19. Aria

19

ARIA

The sun is barely up when I step into the Omega Guardians dojo, the soft light spilling through the high windows bathing the room in a muted glow. The familiar scent of leather and sweat wraps around me like a tight coat—comforting and claustrophobic all at once.

I take in the space. Mirrors line one wall, all the training equipment is neatly arranged, and the soft blue mats beneath my feet absorb the sound of my footsteps. It’s a place meant for action, but right now, it feels like the silence is pressing in from all sides.

Zane’s already here, standing in the middle of the mat, his frame silhouetted by the pale morning light. He looks different—his posture relaxed and shoulders slumped in a way that makes him seem smaller and less alpha-like. Gone is the cocky, self-assured stance I remember. He looks open and almost vulnerable. It catches me off guard, and I hesitate for a second.

“Aria,” he says, his voice low and unsteady. “Thanks for coming.”

I nod, biting back the retort that sits on my tongue. There’s a lot I want to say, but words feel too sharp right now. We move to the center of the mat, circling each other slowly, the tension between us electric. The soft squeak of our feet on the mat seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

“You ready?” Zane asks, raising his hands in a loose defensive stance.

Instead of answering, I lunge, throwing a quick jab at his midsection. He blocks easily, the sharp smack of skin on skin echoing in the dojo, but he doesn’t counterattack. He takes another step back, his stance wide and open, waiting for me.

This dance continues. I attack, and he defends, never striking back. Frustration builds with each missed opportunity to land a real hit, and resentment simmers just beneath my skin. The air grows thick with the scent of our sweat and the lingering traces of Zane’s alpha pheromones, a potent mix that makes my head spin.

“Fight back,” I snap, landing a punch to his shoulder that forces him to step back. The dull thud of the impact vibrates through my arm, satisfying but not enough.

Zane just shakes his head, calmness in his eyes that only stokes the fire in my chest. “I’m not here to fight you, Aria. I’m here to protect you.”

His words hit like a match on dry tinder. I can’t hold back anymore. The anger I’ve bottled up pours out in a flurry of kicks and punches. The sounds of our heavy breathing and rapid-fire impacts fill the air. He deflects, dodges, and weaves, his breath coming faster now, but he never once raises a hand to strike. I don’t stop until I manage to sweep his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat with a resounding thud.

I’m on him in an instant, pinning him down, my fist raised high, ready to deliver the blow, but I freeze when I see his face—no fear, no anger, just… acceptance. As I hover over him, his face inches from mine, I feel a jolt of electricity that has nothing to do with the fight. His scent, a mix of sweat and something uniquely him, surrounds me, making me lightheaded.

“Why?” My voice breaks, tangled with confusion and hurt. “Why aren’t you fighting back?”

Zane meets my gaze, unflinching. “Because I deserve this,” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hurt you, Aria. I let my pride, my anger… everything blind me. I was wrong. If this is what you need, if this is what it takes for you to trust me again, then I’ll take it.”

His words hit like a physical blow. Part of me wants to cling to my anger, but another part—a part I’m not ready to acknowledge—feels a glimmer of hope. I lower my fist, the fight bleeding out of me. I don’t know what to make of the raw sincerity in his eyes and the way he just lies there, completely at my mercy, without a single flinch.

“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’re just… accepting this?”

He nods, still pinned beneath me. “I’m trying to change, Aria. I want to be better. I want to be someone you can trust, someone who can protect you because you’re strong, not because you need it.”

I roll off him and sit on the mat, the space between us heavy with all the things I don’t know how to say. Zane sits up slowly, rubbing his shoulder where I landed a solid hit, but he doesn’t complain. We’re both quiet for a long moment, our breaths loud in the stillness of the dojo.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I admit, the words a bitter truth I’m not ready to swallow. “But… I’m willing to consider that you might have changed,” I add with a spark of my old spirit. “I may be down, Zane, but I’m far from out. Don’t think for a second this makes us even.”

Zane’s lips twitch into a faint smile, more relief than joy. “That’s more than I deserve,” he says softly. Then, with a hint of his old charm, he adds, “And I wouldn’t dream of thinking we’re even. You have a mean right hook that I’m not likely to forget anytime soon.”

Despite myself, I feel a small smile tugging at my lips. “Well, at least your memory’s intact. That’s something.”

We stretch out on the mat, the silence between us no longer as sharp. As I work through the tension in my muscles, feeling the burn of exertion, Zane clears his throat, hesitancy creeping back into his voice. “There’s something else,” he begins, glancing at me. “We spent all night looking into Logan—Noah. I think we have an idea of where he’s been staying.”

I pause mid-stretch, my heart picking up speed again. “How do you know?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on things,” he says carefully. “Since we found out he was here, we’ve been tracking his movements. I can share what we know if you’re up for it.”

I study him, my gaze catching on the bruise already forming under his eye, a testament to this morning’s sparring, but he meets my gaze steadily. I see no trace of resentment, only an earnestness that makes me want to believe him, even when every instinct tells me to keep my guard up.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Tell me what you know.”

We sit on the mat, cross-legged, the quiet of the dojo wrapping around us like a comforting blanket. There’s a strange kind of peace in the air, not quite trust but something close. Zane clears his throat, glancing at me with a mix of determination and hesitation.

“We spent most of last night digging into Noah’s movements,” Zane starts, his voice low but clear. “It wasn’t easy. He’s been careful, slipping under the radar, but Quinn pulled a few strings with some old contacts, and we got a hit.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “What did you find?”

Zane pulls his phone out, swiping through a series of photos. He shows me images of security footage, grainy but unmistakable. There’s Noah, lingering outside the Omega Guardians building, then later, pacing near my apartment complex. My stomach churns at the sight.

“He’s been watching you,” Zane continues, his voice tight with anger that he’s struggling to control. “He’s been using an alias, Logan Pierce, to slip through the cracks. He rented a place directly across from you and paid in cash, no credit trail.” He winces before blowing out a breath and admitting, “We even ran into him there while staking out your apartment. We fucking watched him enter the one across from yours.”

I swallow hard, staring at the screen. The thought of Noah lurking so close, hidden behind a name that once felt safe, sends a shiver down my spine. I glance at Zane, his expression grim as he keeps talking, filling in the gaps with what they pieced together.

“We talked to a few of the businesses in the area,” Zane says, his eyes locked on the photos. “He’s been asking about you, posing as an old friend who’s worried about your safety.”

The bitter taste of betrayal rises in my throat. “He’s always been good at pretending,” I mutter mostly to myself, “and making people believe he’s something he’s not.”

Zane nods, his gaze softening. “We know. He even fooled us, and that’s why we aren’t taking any chances. Malachi’s already coordinating with Omega Guardians to set up a tighter security perimeter around your apartment and the salon. We’re talking round-the-clock surveillance, reinforced security systems, the works.”

I nod, absorbing the information, my mind a swirl of thoughts and fears. My hands clench involuntarily, digging my nails into my palms. “And the pack? How are you all handling this?”

Zane’s jaw tightens, the first real sign of the tension he’s been holding back. “We’re all in, Aria. Whatever it takes to keep you safe. We’re pulling surveillance and tracking his every move. We’ll know where he is before he can even think about making a move on you. Quinn’s working on some high-tech tracking system, Dash is using his contacts in the music scene to keep an ear to the ground, and I… well, I’m here, ready to do whatever you need.”

The intensity in his voice sends a pulse of warmth through me, a tiny flicker of gratitude buried under all the anxiety. For the first time, it feels like someone is on my side, someone willing to step into the fire with me instead of just watching from the sidelines.

Zane pauses, his eyes meeting mine with a sincerity that makes my breath catch. “I know we have a lot of history, and not all of it’s good, but we’re here now, and we aren’t going anywhere.”

The silence between us grows heavier, laden with the unspoken acknowledgment of everything that’s happened—pain, betrayal, misunderstandings—but there’s something else there too. A fragile, tentative bridge is forming, built on the promise of protection and the possibility of redemption.

I let out a slow breath, nodding as I push the phone toward him. “Thank you for telling me, and for… everything.” My voice wavers slightly, betraying the mix of emotions churning inside me.

Zane’s lips twitch into a faint smile, the kind that barely touches his eyes but still feels like a step forward. “We’re your pack now, Aria. That means we have your back, whether you’re throwing punches or dodging them.” His voice takes on a more enigmatic tone as he adds, “Training isn’t just about physical strength, Aria. It’s about understanding the shadows within yourself… and learning to dance with them.”

The sun continues to climb, filling the dojo with light. As we sit here, I catch a glimpse of our reflections in the mirrored wall—two people marked by past mistakes but facing forward, ready to tackle whatever comes next. For the first time, the idea of leaning on someone else doesn’t seem quite so terrifying. It feels like hope.

As we stand to leave, the reality of Noah’s proximity crashes over me again. My breath catches, and my hands start to shake.

Zane notices, his brow furrowing with concern. “Aria?” he asks softly. “Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I… I don’t know,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s so close, Zane. What if he?—”

“Hey,” Zane interrupts gently, his hand hovering near my shoulder, not quite touching. “We won’t let him get to you. I promise.”

The intensity of Zane’s gaze makes my heart skip a beat. I want to believe him, want to trust in the strength and determination I see in his eyes, but years of pain and betrayal aren’t so easily forgotten.

“You can’t promise that,” I say, my voice stronger than I feel. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Zane’s expression softens, a mix of understanding and purpose etching his features. “You’re right,” he admits. “I can’t promise he won’t try, but I can promise that we’ll be ready—that I’ll be ready.”

He takes a step closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Aria, I know I let you down before. I know I’ve been… well, an ass.” A wry smile tugs at his lips. “But I meant what I said earlier. I’ve planted my feet, Aria. You’d need a wrecking ball to move me now.”

I search his face, looking for any sign of deception, but all I see is a raw honesty that makes my chest tighten.

“I want to believe you,” I whisper, the words feeling like a confession.

Zane nods, not pushing or demanding more than I can give. “Then let me prove it to you,” he says. “Day by day, action by action, I’ll show you that you can trust me again.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Zane’s words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise and possibility. For a heartbeat, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to truly trust him again, to have someone I can lean on in this fight against Noah.

Old habits die hard, though, and I catch myself before I can fall too deep into that fantasy. I take a step back, creating some distance between us. “Okay,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Alright, Zane, but remember, I have eyes like a hawk and the memory of an elephant. Every move counts.”

Zane nods, respect clear in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” With a crooked smile, he nods his head toward the mat. “One more round?”

“You’re on.” I move faster than he can react with that right hook.

As we fall back into our sparring stance, I can’t help but think about how this interaction with Zane might affect my relationships with the other pack members. Each of them brings something unique to the table, and here’s Zane, offering his strength and protection. For the first time, I allow myself to consider that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to face this alone. Perhaps having a pack at my back isn’t a weakness, but a strength I’ve never allowed myself before.

The thought both terrifies and exhilarates me as we dance across the mat, our movements a physical representation of the delicate balance we’re trying to strike. Trust and caution, hope and fear, and past and future are all intertwined in a complex choreography that we’re just beginning to learn.