14. Aria

14

ARIA

T he next morning, I blinked away the remnants of sleep, the lull of a dream where the stars danced just for us. Stretching languidly, muscles content, I relished the afterglow from spending the night with Atticus. It had been a truly magical evening—meteors streaking across the sky like falling fireflies, our bodies uniting in passionate desire. The warmth of him curled against me was strange and wonderful.

“Morning,” I said, my voice hoarse. It was an odd feeling, this tranquility. Like wearing someone else’s clothes.

Atticus moved, his eyelids barely opening, but he gave me a lazy smile that set off a riotous fluttering in my stomach. He rolled over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Good morning,” he said. “We have a new day to conquer.”

“Starting with...?” I raised myself up on one elbow.

“Breakfast,” he said, and slipped out from under the blanket, pulling on his pants but leaving them unbuttoned. My gaze trailed over his bare chest down to the trail of hair that disappeared into his pants. He padded barefoot across the stone floor to the threshold that led out to the common areas.

A part of me wanted to linger in bed, to hold onto the serenity a while longer. But the pull of companionship, the simple pleasure of sharing a meal, coaxed me to dress and follow him out of the bedroom.

In the kitchen, Atticus moved with ease, gathering ingredients like a man who knew his way around pots and pans. I leaned against the wall, watching him. There was something unexpectedly tender about this warrior-turned-chef wielding a spatula instead of a sword.

“Need any help?” I asked. The idea of cooking was about as alien to me as diplomatic subtlety, but I was willing to learn.

“Keep me company,” he answered over his shoulder. “That’s help enough.”

As the scent of brewing coffee intermingled with the crisp morning air, Atticus cracked eggs into a bowl with a rhythmic precision that was almost hypnotic. The clink of the whisk against the ceramic sent a comforting cadence through the kitchen.

My short-lived happiness was ruined by reality pressing in from all sides. Here, in this slice of domestic tranquility, I found a strange peace. One that seemed so fragile when held against the backdrop of doubt and discord that marred my life beyond these walls. However, as much as I yearned for it, I couldn’t deny the truth that this was merely a temporary respite. Though I hated the prospect, I’d have to confront the harsh realities of the real world and the role I was destined to play. With limited time left in this secluded bubble, I would have to make the most of every precious second.

Crossing my arms, I leaned back against the counter as Atticus flipped a pancake with a flourish. The golden disc sailed through the air, landing back in the pan with a satisfying splat. The corners of my mouth twitched despite the turmoil churning in my stomach.

“Show-off,” I teased.

“Only for you,” he said with easy confidence.

With the aroma of maple syrup and sizzling bacon cocooning me, I allowed myself to consider the chaos that awaited beyond Atticus’s den. My father’s stern face, the disappointment clear in the lines of his forehead, played through my mind. Why couldn’t he see the truth?

“Are you okay?” Atticus asked, looking at me in concern.

“Fine,” I said, mustering a smile, but my heart constricted.

Atticus set down the spatula and stepped closer. His hand found mine, warmth enveloping my cold fingers. “We’re going to get through this.”

Grief, affection, and fear swirled inside me. I was in serious danger of being swept away. But there was also strength, kindled by the steadfast presence of the man before me.

“Pass me the salt?” he asked.

“Sure.” I reached for the shaker and handed it to him. “Do you always cook breakfast like this?”

“Only on special occasions,” he said.

I chuckled. So, our night together counted as a special occasion for him. “Does burning toast count as your specialty, or is that reserved for more formal events?”

“Ha-ha,” he said, feigning offense. “For your information, I’ve mastered the art of not burning toast. It’s all about vigilance and a keen sense of timing.”

“Right, because watching bread brown is the height of culinary expertise,” I said, the banter lightening the iron weight in my chest.

He fixed me a plate and handed me a fork. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

We sat at the small table in the back of the room. Birds chirped outside, a reminder that the world carried on, oblivious to the turmoil of werewolf politics and prophetic rituals.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Surprisingly, yes.” I poked at the scrambled eggs with my fork, my thoughts drifting. “It’s been a while since I haven’t woken with a mile-long to-do list waiting for me.”

Atticus frowned. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Comes with the territory of being the alpha’s daughter.” I tried to keep my tone light, wanting to revel in the normality of sharing a meal without the heavy burden of expectations.

I took a bite, the flavors bursting on my tongue. It was funny how something so mundane could bring such profound joy. My days were usually scripted down to the minute, yet here I was, adrift in time with him, and it was so liberating.

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, at how content I was with eggs and banter when everything else seemed to be crumbling. My father would probably have a fit if he could see me now, lounging in a den of rogues, finding solace in the very thing he’d warned me against: attachment beyond the pack.

Atticus waved his fork in front of my face. “Earth to Aria.”

“Sorry, just thinking.” I flashed him a sheepish grin. “About how different this is.”

“Good different, I hope.” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“Definitely good.” I basked in the warmth of his touch and the comfort of an ordinary morning that suddenly meant so much more.

“Okay.” Atticus brought my fingers to his lips, brushing them with a gentle kiss, “I’m going to jump in the bath. Do you want to wait for me in the bedroom, or will you be okay in the common area?”

“I think I’ll be safe enough,” I said, a wry grin playing on my lips. It would give me an opportunity to bond with the people important to him, those he’d carefully selected to be part of his life. “I can play nice.”

He gave me a wicked look. “Oh, I know how nice you can play, Aria. But can you get on with them ?”

I playfully narrowed my eyes at him. “Ha, you’re quite the comedian. I’ll be fine. You go wash up. You definitely don’t smell as good as the bacon.”

He left the small kitchen, and I got up from the table and walked to the large communal room. The morning light spilled into the den, coating the worn furniture and makeshift family in gold. I leaned nervously against the doorframe, watching Mia weave stories with her graceful hands, her laughter a melody. The room grew quiet when they noticed my presence.

Mia’s friendly tone broke the silence. “Morning, Aria. Sleep well?” I flushed at her knowing look. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything for breakfast?”

“Thank you, but Atticus made me something. He went to take a bath. He’ll be back shortly,” I said, not sure why I was explaining myself.

“Ah, he’s trying to impress you with his cooking skills,” Lyza said, her voice sharp as a steel blade.

Mia sent me a sympathetic glance. “Now, Lyza, you’re not beyond doing a bit of impressing yourself,” she said to her friend. “Lyza was seeing a young pup,” she told me. “This was when we were up in the northern territories.”

Lyza groaned. “Really? You’re going to tell this one, again? You need to get some new material.”

“Anyway,” Mia continued with a mischievous grin, “she was seeing this younger shifter and thought it’d be a brilliant idea to serve fresh salmon for breakfast. When she got down to the river, there was a family of brown bears enjoying a feast, so she decided to challenge the mama bear during the height of salmon season.” Mia stole a quick glance at Lyza. “She nearly scared both the fish and the bear half to death.”

Lyza rolled her eyes, but her mouth tilted up at the corner. She was warming up, the iciness that had glazed her face now melting into something softer, more approachable.

“Sometimes you have to shake things up,” Lyza said. “Keeps life interesting.”

“Interesting is one word for it,” I said, smiling at her. “What about the shifter? Was he suitably impressed?”

Lyza gave a sardonic laugh. “Not as impressed as I was with the bear’s fishing skills.”

Mia looked at me. “Out here, we rely on each other like a pack, but without the hierarchy and power games. We’re family by choice, not by blood or birthright.”

“That sounds so freeing,” I said, the words slipping out before I could weigh them down with the sarcasm that usually armored my tongue. The sincerity in Mia’s tone disarmed me, a genuine kindness that I wasn’t accustomed to in the rigid structure of pack life.

She lifted a teapot from an old, battered table and gestured at an empty cup. I nodded, and she poured the fragrant tea.

“Freedom has its price, but it’s worth every sacrifice,” Mia said. She leaned forward and searched my face. “What about you? What are your dreams beyond the alpha lineage?”

With Mia’s earnest curiosity coaxing my desires to the surface, I pondered paths untraveled.

“Sometimes I dream of seeing what lies beyond our territories,” I said. “There’s something thrilling about the idea of waking up and having the entire day ahead of me, completely unplanned and open to possibilities. To explore without purpose or obligations, without my father and his elders pushing me and guiding my steps in what they’ve deemed the correct direction.”

“Then you’ll fit right in with us,” Mia said warmly. “We’ve all got our stories, our scars, and our wild dreams. Seems you do, too.”

Leaning back against the worn couch cushions, I sipped the tea, letting its warmth seep into my bones. Mia and Lyza chatted about mundane, everyday things, their voices forming a calming current that gradually eroded the solitude I was so used to. Here, in this cozy den, I found an ease I hadn’t known I was seeking.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Lyza turned her attention back to me, her tone less guarded than before. “To just be.”

Meeting her gaze, I nodded. Her face held stories of its own. “It does,” I said, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. For once, I wasn’t the alpha’s daughter.

I was just Aria.

Lyza leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she studied me with newfound curiosity. “So, what’s it actually like? Being the alpha’s daughter?”

The question elicited a dry chuckle out of me, the kind that carried years of expectations on its back. “Complicated.” I took a sip of my tea. “I love my pack, and I’d do anything for my father, but...” I trailed off as I searched for the words that might explain the oppression of a crown never chosen.

“But?” Lyza leaned in closer.

“Sometimes it’s like living under a mountain, if the mountain were made of judgment,” I said. “Every step is measured, every decision scrutinized. It’s a lot of pressure. One false move could send an avalanche crashing down.”

“Ugh, sounds suffocating,” Lyza said in empathy… or was it recognition? She knew what I meant and understood constraints all too well, just of a different kind.

“Sometimes it is,” I said, surprised by my own candor. In the open-air sanctuary of Atticus’s den, vulnerability seemed less a weakness and more a bridge connecting our disparate lives.

“Yet, here you are,” Lyza said with a hint of respect. “Breathing the fresh air with the rest of us rogues.”

I chuckled, the sound lighter than before. “Yeah, here I am.”

I carried my empty cup to the sink and leaned against the worn wooden table in the kitchen, watching Lyza pace after me with an easy grace that spoke of untethered freedom. Her laughter had a wild ring to it.

“Freedom’s got its perks.” She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. “I go where I want, do what I please. But it’s not without its downsides.” She paused. “There’s no pack to call your own, no shared strength in numbers. Loneliness can be an unyielding hunter, even for the wildest of us.”

“Yet, you’ve got this.” I gestured around, encompassing the den and its inhabitants. “Your chosen family.”

“Damn right,” she said with pride. “We’re tighter than any pack I’ve ever known. Trust is our bond, not blood.”

“Speaking of family.” Mia emerged from the other room with another steaming teapot. “You’ll always have a place here with us. You’re part of us now.”

“Thank you,” I said. To be accepted so openly, so freely, was a strange yet welcome sensation.

“Ah, Mia.” Joren chuckled as he entered the room and wrapped an arm around Mia’s shoulders. “Our resident mother hen, always gathering chicks under her wings.”

“Someone’s got to look after you lot,” Mia said, but the softness around her eyes betrayed her love for this ragtag assembly of souls.

“Speaking of taking care of ourselves, when was the last time we ventured out of the den for a run?” Joren asked.

“The weather has been so stormy lately that going outside has been out of the question,” Lyza said.

“Well, in that case,” Joren replied, “I have good news. The sun is out! We should make the most of it before the next storm rolls in. I can’t wait to feel the wind blowing through my fur. It’s the perfect opportunity to shake off the cobwebs and blow off some steam.”

As I watched their easy camaraderie, I realized how much I had enjoyed talking with them, relaxing around them. A surprising surge of jealousy bubbled up inside me, making it hard to hide my reluctance to see them go. I retreated to Atticus’s bedroom, where the unmistakable sound of the bath running reached me from the bathing area. I had to bite my lip not to laugh when I heard his off-key singing echo throughout the room. In the corner, the book I’d taken and the stack of items he had removed from the shack caught my attention, their silent invitation impossible to ignore.

I settled on the worn rug in front of the fire in the empty common area. Books and scrolls lay scattered, relics from the shack that now seemed like some kind of fever dream. The peace of the morning had faded away, and the tension returned to my muscles as I was reminded of the approaching deadline. I picked up the old book, its leather cover crackled with age, and flipped it open, losing myself in its worn pages, determined to uncover answers to the seer’s mysterious riddles. We’d gotten so far last night, but there was so much riding on this being right.

“Find anything useful?” Atticus asked as he peered over my shoulder. I tilted my head to look up at him. He had a towel slung over his shoulder, and his hair was still damp from the bath.

“I was distracted by the cat that was yowling in your room,” I said, tongue firmly in my cheek.

He looked perplexed for a moment, then an adorable shade of pink crept into his cheeks. “Heard that, did you?”

“Heard it? I think everyone in a mile radius thought there was a poor, injured animal nearby.” My straight face gave way, and uncontrollable laughter bubbled out of me. He joined in, his mirth lighting his eyes.

Our amusement subsided, and he glanced back at the books laid out in front of me. “Were you successful in finding anything else?”

“Bits and pieces.” I scanned the lines of curling script. “It’s like trying to piece together a puzzle without knowing what the picture is supposed to be.”

His arm brushed against me as he leaned closer and pointed to a faded illustration. “This symbol here keeps cropping up.” He traced the intricate design. “Seems important.”

“Symbols, prophecies, rituals...” I sighed. “Could this get any more cryptic?”

Atticus chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Wouldn’t be much of a prophecy if it were straightforward.”

“True.” But we needed answers, and every second mattered.

His hand covered mine, steadying it as we turned another page. “We’ll figure this out. We have to.”

“Of course we will. Because nothing screams romantic more than saving the world with dusty old books.”

“Romantic? You think this is romantic?” His eyebrow arched in mock surprise.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Rituals, impending doom, clandestine meetings in hidden shacks... it’s a fairy tale.”

“Minus the happily-ever-after part,” he said with a wry grin.

“Let’s not jinx it.” I winked at him before returning my attention to the book in my lap. “Okay, let’s focus. This section talks about the alignment of celestial bodies. That has to tie into the timing of the ritual.”

“Timing is everything.” Atticus thumbed through another volume. “Here, this passage speaks of a chosen pair bound by destiny.”

I leaned closer, our shoulders touching, sharing the comfort of solidarity. “But this chosen-pair stuff, it means we can’t do this separately or with just anyone. It has to be us, together.”

“Us,” he echoed.

I nudged him with my elbow. “Scary thought, huh?”

“Terrifying,” he said. “But better with you than anyone else.”

“Good answer.” I grinned, affection rushing through me. “Now, let’s dig a little deeper into this chosen-pair shit and see what other joys destiny has in store for us.”

Dust motes danced in the slanting light as our heads almost touched.

“Look at this,” he said, looking at the illustration that depicted some celestial ballet. “It talks about the ritual aligning with a celestial event. It’s not just any eclipse. It’s a rare lunar phenomenon that happens once in several generations.”

I let out a derisive chuckle. “Well, that’s something we can cross off the list. We know when the eclipse is—only five more days. The pack has been talking about it for almost as long as I can remember. They’ve got all sorts of celebrations planned.” Not to mention that was the biggest reason why my father had chosen now for me to mate. He hoped the eclipse would bless my union with Larkin.

“Does it say anything about what happens during the ritual?” I asked, my curiosity piqued as I tried to decipher the symbols surrounding the text.

“Sort of.” Atticus grimaced as he scanned the passage. “It mentions a ‘convergence of energies’ that can either mend or fracture the balance of nature. The ritual is a key to maintaining harmony.”

I exhaled slowly, a soundless whistle escaping me as I processed the information. So, our actions during the ritual could actually change the course of nature? How freaking enormous. No pressure, right?

“Yes, and there’s more,” he continued. “It says here that the participants must be ‘of pure intent and bound by a true connection.’ It’s not just about performing the ritual, but what we are to each other.”

I blinked, the gears in my head turning. The light filtering through the small doorway highlighted the earnestness on Atticus’s face. The universe itself was conspiring to intertwine our destinies even tighter.

“That means our feelings, they’re not just happenstance. They’re a part of all this,” I said. As many times as this was laid out in front of me, the reality was a slap to the face. Atticus and me. An incredulous laugh erupted from me, but it faded as quickly as it came. “Fate has a sense of humor,” I remarked, shaking my head in disbelief.

Atticus’s fingers paused over a particularly dense paragraph as he sought meaning in the cryptic text. “Are you grasping all this?” he asked, glancing up at me. “The ritual, the ingredients for the triskele?”

I shrugged, a bit of inadequacy creeping into my chest. “Sort of,” I said. “It’s like trying to read the clouds. Every time I think I see the shape, it shifts.”

Atticus reached out, his hand covering mine, halting its restless movement. “Hey, you’re not alone in this,” he said. “Remember what the seer told us? The right knowledge will come when it’s time.” He motioned to the books. “This isn’t just your burden.”

I allowed myself a small nod. “Yeah, I get it. It’s just overwhelming.” A nervous laugh escaped me, the sound brittle in the quiet room. “Overwhelming is an understatement, but you’re right. We’ve been getting what we need piece by piece. I just wish it was clearer. We have six days until the moon’s eclipse.” I looked at Atticus, who stared back with a raised brow. “Okay, well, we have five days left, right?”

“Right.” Atticus chuckled. “And remember, Mia might know something about the herbs we need. She’s got a knack for healing, and probably a green thumb that can make anything grow.”

“Green thumb, huh?” I said. “Let’s hope it’s not just for her houseplants.” I gestured at the greenery in the room.

My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to my mother. There was a peculiar ache that came with remembering her laughter and her wisdom. She’d always been my anchor, and now, navigating these uncharted waters without her guidance… it was like I was adrift in an endless sea.

I heaved out a sigh. “We’ve got a lot ahead of us, and it already feels like we’re running in circles and accomplishing nothing. We need answers.”

“What do you suggest?” He stretched, his shirt lifting with the movement, revealing abs so defined that they looked to be carved out of marble.

My cheeks flushed with heat as I realized he was waiting for a response from me, but I had been so mesmerized by his exposed flesh that I hadn’t heard him. “I’m sorry, what was that? I, uh, I didn’t hear you.”

He burst out laughing, and I loved the sound of it.

“It’s fine, love,” he said with a grin. “You looking at me like you could eat me is good for my ego. But I was wondering if you thought we should try to find the shack again.”

I bobbed my head, a smile curling at the corners of my lips. “That is a fantastic idea. It would do us some good to get out and get some fresh air, anyway, so we might as well make it a twofer.”

“Twofer?”

“Two for one.”

Atticus led the way, striding through the underbrush that had nearly reclaimed the trail overnight. I followed close behind, my boots crunching on fallen leaves, each step propelling me forward in our quest for answers.

“Remember the twisted oak?” Atticus asked, pointing to the gnarled tree that looked like it had been wrung out by giant hands.

“Hard to forget. It’s got more twists than my father’s council meetings.”

We shared a brief chuckle. The sun peeked through the dense canopy, glinting off the dew in the greenery. I brushed a low-hanging branch out of the way, the rough bark grazing my palm. We were retracing our steps to the location of the mysterious shack, which, just days ago, had revealed secrets and riddles wrapped in dust and cobwebs.

“Yesterday, it appeared out of nowhere.” I scanned the terrain for landmarks we had passed before.

“Seems we stumbled on it right when we needed to,” he said, pausing to examine a cluster of mushrooms at the base of a tree. “Makes you wonder if it was waiting for us all along.”

“Waiting or watching.” I shivered despite myself, pushing away the thought that we were pawns in some grander game.

“Either way, it gave us a piece of the puzzle.” He offered me a reassuring smile. “We’ll find it again. And this time, we’ll take whatever it is holding back.”

“Let’s just hope it’s not holding back a grudge,” I muttered.

“Wait.” Atticus stopped and looked about. “I think we’re here.”

My pulse hammered in my ears, a silent crescendo that fell flat as I stumbled to a halt. Confusion prickled across my skin. There was nothing but the undisturbed expanse of nature before us. No walls, no roof, not even a plank of wood to betray the presence of the ramshackle building that had stood there yesterday. It was as if the earth had swallowed the shack whole, leaving behind only the whispers of leaves and my own shallow breathing.

“This is the place, right?” I turned slowly, seeking some landmark, some scar on the land that would scream yes, you are not mad, it was here. But the silence was maddening, offering no confirmation.

“Yes, it has to be,” he said.

“Could it have been an illusion? Some sort of magic meant to mislead us?” The idea of deception was repugnant. Magic had always been a fickle beast, one I’d been taught to both revere and fear. But to imagine it being used against us, against me, was a jagged pill to swallow.

“It felt real enough,” he said doubtfully. “And the books we took, they’re damn sure real.” He held up one of the books. “This makes no sense.”

An oppressive silence washed over us, punctuated only by the distant caw of a raven. I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the sudden chill. The trees, once benign keepers of the woods, now concealed truths too profound for us mere mortals to comprehend.

I stepped back from the clearing where the shack had once stood, its absence a void that seemed to mock our confusion. “It was just here for what we needed and then vanished.”

An undercurrent of disbelief coursed through me, twisting with the surreal notion that reality could shift so abruptly. The texture of the grass beneath my feet was too real, the scent of a nearby pine tree too sharp against the soft decay of the forest floor to be anything but genuine.

“Let’s keep moving,” I said, casting one last look at the empty space, half-expecting the shack to appear just to prove me wrong. But there was nothing, no sound except that of our footsteps that served as a hollow reminder of how little we truly understood about the forces at play. And as the trees closed in behind us, I fought the unsettling feeling that we were mere pawns in a game far greater than us.

As we neared the den, the stillness was shattered by urgent footsteps crunching on the forest floor. I turned, squinting against the light to see Joren and Hale emerging from the den’s entrance, chests heaving. Lyza and Mia stood right behind them.

“They’re moving in,” Joren said with a gasp, and my blood ran cold. “We decided to check the perimeters when we were out on our run. The Crimson Fang, they’re encroaching on both our territory and Silver Claw’s.”

My heart slammed painfully against my ribcage, calling to the blood of my alpha lineage. Atticus stiffened beside me, his body becoming a taut wire poised to snap.

“Fuck.” Anger and worry warred inside me. The rogue lands were more than just wilderness. They were a haven for those who sought refuge from the rigid structures of pack life. A sanctuary that Atticus had helped build. A place where I had found an unlikely peace during a period of chaos.

Atticus’s jaw tensed, the muscles in his neck standing out. His hands curled into fists, and his nostrils flared as if he could smell the intrusion on the air.

“Those bastards have some nerve,” he growled. It was clear that the idea of Crimson Fang trespassing these sacred boundaries struck at the very core of him, a direct threat to the safety and freedom he cherished.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes flashed, and I saw not just the man but his wolf, ready to defend his territory against any incursion. The rogue lands didn’t just belong to Atticus. They were a part of his very being.

“Why now?” I asked.

Fury lit up Atticus’s face, an ember that could ignite into a wildfire at any provocation. With his jaw set so tight, it could crush stone, he turned to me with barely contained rage. “It’s a power move. They’re testing us. Seeing how far they can push before we push back.”

The news clawed at my insides, a feral thing desperate for action. I was torn between my feelings for Atticus and my duty to the pack. Duty won out. I had to get to my father. He needed to know about the Crimson Fang’s brazen strides toward our land.

“I need to warn my father,” I said.

Atticus stepped closer. He towered over me, yet there was a gentleness in the way he reached out. “I’ll come with you.”

A laugh escaped me, short and without humor. “You think I can’t handle a few scouts from the Crimson Fang?” My bravado was a thin veil over the churn of anxiety.

Though I hoped our own scouts would have already alerted my father, Joren and the others had ventured closer to the borders than we’d ever dared set our lookouts. They had witnessed the breach by the Crimson Fang firsthand. So, despite my worry about my father’s reaction after Atticus’s display of power and the way I’d openly defied him, I had no choice but to return to the manor and face him. I may not agree with my father right now, but I still loved him and the pack. I needed to pass this information on.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” His tone brooked no argument, the soft command wrapping around me.

“Fine, fine, I promise.” I rose on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a fleeting kiss charged with the electricity of our bond. It had been a long time since I’d felt so comfortable and at ease in my own skin, but in the past twenty-four hours, that had changed. I loved my pack, but it was with Atticus’s chosen family that I’d discovered a sense of belonging I hadn’t even known I was missing. Leaving Atticus and the others felt wrong, but in my heart, I knew I had to warn my pack of the impending danger.

I pulled away from Atticus. It was madness, feeling so split between the man who made my soul sing and the pack that was my blood legacy.

“Be safe,” he said, his breath warm against my ear.

I nodded. With one last squeeze, I turned and fled into the forest.