The world was painted in shades of grey, a monochrome vision as far as the eye could see. Sand was soft under her back, the pale grey silt trickling through her fingers as she lifted her hands curiously. Dark grey waters washed up the land a little further away from where she lay, and she turned her head towards the sound of the sea.

It was like tar in the deepest sections, the glossy black surface only ruined by the winds which urged the waves up the shore. Blinking slowly, Lyra sat up, staring at the dark curls which fell in front of her face. They were an off-black colour – the colour having been sapped from them too. Where was she? Lyra tilted her head, looking up and around, blinking as she spotted the empty city behind her and the pale, full moon shining brightly overhead. The stillness was eerie, anticipation building in her gut the longer she lay there. For what, she knew not.

Swallowing back her fears of what the unknown held for her, she stood, glancing between the silent city and the sea on either side. Neither felt particularly safe, but she was used to that by now – so into the city she went. At least there would be more places to hide there.

Her footsteps echoed on the stone pathway she climbed onto, and Lyra hurried inside the grey city, staring at the slabs of concrete which seemed to make everything up. Houses lined the street on either side, each one just as quiet and lifeless as the next as she edged her way further into the heart of the strange city.

Reaching the next junction in the empty streets, she paused, peering down the cobblestones, frowning at the repetitive pattern they made. It felt like one of those ancient ruins she had only ever seen on a screen – only it was no ruin, only abandoned and silent as the grave.

A steady clop, clop met her ears, and Lyra stiffened, heart pounding as a white horse cantered into view. It was fully saddled, headstall glittering even in the dark of night, black reins dotted with silver which glimmered like stars under the pale moonlight. She could only watch as the horse came to a stop by her, a single hoof pawing at the ground, throwing it's head back, white mane fluttering in the breeze which drifted in from the sea behind.

Purple eyes bore into her own, almost seeming to glow in the darkness. Transfixed, Lyra stumbled closer, hands reaching out – freezing only when the horse snorted loudly. And it was then that she remembered the eeriness of that place. Purple eyes weren't natural. Why could she see that colour so clearly when the rest of the world was a dull, boring grey?

It was wrong. Something didn't belong.

Her feet seemed to drag as she stumbled back, a part of her not wanting to leave for reasons she didn't understand. Still, her instincts to flee – to retreat and regroup – overcame that urge, and she ran. Feet slapped against tile, her legs carrying her back the only route she knew.

Cobblestone and pavement turned to sand, and Lyra stared back at the black waters, shivers running up and down her spine as she stared at the sight in front of her. Hairs on the back of her neck pricked, and she turned around, feet sloshing in the inky sea as she spotted the white horse standing on the edge of the bank.

Hands grabbed at her ankles, and she screeched, staring down into those tar-like waters, blinking as she finally spotted her warped reflection. Her eyes were purple. A glowing, deep purple, just like that white horse's.

Ground gave way under her feet, and then she was no longer standing in the shallows as she was tugged under the waves. A watery world met her gaze, her eyes not stinging even as she stared at the murkiness surrounding her like a dust cloud. "Ah, so you finally come," he spoke, voice clear despite the waters around them, relinquishing his grip on her ankles, hands finding her face instead. Chains rattled, thick black metal links dangling from the heavy manacles at his wrists, wrapping around his body like a cloak, vanishing deep into the ocean below where her gaze couldn't reach. Angular purple eyes blinked languidly, meeting her matching pair as she stared at him, confused as a smile broke his thin lips. "My herald..."

The ceiling which met her gaze was strangely familiar, though definitely not the one she had been expecting to wake up under. Blinking, she rubbed at her eyes, chasing away the sleep as she slumped on the sinfully soft bed. Her body felt heavy, her limbs oddly weak as she tried to pull herself into a seated position.

She managed it though, sitting up and peering around the room. Rylan's room, she remembered. She had woken there once before. Though even if she hadn't recognised the walls and decorations, the scent would have been enough of a giveaway. It wrapped around her like a blanket, whispering things to her then – soothing her innermost thoughts with the help of the bond growing inside her. Worries about Frost, memories of Omega Taurus, all vanished, and Lyra blinked up placidly from the bed, wondering all the while about where her mate had gotten to.

An answer came soon in the form of a door opening, Rylan appearing in the doorframe. His hair was slightly damp and considering the room he'd come out from was the bathroom... Lyra could put two and two together and come out with four. "Ah," he murmured, sighing in relief as he looked her over. "You're awake now."

"Yes," she mumbled, swinging her legs over the side, grateful she was still dressed in the same clothes as the day before. It was morning, she noted, sparing a glance out of the windows overlooking the gardens behind. "Uh... why am I here?"

Rylan smiled sheepishly. "You didn't want to let go of me once we came home... so I figured it would be best to stay with you, and... well, I didn't want to intrude in your apartment again, so I brought you here instead."

Blinking, Lyra cast her gaze down to the floor. She probably couldn't be irritated at him for that. After all, she had asked him not to intrude in her apartment. Not to mention there was the added benefit of not waking up alone. Of not being left alone and vulnerable to another of Frost's visits. Shivering, she stared at the wall, having lifted her gaze from the floor. That just reminded her of how she had always kept her eyes down, never daring to look any of the Upper Echelon in the eyes wherever she could help it.

"Look at me." The words made her blink, her body relaxing into the touch as a finger came up to brush at her cheek soothingly. "You're inside Blagmoor Castle, and you are safe, Lyra," Rylan said, and somehow his voice was all she needed to chase those worries away.

Her fingers dug into the mattress. She hated it. Hated that she was so reliant on another person just so she could face the world. Hated that she couldn't forget her past and everything it had done to her. "Why aren't I strong enough?" she murmured, her words barely more than whispers. "Why do I need you?" Nails dug into the soft bedspread, and Lyra screwed her eyes shut, loathing herself and her inability to move on without the shadow of Omega Taurus looming over her.

"Strength isn't something you gain overnight, you know," Rylan said, his expression closed off, and Lyra blinked – shame pulsing through her as she ran back through what she'd said. It sounded like she didn't want him. Like she hated him. "But... Never mind," he continued, a smile curving at his lips, despite the hurt in his eyes. "I'll, uh, be downstairs. Breakfast won't make itself."

Lyra blinked, words of apology – of explanation – dying on her tongue as her mate walked out of his own bedroom. Her hands curled into fists, another bout of self-loathing welling up inside her as she stared at the closed door.

Why couldn't she catch a break?

Scowling, she climbed out of bed, sighing as the breeze slipped in through the window left slightly ajar. Was it really that hard for things in her life just to stay calm for a little while? Everything was moving too quickly. First there was her supposed escape. The next was finding her mate. Now there was Frost, heralding the arrival of her tormentors who weren't about to stop hounding her anytime soon.

"My herald," the delighted whisper made her shudder.

"No," she said sharply, shaking her head as if it could chase that eerie city out of her mind. She didn't need anything else on her plate – so a strange nightmare that would stay. It wouldn't be something which would trap her. Not like those chains which had bound the figure.

Her bare feet pounded against stone, and Lyra found herself running. She raced towards the dewy scent, wanting to be anywhere other than inside that castle. She wanted her freedom, even if only for a few hours. She wanted to run, and not on two legs. It was like an itch which had to be scratched, and Lyra wasted no time in doing just that.

She'd never been able to shift much before, given two hands and two feet were so much easier to use, and not just because of the opposable thumbs.

She didn't want that right then though.

Tiling became grass, the sound of wind howling becoming that much louder as she raced outside. Her shirt was the first thing to come off, followed quickly by her pants and underwear as soon as she reached the safety of the treeline. She wanted to be free.

Wind ruffled red fur, hands and feet becoming dark paws, and Lyra charged into the depths of the forest. It was quiet for once, and she didn't care for the slight rumble in her stomach as she raced through the undergrowth, yipping quietly all the while. She didn't know where she was going, but truthfully, she didn't care.

All that mattered was that she was free.

Free to feel the wind, free to hear the thunder's call, free to feel oddly electrified by the prospect of the storm she could sense coming.

No matter how odd and quiet it was. Pawing at the ground, she scented the air, a low growl rumbling through her chest as she smelt the other scents there. Those of other werewolves. That of her mate, and Lyra was fairly sure she did an excellent job of refraining from attempting to rub herself against source of that comforting scent... which, strangely enough, was growing closer by the second.

The answer to that mystery soon revealed itself in the form of a hulking black-furred wolf with all too familiar icy blue eyes – though it would have been more apt to say the answer tackled her. A growl rumbled in Rylan's chest, and Lyra was thankful werewolves couldn't blush in that form as she found herself pinned down underneath him.

A whimper escaped her, and she bared her neck almost on instinct. Her mate was an alpha. The king of all alphas. His presence, especially in that form, only proved it. He radiated power, the kind which made her feel warm and safe, and the kind which made her want to lie there and whine pathetically. Why couldn't she have had an aura like that?

Omega Taurus never would've bothered with her if she'd had that.

Sighing internally, she rolled onto her belly. She didn't want to look up at Rylan. She didn't want to be jealous of another person, especially not her mate. She didn't want to make things any worse between the pair of them, especially thanks to what she'd all but implied earlier. After all, how was Rylan supposed to know everything that was going through her brain? Even she could barely work out that much.

Placing her snout between her paws, she lay down, hating and loving lying there with her mate. He made her feel too safe. The kind of safety she could and would get addicted to far too easily. But she wanted to be able to stand on her own two feet. Or four paws, depending on what form she took.

A tongue laved at the fur behind her ear, and Lyra came to the abrupt realisation she was being washed. Though really, she couldn't quite bring herself to care. She was out in the woods, free, and with that annoyingly comforting scent right by her that she loathed to love and get lost in.

The same scent which always told her everything's going to be OK.

Lyra wanted to believe that. She really did. But life had taught her a very harsh lesson. Happiness was a fleeting thing for her, and it was something she had to fight for every single step of the way.