Chapter 15 The Name She Forgot
Lyra world didn’t just shatter with thunder, It broke in silence.
“Lyriana.”
Azrael’s voice didn’t boom. It whispered yet it felt loud enough to silence the wolves, the wind, the night itself.
Lyra….no, the girl who thought she was Lyra….didn’t move.
The name slid through her veins like an echo trying to find where it belonged.
Dante stiffened. His wolf snarled inside, his protective instinct rising like wildfire. “That is not her name,” he growled, stepping in front of her.
Azrael’s gaze didn’t even flicker to Dante. He was focused only on her.
“You don’t remember it,” he said softly. “But your blood does.”
She felt it. In the way her fingers trembled. In the ache in her bones. In how her heartbeat stuttered like she was hearing a childhood lullaby she had never learned but somehow remembered.
Lyriana.
No. No. That wasn't her. She was Lyra , daughter of…….
A sharp crack of memory sliced through her mind.
Not memory.
A flash.
A woman with silver hair.
A crest, two crescent moons crossing swords.
A fire.
A scream.
Lyriana… run.
Her knees buckled.
Dante caught her, arms wrapping around her protectively, grounding her.
“Look at me,” he murmured, voice shaking. “Lyra…”
But even his voice faltered on her name.
Was it even her name?
“This is a trick,” Dante hissed, eyes flashing gold. “A manipulation spell….”
Azrael tilted his head. “You think I need magic to speak her truth?”
He stepped forward. The hunters behind him lowered their heads not in fear.
In reverence.
Like they weren’t soldiers.
But witnesses.
“Her name,” he said, enunciating every syllable with cold precision, “is Lyriana D’Angelis.”
Silence.
Then, Dante went pale.
Not shock.
Recognition.
Lyra felt it through the bond. His heart stuttered. His wolf recoiled not in fear of her.
In awe.
“No,” Dante whispered. “That name… it can’t be.”
Azrael smiled faintly. “You’ve seen it. In your father’s archives.”
Dante took an involuntary step back.
Lyra looked between them, heart racing. “What name? Tell me!”
Dante’s jaw clenched. He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
“We have a record,” he said slowly, voice tight, “an ancient one. A lost bloodline… that disappeared nineteen years ago during the Royal Purge.” His eyes burned into hers. “They were called the House of D’Angelis.”
Lyra shook her head. “No. My parents…my life….my pack.”
“They were destroyed,” Azrael finished softly. “Your bloodline was hunted. Your House slaughtered. Only one child survived.”
He pointed directly at her.
“You.”
Lyra felt the air disappear.
No.
He was lying.
He had to be.
“My family were omegas,” she whispered, clutching her head. “We had nothing…no power…nothing royal.”
Azrael stepped closer, eyes almost pitying.
“Do you think true royalty is measured by titles?” he said quietly. “You were hidden. For your safety. Your power sealed. Your name erased. To keep you alive.”
She stumbled back, shaking her head, desperate to hold onto the life she knew.
“My parents…”
“were not your blood,” Azrael finished.
Her chest squeezed.
She suddenly remembered: neither of them had her eyes.
Her wild moon-gold eyes.
She had never thought about it.
She didn’t want to.
Dante’s voice came low. “Azrael… If this is true, then Lyra….Lyriana….is…”
“Royal,” Azrael said softly. “The last living heir to the fallen House of D’Angelis. Direct blood of the Lunar Sovereigns.”
Lyra froze.
Lunar Sovereigns.
The ancient rulers.
The lost royalty.
And nowvher bloodline.
Her.
“But that’s impossible,” Dante whispered. “The House of D’Angelis was wiped out. Their bloodline… extinct.”
Azrael looked at Lyra.
“It was. Until now.”
Her breath hitched.
She spoke, but her voice was barely there.
“If I’m really who you say I am… then why don’t I remember?”
Azrael gazed at her not cruelly.
But with heavy truth.
“Because someone didn’t just hide you,” he said softly.
“They erased you.”
The words hit her harder than any blade.
Dante stepped forward, protective instinct raging. “Enough. She’s confused. You’ve said what you came to say. Now leave”
Azrael didn’t look at him.
He looked directly at her.
“She has a choice,” he murmured.
His hand extended not touching. Just offering.
“Stay here, living a lie…”
His eyes gleamed like moonlight on glass.
“…or come with me, and I will show you who you truly are.”
Cold night air pressed against her lungs.
She felt Dante’s hand tighten on hers.
One hand pulling her back to the life she knew.
One hand calling her to a life she couldn’t remember.
Two worlds.
Two names.
Two futures.
Lyra…
Or Lyriana.
She swallowed.
Her voice trembled.
“Who… am I?”
Azrael’s answer was soft. Unshaking. Final.
“You,” he whispered,
“are Lyriana D’Angelis.”
His next words stole every breath in her body.
“Heir to a throne that no longer exists.”
“And the reason it fell.”
The ground tilted.
Her knees gave way.
Dante caught her.
Azrael did not
move.
His eyes held ancient truth.
Not pity.
Not threat.
Recognition.
He spoke only one more sentence.
And it changed everything.
“Come with me, Lyriana… and I will show you why the moon itself fears your blood.”