35. Aria

35

ARIA

The painful cramp in my neck wakes me, and the crust in my eyes threatens to keep them glued together. If it were any other area of my body, I'd be into it because I love to peel off glue.

As a teen, I remember pouring Elmer's glue on my hands, rubbing them together, and peeling it off when it dried.

It was something to do.

Aunt Sara was poor.

Rubbing the Aria-made glue from my eyes, I sit up and yawn. That's when last night comes into full focus, primarily due to the curly-haired woman lying at the other end of the couch, completely covered with one of the dozens of blankets she brought out.

Honestly, if she didn't smell like a beta, I'd think she was an omega.

I stretch my arms above my head, feeling the satisfying pop of my joints. Willow stirs slightly but doesn't wake. I take a moment to study the way her curls frame her face, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

Memories of the night before flood my mind—the club, watching Dash play, and then the alpha who set me off. Luckily, I didn't dissolve into my memories, which is impressive. They seem to be coming less and less, and I, for one, appreciate that little factoid.

I stand up, careful not to disturb her, and make my way to the kitchen. The tile feels cold beneath my bare feet, and I shiver slightly. I start the coffee pot, watching as the dark liquid drips into the carafe.

As I wait, I lean against the counter, lost in thought, and reach for my phone to see if Dash texted at all. The familiar anxiety creeps in, reminding me of the secret I'm keeping. What if they find out I'm an omega? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. The pack has been so good to me, but how would they react if they knew the truth?

My heart pitter-patters as I see his name among a few others, but I click on him first.

Dash: I missed you, beautiful girl.

Dash: I totes would have brought you on stage.

Dash: Wish you were here.

Dash: We did the drinks.

Dash: Too many.

Dash: Drunk.

Dash: Just call me strings.

Dash: Aria. Aria. Aria.

Dash: I want you more than any omega.

Dash: Miss u.

I am pretty damn sure they all got trashed last night, which is weird. For some reason, I don't see Malachi getting drunk like that. I open up the pack chat.

Quinn: I want a sandwich.

Dash: A Clarke sandwich.

Dash: Wish you were here. You are always on my mind, especially when I see that peach bottom of yours.

Quinn: I want you wrapped around my knot.

Zane: All of you shut the fuck up.

Dash: Just the thought of you gets me rock hard.

Malachi: Ignore any message above this point.

These all came through after one in the morning. They were out late. We got back here only an hour after leaving the salon. Dash's text bubble pops up, and I wait it out even though my coffee is done.

Dash: ??????

Zane: Where are you?

Do I reply?

Aria: Out…

There's no way I am telling the group chat where I am.

Luckily, Zane messages me separately.

Zane: I'm coming to get you. Where are you?

I don't reply.

Zane: Let me take you out.

Aria: All right…

I nibble my lip before giving him the address, then I sniff myself and take off toward the shower, grabbing my backpack along the way.

Luck is on my side, because Willow has descenter shampoo, conditioner, soap, and spray. It's like I hit the jackpot up in here.

The hot water cascades over my body, washing away the remnants of last night. As I lather my hair with shampoo, my mind wanders to Zane and his offer to take me out. A part of me is excited, but another part is hesitant. I've only been alone with Zane in his dojo, and the idea of spending time alone with him makes my stomach flutter with nerves.

I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body, the steam from the bathroom fogging up the mirror. I wipe away the condensation with my hand and stare at my reflection. My pink hair is plastered to my head, and my eyes seem brighter than usual. I take a deep breath and start to get ready.

I rummage through my backpack, pulling out a pair of jeans and a simple black top. I slip them on and run a brush through my damp hair, letting it fall in waves around my shoulders. I apply a touch of mascara and some lip balm, keeping my makeup minimal.

As I exit the bathroom, I find Willow in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She looks up at me and smiles. "Morning, Aria. Sleep well?"

I nod, returning her smile. "Yeah, surprisingly well, considering the couch. Thanks again for letting me crash here."

Willow waves her hand dismissively. "No worries at all. Mi casa es su casa and all that jazz." She takes a sip of her coffee. "You heading out?"

I fidget with the strap of my backpack. "Uh, yeah. Zane actually texted. He's coming to pick me up."

Willow raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Zane, huh? The hot alpha from the Clarke pack?" She waggles her brows and gives me a salacious grin.

I feel my cheeks heat up. "It's not like that. We're just…friends." The word feels wrong on my tongue.

They want you, girl.

"Uh-huh, sure." Willow smirks knowingly. "Well, have fun on your friend date. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" She winks.

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "I'll try to contain myself."

Just then, a knock sounds at the door, and my heart leaps into my throat—Zane.

"Want me to get it?" Willow asks.

"Ah, I'm okay." I lean in and give her a brief side hug.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves before opening the door. Zane stands there, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. His eyes meet mine, and a slow smile spreads across his face. It's a roguish smile, one concealing so many secrets while screaming danger and confidence.

There are dark shadows under his eyes, as though he didn't sleep well, not to mention his eyes are red. I bite my tongue, knowing better than to comment on a hangover.

No one wants to be told how shitty they look.

"Hey, Aria," he says, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. "Ready to go?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. I step outside, closing the door behind me. The cool morning air hits my skin, and I inhale deeply, trying to clear my head. Being around Zane always seems to make my thoughts foggy.

He guides me to the sidewalk, where a sleek black motorcycle sits.

"Hmm, what's that?" I twirl my finger at the motorcycle.

"A Harley." He tosses me a helmet.

I catch the helmet, turning it over in my hands. The black surface is smooth and shiny, reflecting the morning sunlight. I glance up at Zane, an eyebrow raised. "This is how I die."

Zane chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I won't let you die." He swings a leg over the bike, straddling it with ease. He looks at me expectantly, patting the seat behind him. "Hop on."

I hesitate for a moment, biting my lip. I've never ridden a motorcycle before, and the idea both thrills and terrifies me, but the way Zane is looking at me, his eyes dark and intense, makes my decision for me. I slip the helmet on and climb onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

Oh, we are super close, like I'm plastered against him and his sexy, muscular body.

The engine roars to life beneath us, and I feel the vibrations through my entire body. Zane revs the throttle, and we take off, the wind whipping past us. I cling tighter to him, my heart racing in my chest.

As we ride, the city blurs around us, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. The roar of the engine drowns out all other sounds, and for a moment, it feels like Zane and I are the only two people in the world. I press closer to him, resting my cheek against the cool leather of his jacket.

Despite the helmet, I can still catch Zane's scent—a heady mix of leather and sandalwood. It's intoxicating, and I find myself inhaling deeply, trying to memorize it. I struggle not to nuzzle his neck.

Bad omega.

After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Zane slows the bike and pulls into a parking lot. I glance around, taking in our surroundings. It looks like a rec center. The parking lot is full, and there are people wandering in and out of the building, all wearing gis .

Zane kills the engine and kicks down the stand, the sudden silence almost deafening after the roar of the bike. He turns his head, glancing at me over his shoulder with a small smirk. "We're here."

I blink, slowly releasing my grip on his waist and sliding off the bike. My legs feel slightly wobbly from the ride, and I take a moment to steady myself. I remove the helmet, shaking out my hair. "Where exactly is ‘here'?" I ask, looking around at the bustling rec center in the middle of freaking nowhere.

Zane swings his leg over the bike with a fluid grace that makes my mouth go dry. The leather of his jacket creaks softly as he runs a hand through his wind tousled hair, the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Zane wafting towards me.

"This is where I train when I'm not at the dojo. They have a competition today." He gestures toward the building. "I thought you'd like to see what a competition looks like."

I raise an eyebrow, a smile playing on my lips. "A karate competition?" I look around with new eyes, excitement humming in me. "There are a lot of women."

I don't know if they are alphas, omegas, or betas, but I want to know.

I need to know if these women are like me.

"It's a women's competition," he says.

"No freaking way." I drop my helmet in my excitement before popping back up.

Zane chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Freaking way," he says, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Come on, let's get inside."

We walk toward the entrance, and I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. A women's karate competition? I didn't even know these things existed.

Zane holds the door open for me, and I step inside, the air filled with the sounds of people talking, the sharp slap of feet against mats, and the occasional shout from a competitor. The air crackles with a palpable energy, a heady mix of adrenaline, determination, and the sharp scent of sweat. The rhythmic slap of bare feet on mats and occasional shouts create a primal soundtrack that sets my pulse racing.

He nods at a few men and women, but he never once leaves my side, keeping his palm on the base of my back the whole time. Honestly, it makes me slick a little, but so far, so good.

Zane guides me to a pair of seats in the back of the room, away from the main crowd. We sit down, and I glance around, taking in the scene. Women of all shapes and sizes are milling about, some in gis and others in regular clothes, all exuding fierce determination. It's inspiring.

"So what do you think?" Zane asks, leaning back in his seat and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"It's amazing," I reply, my eyes wide with wonder. "I've never seen anything like this."

Zane nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I thought you might like it. There's something powerful about watching people push their limits, you know?"

I nod, feeling a surge of admiration for him. He's thoughtful, bringing me to a place like this. It's not just about impressing me, it's about sharing something meaningful.

"Are they?—"

"Omegas? Betas?" he finishes for me as my heart thunders in my chest. Really, I just need to know what kind of women are in here. I need to relate to them. He leans in close, his leather scent tickling my nose as he points to the opposite side of the large open space. "See her?" he asks.

The woman in question has bright green hair, and three men watch her carefully. Actually, there are about five mats, each with a pack…

"She's an omega," I whisper in a hushed tone.

She's like me.

I'm like her.

"She has a black belt," I whisper reverently before I cough and get my shit together.

"She does," Zane agrees before pointing to another mat in front of us. "Betas," he says. "Only alpha women can judge these competitions."

"Why?" I question, turning toward him. He's so close, I can smell the coffee on his breath.

He glances at my lips before looking back into my eyes. "To keep it fair. The alphas have their own competition."

He turns away to focus on the match.

As the first match begins, we settle into a comfortable silence, watching the competitors with rapt attention. The women move with a grace and precision that's mesmerizing, their movements a perfect blend of strength and fluidity.

"So, Aria," Zane says after a while, his tone casual, "tell me more about yourself. Where did you grow up?"

I glance at him, caught off guard by the sudden question. "Oh, um, I grew up all over the place. My aunt raised me, and we moved around a lot in SoCal."

Zane's gaze is steady and probing. "That must have been tough. Any place in particular that felt like home?"

I shrug, trying to keep my voice light. "Not really. Home was wherever Aunt Sara was."

Aunt Sara was home. She was…everything.

He nods thoughtfully, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes. Suspicion? "What about your parents?" The question brings a pang of old pain, but it also stirs the deeper fear of revealing my omega status. If I can't even talk about my past without feeling vulnerable, how will I ever tell them about being an omega?

Fuck, I need to tell them sooner or later.

I swallow hard, feeling a pang of old, buried pain. "They died when I was young. Aunt Sara took me in after that."

Zane's expression softens, and he reaches out to gently squeeze my hand. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thanks," I murmur, grateful for his kindness, but there's something in his gaze that makes me uneasy, like he's searching for something beneath my words.

Zane's gaze sharpens. "That must have been tough. Any siblings?"

"No," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just me." He has no idea how that question sends shards of glass through my heart.

You could tell him why. No, I can't.

That would mean I'd have to tell him what happened, and I can't even tell my own reflection what happened.

"So, Aria, what do you like to do in your free time?" Zane asks, his gaze fixed on the competitors, but his attention is clearly on me.

"I enjoy reading," I reply, keeping my tone casual. "Mostly fantasy and adventure novels. They help me escape."

He nods thoughtfully. "Any favorites?"

"The Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas," I say without hesitation. "I love the strong female characters and the intricate world building."

Zane's lips twitch in a half smile. "Sounds like a good read. What about your hopes for the future? Any big dreams or plans?"

I hesitate, trying to think of a safe answer. "I guess I just want to find a place where I belong. A place that feels like home."

He studies me for a moment, searching my eyes. "That's a good goal. We all want to belong somewhere."

I nod, feeling a pang of sadness. "Yeah, we do."

"What about your pack?" he asks suddenly, his tone casual. "You've mentioned a few names, but I don't know much about them."

I frown before turning to face him fully.

What is he getting at here?

I hesitate, my heart pounding. "I don't have a pack, Zane. You know this."

"Yeah, yeah, that's right." Zane nods slowly, but there's a tightness to his jaw, as though he doesn't believe me and he's setting me up. "And Logan? What's his deal?"

I freeze, my mind racing. "Logan? He's, um, new to your security business, right? We haven't met yet."

Zane's eyes narrow slightly, and I feel his suspicion growing. "He seemed pretty interested in you last night."

What would Cayenne say?

I force a laugh, trying to deflect. "Well, I am pretty interesting."

Zane doesn't smile. "You are," he agrees, his voice low, "but there's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

I stare at him, my heart in my throat. "What do you mean?"

Is that what all of this was about? He's fishing for something. This isn't even a date. What a dick. Fine, he's getting feral answers.

He leans closer, his eyes burning into mine. "I can sense you're hiding something, Aria," Zane says, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. "I want to trust you, but as pack protector, I can't ignore my instincts. Help me understand."

The air between us crackles with tension, and I look away, my mind racing. He's right—I am hiding the fact that I can take his knot. I hope it isn't bigger than his ego.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Zane's intensity is both thrilling and unnerving. He's reading me like an open book, seeing through my carefully constructed walls.

He's being an asshole, and from the smirk on his face, he knows it, so I lean in and whisper in his ear. "The only thing I'm hiding is the fact that one time, at band camp…" I say, but it just isn't obnoxious enough. "I ate apple pie."

"Apple pie." He shakes his head, looking to the front of the room again, but I watch him.

"Yep," I reply, and then, because Aunt Sara told me if I ever feel uncomfortable with a man—alpha, beta, or omega—I should bark at him, I channel my inner Chihuahua and let out a series of sharp, ridiculous barks that would make any self-respecting dog cringe. It's obnoxious, it's absurd, and it's absolutely perfect.

I might as well throw a growl or two in there, so I listen to my inner diva and growl.

Zane recoils, his eyes widening in shock. "Did you just…bark at me?"

I grin, feeling a surge of satisfaction. "Sure did, alpha boy. Consider it a warning."

He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're something else, Aria."

"You have no idea," I reply sweetly, batting my eyelashes. I lean in and lick his neck. Honestly, that one was just for me. "I lick too."

Zane chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender, but not wiping off my saliva. "All right, all right. I'll back off with the interrogation…for now."

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile that escapes. Despite his pushiness, there's something magnetic about Zane that keeps drawing me in.

We turn our attention back to the competition, watching as the women spar with impressive skill and grace. I find myself getting lost in the fluid movements, the sharp cracks of fists, and smack of feet against pads.

After a particularly intense match, Zane leans over, his breath tickling my ear. "You know, you could be out there. With some training, I bet you'd give these ladies a run for their money."

I turn to look at Zane, surprised by his words. "Me? Compete in karate? I don't know…"

Zane's dark eyes gleam with confidence. "I'm serious, Aria. You have a fighter's spirit. I can see it in you. With the right guidance, you could be amazing."

His words send a thrill through me, but I shake my head, doubt creeping in. "I'm not sure I have what it takes. I mean, look at these women. They are incredible."

Zane reaches out, gently tilting my chin so I'm forced to meet his gaze. "So are you. Don't sell yourself short. You're stronger than you know."

His touch sends sparks dancing across my skin, and I find myself leaning into him, drawn by his magnetism. "You really think I could do this?" I whisper, my voice laced with vulnerability.

"I know you can," Zane says firmly, his thumb brushing lightly over my jawline. "And I'd be honored to train you, if you'll let me."

I search his eyes, trying to reconcile this supportive Zane with the one who's been grilling me all day. "You're giving me whiplash, you know that?" I say softly. "One minute, you're all suspicion, the next you're my biggest cheerleader."

Zane's expression softens slightly. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure you out, Aria. You're…complicated."

It's almost like he's fighting against his own instincts. A tiny part of me wonders if he suspects what I am, but no—that's impossible. My scent blockers are top-notch. Still, the way he looks at me sometimes... it's like he's seeing a ghost.

By the time the clock strikes one, I'm on the edge of my seat, torn between needing to use the restroom, hunger, and the energy in the room convincing me that I, too, can spar and compete. The competitors' fierce determination is contagious, and I find myself imagining what it would be like to be out there on the mat.

One day, I shall.

"Let's get out of here," Zane says abruptly, standing up and offering me his hand.

"Tell me it's to feed me." I rub my belly before I take his hand and let him lead me away. On the way out, I mentally commit the name of the center to memory.

"Hungry?" he teases.

"Always." My heat is due in literal days. I'm like a bear going into hibernation. Give me all the carbs.

When we reach the bike, Zane turns to me, his expression unreadable. Zane's hand on my arm stops me as I reach for the helmet. "Aria," he says, his voice low and intense. The playful mood from earlier evaporates instantly. "I like you, but I need to know the truth." His grip tightens slightly, not painful but impossible to ignore. "Whatever you're hiding, it's affecting the pack. I can feel it. And as much as I want to trust you, I can't let anything threaten our safety."

I bite my lip, my eyes stinging with unshed tears as he springs the question on me. What the hell? I can't figure him out. "I'm not hiding anything that would hurt the pack, Zane. I promise."

That is a lie. I bite my cheek and look away. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I'm protecting myself, but at what cost? The truth sits heavy on my tongue, a constant weight threatening to slip out at any moment. Every smile, every touch from the pack is both a comfort and a reminder of what I stand to lose if they discover what I really am.

He studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "I hope you're telling the truth," he says, his voice soft but firm, "because if you're not, there will be consequences."

I nod, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt—a nervous habit I thought I'd broken years ago. "I understand," I manage to croak out, hoping Zane can't hear the tremor in my voice.

He hands me the helmet, and I put it on, my mind racing. As we ride back, the wind whipping past us, I can't help but feel a growing sense of dread. Zane is suspicious, and it's only a matter of time before he uncovers the truth. When he does, I don't know what will happen.

For now, I hold on tight, pressing myself against his strong back, and hope that somehow, I can find a way to protect my secrets and keep the pack safe.

As I cling to Zane on the ride back, a chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the wind. They have no idea what Noah is capable of. His shadow looms over everything, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. If I were smarter, I'd cut and run now. But as Zane's warmth seeps into me, I realize I'm in too deep. I just hope I haven't signed their death warrants along with my own.

Not only that, but I'm not sure Zane will forgive me now. He just gave me the chance to come clean, and I didn't take it.