12. Aria

12

ARIA

P anic gripped me as I sprinted through the dense forest toward the palace. The menacing clouds that had gathered in the sky had ruptured, pouring their wrath down on me as if they knew the turmoil that churned within my soul. Raindrops, heavy as stones and cold as ice, assaulted my skin, each one a stinging reminder of the urgency driving my feet.

My breath came in short, sharp bursts, misting the air before the downpour swallowed it. I ran at full speed, my drenched shirt clinging to my skin, though I couldn’t determine if it was from the rain or sweat. Adrenaline and desperation coursed through my veins, granting me a supernatural agility. I vaulted over fallen logs, my heart a wild drumbeat echoing the weather’s fury, drowning out reason and caution. It was as though nature itself conspired to keep me from reaching the sanctuary of my house, to prolong my suspense and agony.

The wet underbrush whipped against my bare legs, leaving thin red welts in their wake. I barely registered the pain, consumed with the need to get back, to confront what awaited me at home. My father’s disappointment and Larkin’s infuriating smugness were the relentless forces propelling me forward.

My foot caught on a protruding root, making me stumble, but reflexes honed from years of training kicked in, preventing me from hitting the ground. I held on to the book and stopped it from hitting the muddy ground. I made a futile gesture to shield it from the rain, attempting to secure it beneath my cloak. I couldn’t afford to drop it or have it get damaged.

By removing it from the shack, I assumed the role of its guardian. I was certain that it held the key to unlocking the ritual the seer had mentioned. When I’d touched it, I’d established an inexplicable connection with it. It was that connection that urged me to explore its contents, but our time had been limited, and I needed to study it more to fully grasp the intricacies of the triskele and the accompanying ritual.

I was absolutely sure of one thing, however. If the shack hadn’t wanted me to take the book, it wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.

Mud sucked at my boots, trying to slow my escape. The thick vegetation grasped at my legs, hindering my progress and reducing my speed. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, the thunder overhead drowning out the sound. Of course, the forest would attempt to ensnare me. It was familiar with my tendencies and knew I often acted on impulse.

I urged my legs to push harder, faster, driven by determination and desperation. My hair was plastered to my face, a wet veil that obscured my vision. I swiped the strands away with my free hand, squinting through the deluge, searching for the outline of my home. Across the sky, a bolt of lightning streaked, providing a brief but radiant guide to lead me forward.

With every stride, the relentless downpour drenched me to the core, as if each raindrop had a personal vendetta against me. As I realized how much time Atticus and I had spent together in the cozy warmth of the shack, the storm seemed to intensify, as if nature itself were scolding me for my tardiness. I fought the pull of what lay ahead. The confrontation, the accusations, the decisions that would shape my future.

That should have slowed me down, made me consider my words to my father carefully. But fear gave wings to my feet, causing me to sprint towards the imminent clash, acutely aware of the urgency and the futility of wasting time on dressing, even though I knew it would only escalate the conflict further.

Finally, the manor’s familiar silhouette appeared through the sheets of rain. The sight fueled my determination to keep moving forward. Resolve settled through me, overpowering any doubts, unyielding to any words spoken tonight. Regardless of the outcome, I would not allow anyone to dictate my future. Not my father, not Larkin, and certainly not some prophecy that sought to chain me to a destiny I never asked for.

With a final burst of energy, I cleared the forest, the open expanse of the training yard and gardens offering no shelter. My pace didn’t falter as my boots struggled to find traction on the wet grass.

The damned rain had miraculously transformed into a mere drizzle by the time I shouldered open the back door, slipping through with ungraceful haste. Water cascaded from my hair, matting it against my cheeks. My heavy, uneven breath fought against the chill that clung to my skin. A shudder racked my body, not just from the cold, but also from the dread of what awaited me.

I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. I had the power to manipulate water. After looking all around to make doubly sure I was alone, I drew the water off myself, my clothing, and the book. It floated in front of me for a moment, and I sent it out the front door to splash on the porch.

Stepping into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces engulfed me. This realm was one my father seldom frequented, preferring to leave it under the watchful eyes of the staff. It was a place I, however, was familiar with.

I exchanged a brief nod with the chef, who looked suitably horrified by my appearance. Drying myself hadn’t exactly neatened me up. Before continuing on to the dining room, I made a detour into a storage closet adjacent to the kitchen. I hastily grabbed a tablecloth from the pile of linens on a table and wrapped it around the book before pushing it deep into a dusty cupboard filled with various pieces of outdated equipment and crockery. Bracing myself for what awaited me, I forced my feet to take me to the dining room.

Shaking off the last remnants of the downpour, I took a step into the dining room, where the air was heavy with expectation. My eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, catching sight of the scattered plates and half-empty goblets.

At the head of the table sat Ragnar—my father, my alpha, and the anchor of our family. His imposing figure was rigid, his hands clasped tightly as if holding back the fury that flickered in his silver eyes that were so like my own. The aura of anger and disappointment that radiated from him had turned the very air denser, making it harder to breathe.

“Father,” I said in the vast silence.

He did not respond, simply regarded me with a look that could freeze flames.

Beside him, Larkin, the man chosen for me, the one who believed he was destined to claim me as his mate, lounged with an ease that ignored the fact that he was a dirty traitor. His unkempt jet-black hair fell over his forehead, framing piercing eyes that now watched me with a mix of amusement and arrogance. That smirk of his, so self-satisfied, so sure of victory, made my skin crawl. It was the look of a predator that had already ensnared its prey.

“Quite the dramatic entrance,” Larkin said. “Though I must say, the drowned rat look is rather unbecoming.”

The comment ignited a spark of anger within me. “Perhaps it’s a new trend, Larkin. You should try it sometime. Might wash away some of that smugness.”

My retort earned me a sharp glance from my father, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when I was so utterly disgusted about the situation being forced on me, with Larkin at the center of it all.

“Sit down,” my father ordered. “We have much to discuss.”

Resigned, I moved toward my usual place. Each step was like moving through molasses, the distance between safety and the snare ahead impossibly long.

As I took my seat, silence settled once more, thick and suffocating. I clenched my jaw, bracing for the incoming fury. This was the game we played, a dance of dominance and submission, where every move could either be a step toward freedom or a descent into a fate that would bind me forever. And as the players took their positions, only one thing was certain: I would not yield without a fight.

“Where have you been?” Father asked without looking at me. “You’re late.”

“I lost track of time,” I said as I wiped at my face. “And then the storm just came out of nowhere.”

Larkin, with that infuriating smirk, said smoothly, “With your new friend, perhaps? Or is it something more?”

“I was alone,” I ground out. “Not that there would be anything wrong with me spending time with someone of my choosing.”

Ragnar’s piercing eyes shifted, locking onto the delicate bracelet encircling my wrist. An innocuous piece of jewelry to anyone else, but under his scrutiny, it might as well have been a shackle.

“And this?” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift,” I said, twisting the bracelet around my wrist. “From a friend.”

“Aria,” Father said, “I expect transparency and honesty. Especially now, with everything that’s at stake for our pack.” He leaned back, his chair creaking under the burden of his disappointment. “Larkin here tells me you’ve been sneaking off pack lands, keeping company with undesirables. Is this true?”

I swallowed hard, my heart thundering in my ears. My father’s expectations were a chasm I could not bridge. Not with honesty, not without betraying myself.

“Is it?” he pressed.

His expectant gaze drilled into me, a visceral reminder that evasion was no longer an option. The truth, an untamed thing, begged for release.

“Father,” I whispered as I steadied myself, “there is… there is something you need to know.” Dammit. I didn’t want to do this with Larkin here, but there was no time to wait. “I’ve learned of a prophecy. One that speaks of change, of a reckoning.”

Ragnar’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “A prophecy?” he said, skepticism lacing his tone like poison.

“Yes, and it involves a rogue wolf.” The words tumbled desperately from my lips. “An outsider who—” I caught myself, swallowing the name that threatened to spill forth and brand my confidante.

“Who what?” he boomed, a crescendo of betrayal and incredulity. “You stand here in our home, spinning tales of rogues and omens while our pack teeters on the precipice?”

The accusation stung, a thousand needles pricking at my pride. “It is not just a tale,” I protested, my own anger flaring to match his. “It’s real, and it’s important.”

“Important?” Ragnar’s laughter was a harsh, grating sound. Scornful. “With our enemies closing in, with our very survival at stake, you choose now to indulge in fairy tales?”

My cheeks burned, humiliation and fury battling within me. “It’s not like that,” I said. “This is bigger than?—”

“Than our pack? Than your duty?” His disappointment had me rearing back, as if his words could physically wound me.

I squared my shoulders, refusing to cower under his disapproval. “No,” I said firmly. “But it’s part of something larger. Something that could change everything for us, for all shifterkind.”

“Change,” he spat, his eyes darkening with a rage that spoke of deep-seated angst. “What do you know of change, little girl? Of sacrifice and the magnitude of leadership?”

“More than you think,” I said. The truth of it rang clear, echoing with the part of me that had always felt the pull of destiny, a siren song that beckoned even as it terrified.

Ragnar’s face hardened with that alpha authority that brooked no challenge. “You are my daughter,” he said, low and lethal. “You will put aside these foolish fantasies and focus on what truly matters—the future and well-being of our pack.”

His words only served to further my resolve. Fury coursed through my veins like wildfire, setting every nerve ending alight with a ferocity that demanded release.

“You think I’m playing at fairy tales?” I snarled. “This is not about games, Father . This is about survival. Mine, yours, the entire pack’s!”

The smirk on Larkin’s face was maddeningly serene. “Grounding and stability, Aria, dear. That’s what we need,” he said. “And our union is the perfect remedy for your flights of fancy.”

The insinuation turned my stomach, threatening to expel the meager contents of my stomach onto the polished wooden floor. Bile rose in my throat, acid and acrid, as Larkin turned toward my father, his tone shifting to one of feigned concern. “Ragnar, perhaps it’s best if we?—”

“Enough.” Ragnar rose from his seat. “I need some time. Both of you, go to the library. Warm yourselves by the fire.” He waved a dismissive hand, the iron authority of the alpha reasserting control over the chaos. “The maids will bring tea.”

“I don’t want to be alone with him,” I said.

My father’s stormy eyes met mine, and a silent battle of wills raged between us. “You have disgraced the pack enough,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “You will do as you are told.”

I swallowed the retort that threatened to spill over. It would only stoke his ire. With measured steps, I led the way to the library, my movements automatic, my mind a labyrinth of turmoil and dark whispers. The crackling of the fire greeted us, but it did nothing to thaw the ice in my veins.

“Sit,” I said tersely to Larkin, gesturing to a high-backed chair near the hearth. I settled on the sofa, watching the flames reflected in the gilded accents of the room. The fire’s golden light cast a glow on the treasure trove of knowledge that lined the walls.

The sound of clinking porcelain heralded the arrival of the maids, who set down a tray laden with steaming teacups before retreating with hushed steps. The scent of bergamot permeated the air, fragrant and not at all comforting.

“Thank you.” I reached for a cup with fingers that betrayed none of the tremors that shook my core. The heat seeped into my palms, offering a fleeting comfort. I took a sip of the bitter brew, letting its robust flavor ground me to the present.

“Disgraced.” Larkin picked up the word my father had used as if it were currency. “Have you lost your way so completely, Aria? Or is there more to it? Some rogue influence, perhaps?”

His words were like a slap, tinged with condescension and the bitter hint of truth. “You think you know me so well, but you see only what you want,” I said.

“Ah, but I see quite clearly,” he taunted, moving even closer, his breath warm on my skin, a caress I neither wanted nor welcomed. “I see an unruly girl in desperate need of guidance. And who better than her destined mate to provide it?”

“Destined?” I laughed bitterly. “There’s nothing destined about this farce. You’re just another chain they’re trying to bind me with.”

“A chain? Or perhaps a lifeline, pulling you back from whatever abyss you are about to fall into.”

“Enough,” I snapped, my patience frayed to its very limits. “I won’t stand here and be insulted in my own home. Not by you.”

“ Your home?” Larkin’s dark chuckle skated along my nerves. “You forget yourself. This isn’t just your home; it’s the core of the pack. And one way or another, you will fulfill your obligation to it.”

“By being shackled to you?” I hissed in disdain. “Nothing could compel me to accept such a fate.”

Larkin’s eyes narrowed, the hunter scenting the challenge I presented. He stepped forward, a looming figure intent on intimidation. “It’s not about what you accept. It’s about the good of the pack.”

“And since when did you become the arbiter of what’s good for the pack?”

“Since I agreed to take you as my mate,” he said, the possession in his tone setting my teeth on edge.

“Agreed?” I scoffed. “As if you had any say in the matter. You’re just as much a pawn in this as I am.”

“Perhaps,” he said, a glint of something shrewd passing through his gaze. “But even pawns can change the course of the game. And I intend to make my moves count.”

The fury churning in my belly burned hotter than the fire crackling in the hearth.

“If Ragnar truly believed you knew what’s best for our pack, he wouldn’t be so adamant about our union,” Larkin added. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” I echoed, glaring at him. The silence that fell between us was thick, heavy with unspoken truths and lies. “Your escapades with the Crimson Fang pack have not gone unnoticed. Do you want to share what it is you are doing with them? Are they not the enemy?”

Larkin leaned back in his chair with confidence that made my skin crawl. “While you think cavorting with Atticus and chasing fairy tales are what’s best for us, I’ve been working as an envoy and am trying to broker peace with the Crimson Fang. I have told Ragnar as much.”

I glanced at the bracelet and watched, horrorstruck, as its stones turned as black as the night outside. It was reacting to his deceit, to the malice hidden within his every word.

“Stop lying,” I said, my resolve hardening. “You’re hiding something. Your stories don’t add up.”

But the truth was, I couldn’t confirm what Larkin had been doing with Crimson Fang. I hadn’t seen it myself. All I had were Atticus’s claims, and even if I did tell my father, he wouldn’t believe me, and I would be criticized for believing in a rogue. No one in the pack would take the word of a rogue seriously.

And there it was, the crux of our world, where bloodlines and loyalty overshadowed the truth, leaving those who dared to defy the status quo to stand alone.

As if reading my mind, Larkin’s lips twitched into a vile semblance of a smile, one that made me want to vomit. “Oh, come now. Let’s leave the politics to your father while he is still alpha. You and I should have some fun together. If your rogue friend Atticus is getting his share, then your future mate should definitely be getting some.” His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips in a grotesque gesture that made me want to claw his eyes out.

“Shut your mouth.” The words erupted from me, raw and seething. “Don’t you dare bring Atticus into this.”

A shadow crossed Larkin’s face. “You’ve been spending too much time with that filth. It stops. Now. You will no longer see him. Do you understand me? I will no longer tolerate your attempts to humiliate me in front of the pack.”

“I fail to comprehend how Atticus or the time I spend with him is related to whatever self-esteem issues you have about your image with the pack.” I put my teacup on the table, aware I was now deliberately pushing his buttons. My temper was as close to boiling point as it had ever been.

Larkin slammed his hands down on the table, making the porcelain rattle. “Enough! You realize I can hear every word the pack is saying about me? Insulting me? Calling me a cuckold, a pussy?” His voice lowered, and his expression shifted into an evil sneer. “I’ve had enough. The pack will get what’s coming to it, they’ll see who the pussy is.” He shook himself, turning his attention back to me. “Speaking of pussy, if that bastard is getting between your legs, I think it’s high time you put out for me.”

No, I was taking control of my future and my autonomy. Larkin could go fuck himself. I glared at him, my whole body shaking.

“Never,” I said through clenched teeth, the word pure poison on my tongue. “I will never put out for you.”

Larkin advanced, each step deliberate and calculated, a predator zeroing in on its prey. He backed me into a corner, the cold wall at my back reminding me there was no escape. He brushed my cheek with a feigned tenderness that revolted me.

“Come now,” he cooed. “It’s only fair. You’re mine, after all. What difference will a ritual make? It’s not as if you’re pure.” He spoke about me, my body, as if I were nothing more than an object for his taking.

I tried to yell, to call for help.

“There’s no one around, darling.”

White-hot hatred flared within me. I gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat directly into his smug face. For a second, surprise danced across his features, and I seized the chance to bolt. But Larkin had quick reflexes. His hand shot out, grasping at my arm, and I stumbled, gravity yanking me down hard onto the floor.

Panic surged. My skin prickled, the wolf inside me clawing to the surface, desperate to protect, to fight, to survive. With a snarl ripping from my lips, I embraced the shift, my human form giving way to the sleek fur and powerful muscles of my wolf.

But before I could launch myself at Larkin, the door exploded inward, and Atticus burst into the room. Shadows writhed like living things, an extension of his will, and lunged at Larkin. They curled on his neck, hoisting him up against the wall, his feet dangling inches from the floor.

Larkin clawed at the shadows throttling him, his face turning a sickly shade of purple. In that instant, the predator had become the prey, and the sight gave me grim satisfaction.

The world contracted until there was nothing but the warmth of Atticus’s arms as I shifted back into my human form and collapsed against his solid chest.

“You’re safe,” he said. “I have you.”

In the haven of his arms, I allowed myself to break down. With each steady beat of his heart against mine, warmth spread through me. I looked up into his eyes, dark pools filled with a fierce protectiveness that made something within me yearn with a ferocity that startled me. Could it be possible to find comfort in this rogue who defied all expectations? The thought of a real future with him sparked a dangerous hope inside me. One that still seemed so impossible, yet increasingly less so as the days wore on.

A soft kiss on my forehead jolted me from my thoughts, and Atticus turned away, his attention shifting to the man who had cornered me. Shadows writhed at his command, tightening around Larkin. Larkin gasped and struggled, but the darkness held him in an unyielding grip.

“Clearly, no one ever taught you how to treat a woman,” Atticus said. “Let me make this crystal-clear. If your hands, or any part of you, touch Aria without her consent, I will personally ensure you’ll have nothing left to touch anyone with again.”

The threat hung in the air, a promise of retribution that was broken by the sudden appearance of my father. He looked between us, taking in the scene, a tableau of defiance and dominance.

“What the hell is going on here?” Ragnar’s words echoed off the walls, filled with the authority of an alpha unused to being challenged within his own domain.

The line had been drawn, and now a choice awaited me.

My father’s face was full of confusion and anger as he took in the chaos he’d walked into. Larkin, dangling from Atticus’s shadowy grasp, gasped for every strained breath.

I stepped forward. “Larkin became aggressive. He made advances I did not welcome and forced me to defend myself. I had to shift. That was when Atticus intervened.”

Ragnar looked toward the stranger who held the man he had chosen as his daughter’s mate against the wall. “And who might you be?” he growled.

“Atticus Sebastian Thorne,” I said before Atticus could speak, giving him the introduction he deserved. “He came to my aid.”

My father pointed at Larkin. “Release him.”

“Of course,” Atticus said, his tone smooth as silk yet edged with steel. “Provided he adheres to the terms we just agreed on.”

Larkin nodded reluctantly. “I won’t touch her,” he croaked. The shadows receded, releasing Larkin to stumble forward, regaining his composure. His chest heaved as he shot me a look that burned with resentment.

“Tell your side,” Ragnar demanded of Larkin, his fury barely contained.

“Sir, it was all a misunderstanding.” Larkin straightened his shirt and attempted to regain some semblance of dignity. “Things simply got... blown out of proportion.”

“Is that so?” Atticus said darkly. Instantly, his shadows lashed out once more, slamming Larkin back against the wall with a force that rattled the frames on the walls. “We do not appreciate lies here, do we? Which part is it that you think got blown out of proportion, Larkin? When Aria said no, or when she had to shift in order to defend herself?”

“Atticus.” I grabbed his arm, both shocked and thrilled at his display. We were playing a dangerous game, but I couldn’t help the rush of adrenaline that surged through me.

“Stop that this instant,” Ragnar said sharply. “I will not have this spectacle in my house.”

The balance of power shifted in the room. Larkin, caught in the vise-like grip of Atticus’s shadows, had gone from predator to prey. And Atticus stood as my unexpected champion. Whatever happened next would change the course of our fates forever.

“I don’t know what you think is happening here between you and my daughter, but it ends tonight.” My father stood tall, every inch the alpha, his presence dominating the space even as the darkness loomed ominously. “You are not part of this pack. You have no right to barge into my home or onto my land uninvited.”

I swallowed hard. The room spun slightly as I tried to ground myself, the heat of my wolf bristling just beneath my skin, ready to defend again if needed. It was hard to believe that mere seconds ago, I had been cornered and helpless. Now here was Atticus, standing between me and the future I dreaded.

Atticus was surprisingly calm. “And you, Ragnar,” he said, his cold, ice-blue eyes fixed on my father, “have failed to keep her safe in your own house.” His shadows crept closer to my father, a silent threat that made even the mighty alpha’s resolve waver. “Since you cannot guarantee her safety, she will be coming with me.”

My father’s eyes widened, alarm dancing across his features for the briefest of moments before his mask of authority settled back into place.

“She will not.” He moved farther into the room, his words a low rumble that vibrated through the floor.

The sight of Larkin immobilized by the ever-shifting shadows that Atticus controlled so effortlessly was empowering. I couldn’t help my peculiar fascination as Larkin’s face went from pale, to red, to purple as the shadows cut off his oxygen supply. His fear emanated a pungent odor that permeated the room. I had to wonder exactly what quality my father thought he saw that made Larkin suitable to be my mate. He was a coward and working with the enemy. Once again, I cursed the unfair pack politics that favored Larkin. Atticus, who possessed ten times the integrity, would be dismissed.

When Atticus withdrew his shadows, Larkin collapsed to the floor, the carpet providing a small amount of cushioning. He lay still on the floor, filling his lungs with air. The only sign of his anger was the curling of his fists. Larkin was no longer an immediate threat.

I turned my attention back to Atticus and my father.

“Ragnar,” Atticus said, as if discussing the weather rather than challenging an alpha in his own lair, “your threats hold no sway over me. As you just pointed out. I do not answer to your pack, and certainly not to a man who cannot protect what is precious within his own walls.”

For an instant, I allowed myself to marvel at the sheer audacity of the man. He was defying my father so openly. No one had ever done that. There was something undeniably alluring about his confidence, so unshakeable even in the face of such opposition.

“Your arrogance will be your undoing,” Ragnar said, though his voice had lost some of its authority.

Atticus merely smiled, a slow, predatory grin that hinted at battles yet to be fought.

I stepped in between my father and Atticus. “I need space.”

The words were tiny rebellions, each syllable a step away from the life I’d always known, the life expected of me. My father’s desire to tether me to his will had trapped me. A maelstrom of emotions raged in me now, the clashing forces of pack loyalty and Atticus, so strong that I struggled to find clarity. I needed space, room to breathe. To break free from the suffocating confines of duty and tradition that had held me captive for far too long.

My father made to grab my arm. Before another word could escape my lips, Atticus’s presence surged forward, filling the room with an almost physical darkness that commanded attention. Shadows bent to his will, wrapping us in a protective embrace that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“You might want to rethink that,” Atticus said. It was a warning cloaked in velvet darkness, a declaration that he would not be moved.

Caught between the man who had raised me and the rogue who had captured my heart, I knew that no matter which way I chose, there would be consequences. With Atticus by my side, I might have the bravery to face them.

“Let’s go.” Atticus extended his hand, an offer of escape, of protection. My fingers wavered as I slipped my hand into his. The touch was electric, grounding yet igniting every nerve within me.

“I just need some time,” I said to my father.

Anger and betrayal flitted across my father’s face. The sight cleaved through me, splintering the vestiges of our bond. My father should have been the one to comfort me, not this enigmatic rogue. Yet, here I was, choosing the unknown over the stifling certainty of my past. Ragnar’s disbelief in me, a once-unimaginable chasm, now yawned wide and insurmountable.

“Come,” Atticus urged me, his grip reassuring around my hand. The shadows recoiled at his silent command, granting us passage. As we strode through the rooms, I stopped to pick up the book I had taken from the shack in the clearing, then I left the house that had long been my sanctuary.

As we walked over the grounds, I allowed myself a fleeting glance back. My father stood framed in the door, a towering figure dimmed by the loss of trust.