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The night felt unusually thick, like the sky itself was holding its breath. Through the window of her room, Lyra could see the cloud-heavy heavens, yet it didn’t dim the excitement fluttering in her chest. She stood before the mirror, adjusting the deep maroon dress that hugged her seventeen-year-old curves with precision. The neckline dipped just enough to make her feel dangerous, the slit on the side giving her legs a freedom they’d never had before.
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Tonight was Prom Night. Her Prom Night.
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Her long, dark hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders, and the scent of vanilla and musk clung to her skin. She smiled to herself. She looked beautiful. No—more than beautiful. She looked like a woman.
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A woman who was finally going to be kissed. Desired. Maybe even...
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“Lyra! Come downstairs. Now.”
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Her father’s voice cut through the air like a knife. She froze. A chill crept up her spine, not from fear—but from familiarity. That tone. That tension. Something was wrong.
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She descended slowly, heels tapping against the stairs like the ticking of a countdown.
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In the living room, her mother stood pale, eyes glistening. Her father, tall and imposing, stood like a wall. Behind them, two unfamiliar men in black stood silently. They weren’t neighbors. They weren’t family. They looked like guards.
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“What is this?” Lyra frowned. “What’s going on?”
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Her mother stepped forward, tried to touch her cheek, but Lyra pulled back. “I’m going to Prom. Andi is waiting for me. Why are you acting like someone died?”
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“You’re not going,” her father said firmly.
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Lyra blinked. “Excuse me?”
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“You’re not going. This isn’t up for discussion.”
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“You can’t be serious! Dad, come on, this is my night. I’ve been waiting for this all year—”
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“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” her mother said, her voice shaking.
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“Then tell me!” Lyra’s voice rose. “God, why do you always treat me like I’m still twelve?! I’m seventeen now!”
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“Exactly,” her father muttered. “That’s the problem.”
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A confused silence followed.
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“What do you mean?” she asked.
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Her mother looked away.
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“You’re turning seventeen tonight, Lyra,” her father said slowly. “It means… the change begins.”
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“What change?”
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A heavy breath. Her father paced once before replying. “You come from a bloodline that carries a... legacy. The women in our family—on your mother’s side—they don’t go through normal puberty. On their seventeenth birthday, under the light of the full moon, something inside them awakens.”
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Lyra stared. “What... kind of fantasy bullshit is this?”
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“You need to stay in your room tonight,” her mother said, pleading. “We’re doing this to protect you—and everyone else.”
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“Protect me from what?!” Lyra shouted. “Myself?”
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Her father stiffened. “Yes.”
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The room fell silent.
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“No,” she said. “No fucking way. I’m not some monster in a fairy tale!”
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Her mother’s voice cracked. “You don’t understand what happens to us, Lyra. The full moon changes us—especially the first time. It ignites something… primal. And without proper grounding, without guidance, without—”
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“What? A leash?”
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“No,” her father growled. “A mate.”
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The word hit her like a slap.
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“A mate?” Her voice trembled with fury. “You’re telling me I need to be... taken by someone?!”
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Her mother reached out. “It’s not like that—”
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“Like hell it’s not!” Lyra screamed. “You want to keep me locked in my room and let some random guy deflower me like I’m an animal in heat?”
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“He’s not random,” her father said. “He’s been prepared. Trained. His blood is strong, he can take it.”
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“Take what?!”
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Her parents looked away.
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Lyra could barely breathe. Her entire body trembled, but it wasn’t just anger anymore—it was heat. Rising from deep within her, coiling between her legs, pulsing in her chest. She felt aware of her body in a way she hadn’t before. The air against her skin, the scent of her own sweat, the heartbeats of everyone in the room—it was overwhelming.
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“What... what’s happening to me?” she whispered.
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“It’s starting,” her mother said quietly. “The change.”
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“No,” Lyra muttered. “No, I won’t let you decide what happens to my body.”
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She turned and stormed up the stairs, slamming her door behind her and locking it.
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Outside, the wind howled gently through the trees. The clouds still clung to the moonlight, shielding the world from its silver gaze. In her room, Lyra paced back and forth, her hands trembling. She felt hot. Not feverish, but... burning with something restless and electric.
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She opened her window slightly, gasping for air. Two men stood in the yard below, shoulders tense. They weren’t just guards. They were jailers.
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Fuck this.
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She reached under her bed, pulling out a small backpack she had secretly packed days ago. Something in her had told her to prepare. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was rebellion. But she didn’t trust them—not when they talked about her like a time bomb.
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They were scared of her. And that only made her more determined to break free.
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Downstairs, her father spoke in low tones to the two guards.
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“If the clouds part and she’s exposed to moonlight before he mates with her, it could be catastrophic.”
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One of the men nodded grimly. “The first transformation is always the hardest. The hunger is strongest then. The body rebels. She’ll seek a dominant male to stabilize her—by force, if necessary.”
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The father shuddered. “And if she doesn’t find one?”
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“She’ll take one. Willingly or not.”
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Silence fell.
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Back in her room, Lyra dressed quickly in darker clothes, tying her hair back. Her body still burned, and her thighs ached with a heat that confused her. She didn’t understand it all—but she refused to let someone else use her under the excuse of protection.
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She slipped out through the window, climbed down the side trellis, and landed softly in the grass. Her legs felt stronger than usual. Her senses sharper.
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Andi’s motorcycle lights flashed from the end of the street. She ran toward them.
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“Whoa, I thought you weren’t gonna make it!” Andi grinned, tossing her a helmet. “You look like you just escaped prison.”
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Lyra smirked. “Something like that.”
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“Hop on, rebel girl.”
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She climbed on, wrapping her arms around his waist. The heat between her thighs throbbed at the closeness. His scent was musky, clean, a little spicy—so different from her father or the guards. He smelled like freedom.
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They sped off into the night, her dress flapping in the wind beneath her jacket, her heart hammering in her chest.
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Prom was in full swing when they arrived. Music boomed from inside the decorated gymnasium, and strings of golden lights shimmered above. Students danced, laughed, flirted. Lyra stepped into the room like she owned it. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the crowd. She could feel everyone. Smell everyone.
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Andi took her hand and pulled her to the dance floor.
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“You look... amazing tonight,” he whispered near her ear.
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“So do you,” she said, her voice lower than usual.
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As they swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, Lyra felt her body press tighter against his. Her skin prickled with arousal. Every heartbeat of his echoed in her ears. The blood in his veins called to her.
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She wanted him.
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No—she needed him.
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And yet… somewhere, deep inside, she knew: he wasn’t strong enough.
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Not for her.
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Her nails dug lightly into his back. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered.
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He looked surprised. Then smiled, cocky. “You sure?”
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“Take me somewhere private.”
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And he did.
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