12. Aria

12

ARIA

My lungs burn as I desperately gasp for air, my mind trapped in a thick, suffocating fog. Panic courses through me as I try to recall what happened, but my thoughts are mangled and elusive. One moment, I was fighting to break free from Zane's grasp, and the next…darkness. No memories, no sense of time passing, just a vast emptiness that fills me with terror.

My eyes snap open, and I find Master Zane's piercing blue gaze boring into me, his coldness seeping into my bones. Panic courses through me, bringing back a flood of memories from when Noah would trap me in similar, terrifying situations. The terror from those times resurfaces, making my body feel numb and icy. The scars on my back from Noah's beatings are a constant reminder of why I can't let my guard down.

My teeth chatter, and I clench them to keep from giving anything away.

"There you are, baby girl," he coos, somehow easing my anxiety. It's ironic, considering he is the whole reason I passed out.

If he keeps calling me baby girl, I just might slick myself again.

It probably has a lot more to do with the fact that it's nearly noon and I haven't eaten since last night. I spent all morning here in the dojo, determined to learn how to take out Noah. I pushed myself too hard and demanded that Master Zane push me too, and he did. He was relentless in his pursuit to make me face the reasons I showed up.

Fear zings through my blood at the thought that I almost told him everything, but I didn't, and that's what matters. I've learned the hard way that trusting someone can lead to unimaginable pain.

"Ah, thanks," I say awkwardly, realizing he is holding me in the shower under an icy spray of water. That explains why I feel numb and cold. At least it's diluting the smell of onion. Really, why did I think this was a good idea over the scent and heat suppressants?

Terrible idea. Oh, right, I didn't because I wanted to save them because their cost is still questionable.

Master Zane raises a brow, his cruel eyes rolling over me. His grip feels tight on my body, and he squeezes even harder. All that does is make me feel safe and protected, yet a part of me tenses instinctively, remembering the times when a tight grip meant danger. The atmosphere around us grows heavy and suffocating as tension coils around us like a deadly serpent ready to strike. His gaze is equal parts creepy and endearing.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

"You, ah…" I wiggle in all the wrong ways. "Can let me down now."

He jolts back to reality, his grip loosening ever so slightly but still tight enough to leave bruises. A haze seemingly clears from his mind as he shakes his head, trying to regain control of himself.

"Sorry," he snarls through gritted teeth as he roughly sets me down, his grip on my arms tight and unyielding. The pressure from his hands is suffocating, nearly crushing my bones. "You almost gave me a heart attack, Aria," he seethes, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

For me? Can't be. He's acting like he hates me.

I shrug, attempting to play it off. "Just overdid it, I guess."

His gaze narrows, penetrating through my false nonchalance. "You need to start taking care of yourself," he rumbles with a hint of anger. The intensity in his voice sends shivers down my spine—a warning I can't ignore.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble, attempting to brush past him.

"Wait." His tone leaves no room for argument. "You're not going anywhere in those wet clothes."

"I'm fine," I protest, but the shivering of my body betrays me. I'm stubborn enough to walk home like this in winter just to avoid him.

"Like hell you are." Zane steps in front of me, blocking my path. "You'll catch your death out there."

That would be sweet if it were true, but it's nothing more than an old wives' tale.

"It's just a short walk," I argue, wrapping my arms around myself in a feeble attempt to retain some warmth. It is not, in fact, a short walk. Actually, it's a long drive back home, and I need to call for a ride.

"Short walk or not, you're not leaving like this." His gaze softens slightly, but his determination is tenacious. "Wait here."

Before I can protest further, Zane disappears into another room, leaving me standing there, dripping wet and freezing. I shift from foot to foot, trying to keep the cold at bay. Moments later, he returns with a thick, fluffy towel and a bundle of clothes.

"Here," he says, thrusting the towel into my hands. "Dry off and change into these."

I take the towel reluctantly, knowing arguing is pointless. Zane's protective streak is as fierce as it is unexpected. As I dry myself off, I glance at the clothes he brought—one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants. They'll be huge on me, but they are warm and dry.

I can't sniff them, though, or the hussy of an omega inside me might get the wrong idea. Hell, she already has the wrong idea.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking the clothes and retreating to the changing room. As I peel off my soaked clothes and slip into Zane's, I can't help but notice how his scent clings to the fabric—clean, masculine, and somehow comforting. Is that leather and sandalwood?

Guess I'm not the only one covering up my scents.

I check each little piece of duct tape, ensuring they are still on. They are and still emitting a delicious mix. When I emerge, Zane is waiting, dressed in sinful gray sweats. Why did it have to be those? His expression softens slightly when he sees me. "Better?"

"Better," I admit, feeling warmth slowly seep back into my bones.

"Good." He gestures toward a bench. "Sit down for a minute."

I do as he says, my legs still shaky from the cold and exhaustion. Zane sits next to me, his presence solid and reassuring.

"When did you last eat?" he questions, and there is a hardness in his eyes, as though he is furious about that.

"Last night," I answer truthfully.

He growls to himself before abruptly standing. "Let's go."

"Go where?" I blink up at him. He sure is demanding and angry. He's like a hot potato jumping from one thing that annoys him to another. I kind of want to keep pushing his buttons.

"To get you some food," he snaps back, his tone brooking no argument. He grabs a sleek black jacket from a nearby hook and tosses it to me. "Put this on."

He's angry, but I can't really pinpoint exactly why. I suspiciously think it's because I didn't eat, but that can't be right.

I catch the leather jacket midair and slip it over my shoulders, the warmth of the fabric enveloping me instantly. His scent clings to the jacket as well, leather and sandalwood, even more potent than before. I try not to dwell on it as my stomach grumbles loudly.

Zane leads the way out of the dojo, his steps purposeful and resolute. I follow behind, trying to keep up with his long strides. The dojo's quiet hallways feel surreal after the intense training session, guilt gnawing at me for pushing myself so hard. But I need to remember why I did it. The scars on my back from Noah's beatings are a constant reminder of why I can't let my guard down.

We step outside into the crisp afternoon air. Zane's car, a deep gray and sleek like his personality, is parked in front. He opens the passenger door for me, his expression softening for just a moment as our eyes meet. I slide into the seat, feeling an odd sense of security in his presence.

These cushions are so soft and cozy, I wiggle a little.

"What are you doing?" Zane leans down to stare at me, a frown on his pouty lips.

"Nothing," I say, clearly answering too fast.

With a guttural grunt, he forcefully leans over me and straps me in with rough, hurried movements. I'm too stunned to react, my eyes wide as the realization dawns on me that I am completely at his mercy.

I'm also not mad about it.

Master Zane is an odd paradox, one I can't and will not allow myself to pick at like a scab, and we all know what happens if you keep picking at a scab.

It scars.

I keep my mouth shut, reinforcing the distance between us, as he drives through town.

I wonder if he'd drive me home afterward. No. Probably best to take public transport.

Zane's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. The air in the car is heavy and suffocating, charged with unspoken words and suppressed emotions that threaten to spill over at any moment. The tension reminds me of the suffocating control Noah once had over me. I can't afford to let anyone have that kind of power over me again.

We drive through town in tense silence, our unsaid thoughts weighing heavily on us both.

"So," I drawl as I shuffle. He isn't wearing his uniform anymore, and he threw a hoodie on as we walked out, so of course I'm now looking for bond marks.

I glance at Zane out of the corner of my eye, noticing the tense set of his jaw and the furrow between his brows. He seems to be deep in thought, though about what, I can't tell. I know I should leave him be, but the silence is too much.

I don't like silence very much.

"So…thanks for the clothes and the ride," I say tentatively. "You didn't have to do that."

Zane's grip loosens on the wheel just a fraction as he glances at me briefly. "Of course I did. Couldn't have you catching pneumonia on my watch, now could I?"

His voice holds a teasing lilt, even as his expression remains serious. I feel myself relaxing a bit.

"Still, it was thoughtful of you."

He simply hums in response, his eyes focused on the road ahead. We lapse back into silence, but it feels less strained now.

"Where are we heading?" My stomach grumbles, and I swear I see him frown even more.

I wonder if he ever smiles. Is he ticklish? Best to keep my hands to myself.

Zane glances at me before returning his gaze to the road. "There's a diner not far from here that I like to go to. They have good comfort food."

My stomach rumbles again at the thought of warm, hearty food, and I realize I'm famished after the intense training session earlier.

"Comfort food sounds perfect right now," I say with a small smile.

Zane nods, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you might need something substantial after today."

We fall into a comfortable silence as he navigates the streets, and I take the opportunity to study his chiseled jawline and the sharp angle of his nose. There's an undeniable handsomeness to his rugged features that makes me feel flushed.

I force myself to look out the window at the passing buildings. I'm wandering into dangerous territory. Zane is my instructor, nothing more. I can't afford distractions.

The car slows as we pull into the parking lot of a cozy-looking diner. A warm glow emanates from the windows, beckoning us inside, and my stomach grumbles again in anticipation.

Zane cuts the engine and looks over at me, then he unbuckles me and gives me a look I can't even begin to decipher.

All right, now I'm really confused.

"Let's go," he mumbles after catching himself unlocking my seat belt.

Same, alpha, same.

Before he can think about doing anything else chivalrous, I climb out of the car and slowly trail behind Zane.

He holds the damn door open for me like a freaking gentleman, the bell above it jingling merrily as we enter. The aroma of frying oil and sizzling meat envelops us instantly, mingling with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. The soles of my shoes stick slightly to the checkered linoleum floor as we make our way to a corner booth by the front windows. The vinyl seat squeaks as I slide in, the cool material a stark contrast to my heated skin.

He removes his jacket, the taut muscles of his arms flexing beneath his T-shirt. He has tattoos. How did I not see them before? I want to trace each one with—I glance away, busying myself with the menu propped behind the napkin dispenser.

A bored-looking beta waitress saunters over, popping her gum. "What can I get ya?"

Zane orders a burger platter without looking up from his own menu. When the waitress turns to me expectantly, I ask for the chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes. Comfort food indeed.

Plus, I'm starving, and I feel like I'm overheating. Is it hot in here?

She jots down our orders and shuffles back behind the counter. I fidget with my silverware, hyperaware of Zane sitting across from me. I chance a glance up at him. His blue eyes study me thoughtfully.

"So…have you been training at the dojo long?" I ask, desperate to break the silence.

His lips quirk up a little as he takes me in. I swear if this were a first date, I'm not sure I'd call this guy back. He doesn't speak very much, but boy is he pretty to look at.

"It's mine," he states, shocking the hell out of me. My jaw drops as I realize the dojo is owned by Zane. The very idea of him running a business, let alone one centered on teaching, is mind-boggling.

He continues, "Allison runs the front so I can concentrate in the back."

Allison. I almost sneer and mock her name.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Composing myself, I manage to say, "Wow, I had no idea. How long have you owned it?"

"Going on five years now," Zane replies, taking a sip of his coffee. "Took it over from a foster father after he retired."

I nod, impressed that someone so young owns his own successful dojo. I guess I shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

Our food arrives, steaming hot and smelling divine. As I dig into the crispy chicken fried steak, I can't suppress a small moan of satisfaction. Zane raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the clinking of silverware and background chatter of the diner filling the void. I notice Zane's eyes darting to the door every time it opens, his body tense, as if ready to spring into action. It dawns on me that he's not just being antisocial, he's on guard. But against what? The realization sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of my own reasons for constant vigilance.

I force myself to focus on my food, scooping mashed potatoes onto my fork. This strange pull I feel toward Zane has to stop. My omega instincts purr at his protective alpha behavior, but my mind screams warnings learned from hard experience. I can't afford to be drawn in by another alpha, no matter how safe he makes me feel. Safety is an illusion I can't indulge in anymore. Yet, as I watch him from under my lashes, I can't help but wonder, what if he's different?

I have to focus on me, myself, and I. Lifting my fork, I twirl it a bit before pointing it at him. "What age group is your favorite to teach?" I ask for some reason.

Zane looks up at me from beneath inky black lashes, causing his eyes to look brighter than they should be. He leans back while simultaneously grabbing his napkin and wiping his mouth.

"I don't think we should engage in small talk," he says, his tone strained. His eyes flicker with an internal struggle before he adds, "The less I know about you, the safer it is. For both of us." He pauses, then softens slightly. "But I still want you to eat and take care of yourself."

I stare at him in disbelief, my heart sinking with the weight of his words. They roll over and over in my head, and because I'm an emotional omega, tears prickle at my eyes.

"You're right," I snark, "Master Zane."

Because I am not giving up a free meal, I eat in silence while talking to myself…mentally of course, since I can't have him thinking I need a grippy sock vacation.

He's meaningless. I need to show him I am better off without him. I'll eat my food and walk the fuck out.

Barely breathing, I finish my meal as Zane watches carefully, his head cocked to the side.

"Excuse me," I tell him with saccharine sweetness. "I need to use the little girl's room."

He gives me a sharp nod as I stand.

I make my way to the restroom, the clacking of my shoes on the linoleum floor echoing in the quiet diner. Once inside, I lean against the sink and take a deep breath. Zane's words replay in my mind, cutting deeper than I want to admit.

I stare at my reflection in the grubby mirror. "Get it together, Aria," I whisper. I've been through worse and come out stronger. I won't let some arrogant, closed off alpha get under my skin.

Straightening my shoulders, I walk out of the bathroom and right out the backdoor, already dialing Cayenne before the door even shuts.

I cut off her greeting before it even begins. "Get me the fuck out of here."

"On it," Cayenne responds without missing a beat. "What happened? Do I need to bring the baseball bat?"

Her fierce loyalty makes me smile, despite everything. "No bat needed. Just…a lot to process. I'll explain when I feel safe."

"Ten minutes," she promises. "Hang tight, babe."

As I wait in the shadows behind the diner, my emotions war within me. Part of me wants to run back inside to Zane, while another part wants to run as far away as possible. But Cayenne's getting me a ride, and she's the only constant I can trust right now.

Because there is only one person a girl can ever depend on—her best friend.