everything.
"I needed a job," I said, forcing a lightness into my tone that I didn't feel. "Mae was hiring."
His lip curled just enough to expose his teeth, but it was still not a smile. "Is that all?"
Finally, he released my wrist, but the impression of his touch lingered, burning like a brand against my skin. I resisted the urge to rub it, to try to erase the sensation of his fingers against my pulse point.
"That's all," I confirmed, stepping back until I hit the back counter. The distance didn't help me—if anything, it gave him a better view of me and allowed him to study me more thoroughly. He could see so much of me now.
He lifted the whiskey to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. "You're lying," he said with the most neutral tone I'd heard in a while. "But we'll discuss that another time."
The certainty in his voice—that there would be another time, that this wasn't a chance encounter but the beginning of something—sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't just about my omega status. He knew about the magic, about what I was. Somehow, he'd seen through every layer of protection I'd built.
He hadn’t even spent more than a few minutes with me, yet he already knew so much about me. Who was this guy? I kept asking myself, even though I knew the answer wouldn’t come anytime soon.
"I'm not-" I began, but he cut me off with a look that stripped away any and all pretense. He was ruthless and cold.
"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping even lower. "Don't compound one lie with another. It would be... unfortunate. Most people who do that around me don't end up with light consequences."
The threat wasn't overt, but I felt it in my bones. This alpha was dangerous in ways I didn't even want to think about right now. And yet, despite the danger—or perhaps because of it—I felt drawn to him, as if some part of me recognized something in him that called to my very nature.
He finished his whiskey in one smooth motion and stood. Even that simple movement conveyed his power and the scale of his authority. "I'll be seeing you again, Lyrian."
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me shaking behind the bar. The entire encounter had lasted less than ten minutes, but I knew with bone-deep certainty that my life had just changed, and it would never be the same ever again.
The mark behind my ear still burned, but now it carried a different quality—less warning, more recognition. As if it, too, had been waiting for this moment, for this alpha, and the realization was, maybe, the scariest part of all this.