The sharp edge sliced across Lyra's cheek without warning. White-hot pain exploded through her, shooting down every nerve ending, spreading through her entire body. Lyra's whole frame shuddered. She twisted desperately, fighting against the hands that held her, her voice ragged and barely recognizable: "Selene, you wouldn't dare! You do this, and you're not afraid Fenris will summon the Pack Enforcers? I've been his Intended Mate for years—what makes you think you can take my place?"
"Take your place?" Selene laughed—wild, unhinged, triumphant. Her wrist flicked, and the dagger carved a second gash into Lyra's other cheek, this one deep enough to scrape bone. Blood welled up instantly, streaming down her face. Selene leaned in close, her lips brushing Lyra's ear, her whisper meant for no one else: "Lyra, I told you a long time ago. Even if I killed you, Fenris wouldn't blame me one bit."
"You and your dead mother—from the very beginning, you were nothing but stepping stones for me to climb higher in the pack."