16. Aria

16

ARIA

I awoke with a start, my senses jumbled and raw as if I had been torn from one reality and thrust into another less forgiving one. Pain throbbed in every inch of my body. Disoriented, I struggled to piece together the fragmented images that teased at my consciousness.

“Easy,” a deep, familiar voice coaxed me back from the brink of panic. Atticus. His den surrounded us, a cocoon of safety in a world that had been turned upside down.

“Atticus?” I felt small, fractured. The disarray of my memories confused me. I blinked, trying to clear the fog that clung to me.

“Shh. You’re safe here, love.” He was close. I wanted to inch closer to his warmth. His fingers brushed tentatively against my arm, the touch sparking along my skin.

“How did I get here?” I asked through gritted teeth, each word full of the effort it took not to succumb to the pain keeping me hostage.

“The battle was chaotic, a frenzy of tooth and claw. After I felt you fall, I fought my way to you, tearing through anyone who stood in my way. When I found you...” He paused, clearly shaken as he recounted. “You were unconscious, your body battered and bleeding.”

My heart clenched at the visual he painted, the battle’s ferocity a distant memory. Atticus had pulled me from the brink of death, had carried me to this haven where the outside world could not touch us. For now.

“Thank you,” I said, though the words were inadequate to express the torrent of gratitude that surged through me.

“Always,” he said, the word laden with promise and protection. And in the quiet of his den, with pain racking my body and uncertainty bearing down on us, I believed him.

The world spun in disjointed fragments as I lay there, trying to piece together the chaos of the battle. Flashes of snarling muzzles and gleaming fangs invaded my mind, a discord of growls and pain. Worry for my pack burrowed deeper, claws scraping against my insides.

“Tell me.” Atticus’s hand was warm on mine. “What do you remember from the fight?”

I turned to him, my muscles straining as I moved, a grimace distorting my expression. “It’s all a blur,” I said. “We were holding our own until...” The memory seared through me, raw and vivid. “Until I saw him. Larkin. He was advancing on Eldan, and his eyes...” I shuddered. “There was a savage glee in them.”

“Go on,” Atticus said softly.

“Something wasn’t right about him. He moved with a cruel intent that wasn’t just about the land.” I had to fight to stay calm as I recalled my terror. “I jumped in and took the brunt of his attack. His claws... they were different, like they tore more than flesh.” A shudder ran through me, and I could scarcely draw breath. The pain had been unreal.

“His claws?” Atticus probed gently.

“Poisoned, maybe. Or cursed.” I frowned, struggling to make sense of it all. “I’ve never felt anything like it. It was as if evil itself was tearing into me.”

Atticus’s face hardened, a protective fury simmering. “You’re safe now. I won’t leave you.” His touch was tender yet firm, full of promise.

I leaned into him, allowing myself a second of fragility. There was comfort in his arms, a ferocity that spurred hope. We would face whatever darkness awaited us.

After a few moments, I decided to try moving. The world seemed to sway as I attempted to rise, the pain flaring anew in my leg, sending me back into the furs with a stifled groan. Atticus’s hand was on me in an instant, his touch calming.

“Easy,” he said. “You’re badly hurt. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and the wound is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“I need to see my pack,” I said. “They could be hurt. Or dead.”

Atticus shook his head. “I won’t fight you on this, but you need to rest first. Eldan said he’d relay any important information.”

“You don’t understand,” I snapped. “You don’t have a pack. You’re not the future alpha of one.”

Something shifted in Atticus’s expression, the hurt plain across his face.

I wanted to take back the words, wanted to swallow them down so they’d burn inside me instead of wounding him. But the deed was done, and I could see the walls rising in his eyes.

“Maybe I don’t have a pack,” Atticus finally said. “But I have you. And I’ll stand by you, even when your own blood doesn’t. That’s my choice. My decision as someone who—” He cut himself off, clenching his fists.

The ache in my body was a dull roar, but the pain from the words I’d hurled at Atticus throbbed with a sharper sting.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m coming with you. You’re not facing this alone.” There was a command in his tone. One that didn’t ask for my agreement, yet sought it all the same.

My throat tightened, gratitude and remorse tangling. “Thank you.” I took his hand. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was out of line, and I didn’t mean it. Not really.”

He nodded curtly, but beneath the hard lines of his face, I caught the softening, the forgiveness he offered without hesitation.

Mia’s arrival interrupted the moment. She moved to my side, and with her healer’s touch, gentle and firm, she unwrapped the bandage around my leg, inspecting the wound with a critical eye.

“Still bleeding.” She frowned deeply. “This isn’t right.”

“What’s wrong?” Atticus asked. He had picked up on the subtle shift in Mia’s demeanor before I did.

Mia hesitated, her fingers hovering over the wound with a kind of hesitant reverence. “I don’t want to cause undue alarm, but... it’s almost as if the weapon that did this was poisoned or cursed.”

“I thought the same,” I murmured. “How would the Crimson Fang even get their hands on something like that?”

“I wish I knew,” Mia said as she sat back and stared at my injury.

We were venturing into unknown territory, our reality skewing toward the dark tales that were only whispered around campfires. But whatever fears threatened to claw their way into me, I couldn’t afford to succumb to them, not when my pack needed me.

“Thank you,” I said to Mia. “For everything.”

She gave me a tight-lipped smile, the kind that said she wished she could do more.

Atticus gripped my hand. “Larkin was acting strangely when he spoke about your injury. He said something that didn’t sit right with me.”

I frowned, my skin prickling at the mention of the man who’d done this. “What did he say?”

Atticus’s tattoos seemed to ripple as his muscles tensed. “‘She can’t die yet, not until she’s mine.’ As if your fate hinged on his claim over you.” His warm, calloused hand enveloped mine.

I swallowed hard.

“Rest is what you need now,” Mia said softly. “Your body must recover, and this tincture I’ve applied should help your blood to clot.”

“Is there anything else we can do?” Atticus asked.

“Hopefully, the wound will begin to heal on its own soon,” Mia said as she secured the bandage around my leg. “The tincture is potent. It supports the body’s natural healing process.”

We were wading through uncharted waters, the threat of curses and poisoned claws lurking beneath the surface. Rest was a luxury, one that felt more like surrender, but my body was a traitor, succumbing to its weakness despite my protests.

Exhaustion bore down on me. I looked to Atticus, the pain reflected in his eyes mirroring my own.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be here, watching over you.”

Pain flared, but it couldn’t quell the need to see my people. I pushed against the furs beneath me, sitting up with gritted teeth.

“I need to check on my pack,” I said urgently.

“Easy.” Mia’s hands were firm as she wrapped my leg in layers of bandages. “This wound is not like any other. Shifting might just tear you apart from the inside out. It’s impossible to predict how a cursed injury will react.”

“I can’t just lie here while my people might be hurt,” I pushed.

“Trust me, I understand more than you know,” Mia said. “But you’d be no use to your pack if you’re broken, or worse.”

Before I could protest further, the den door creaked open, and Hale strode in, his expression grim as stone. Lyza and Joren followed behind him.

“Silver Claw has lost territory,” Hale said. “The Crimson Fang is spreading like a plague across our borders.”

The news hit like a physical blow, snuffing the air out of the room. My heart clenched, picturing the territory that had been under our guardianship for generations now tainted by enemy claws.

“Then I must go to them,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Even if it costs you your life?” Mia pressed.

“Even then.” The revelation of my pack’s loss was a thorn in my side, festering with each passing second. Guilt ate at me, a viper whispering accusations of negligence. I had been nestled here among the rogues while my family, my future subjects, fought tooth and nail against the Crimson Fang.

“Atticus,” I said. I needed to be with my pack, to lead them, but the walls of his den seemed to hold me back with invisible chains of convalescence and caution.

He was beside me in an instant, searching my face, seeking the source of my turmoil. “Your pack needs you,” he said. “But so does your body. It needs time.”

I looked up at him, really looked, taking in the worry lines on his brow, his jaw clenched in silent support. My father’s stern face flashed in my mind, his judgment a cold, unyielding wall. He would never understand the bond that had formed between Atticus and me, one not of convenience or politics but of genuine care and shared ideals.

“Atticus, you...” I faltered, struggling to articulate the swell of emotions. “You’re good, truly good. And my father is drowning in his stubborn pride and can’t see the treasure in people like you.”

His grip tightened around my hand, and something shifted behind his eyes, a flash of pain quickly masked by tenacity. “I don’t need your father to see my worth. I just need... I just need you to know that I’m here for you. Always.”

In another life, could we have met without duty and bloodlines hanging over us? Atticus deserved the world, deserved recognition for his strength and kindness. Not the scorn of those too blinded by prejudice to recognize it.

“Thank you.” I squeezed his hand as I fought back the sting of tears. “For saving me, for caring. You’ve shown me what it means to be truly cared for, without conditions or expectations.”

The scent of Atticus’s home lingered in my nostrils as I forced myself to stand, wincing as my leg screamed in protest. Mia’s worried gaze followed my every movement, her fingers hovering near the bandage.

“There are healers in my pack,” I said. “I’ll be fine once I get there.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, her hands lifted in hesitation.

“Positive.” But the word was a shield against the uncertainty. With one last reassuring nod, I turned to Atticus. “I’m going to need your help walking.”

“Of course.” He wrapped his arm gently around my waist.

We made our way out into the forest. I leaned heavily on Atticus, each step sending a dull ache up my leg that I stubbornly ignored. But I couldn’t ignore the sweat dripping down my brow and how the world spun slightly each time I blinked.

“Atticus,” I said, a warning in my tone.

He glanced down, and panic flashed through his deep-set eyes. “Your wound is bleeding through,” he said fearfully.

“Is it bad?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice pitched.

“Let me carry you,” he said, his arms already moving to lift me.

“No, we can make it if we—” My words died on my lips as a wave of dizziness crashed over me, my vision blurring.

“Trust me.” He scooped me up against his chest as though I weighed nothing.

“Okay.” I surrendered to his care as he moved us toward my pack lands.

Just when I thought my consciousness would slip away, a structure emerged from the thicket as if conjured from the very magic that thrummed through the land.

“Look.” I pointed to the mysterious shack that stood where nothing had stood before.

“How did that get here?” Atticus looked stunned, but he didn’t slow his pace.

“Doesn’t matter.” Curiosity punched through the fog in my brain. “Maybe it’s fate.”

“Fortune smiling on us.” He stepped up to the weathered door with me still cradled in his arms.

The heavy door creaked on its hinges, and a thick silence descended on us as we stepped inside. Its sudden appearance in a new location was disconcerting at best, downright eerie at worst. But the forest had its own logic, one that didn’t always align with the laws of man or beast.

I tried to bite down on it, but a groan escaped my lips as my foot bumped into the doorpost, sending a searing pain singing through my limb from the wound, a memento from the battle and the curse that remained in my flesh. My skin glistened with a layer of sweat as my nerves pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

Atticus hesitated in the doorway, his expression revealing an inner conflict. “Maybe we should press on to the manor. There are healers there, your wound...”

Everything screamed for me to return to the safety and familiarity of my pack, but my instincts compelled me to remain here. The hut’s appearance must be significant. It had eluded us before when we’d searched for it, when the cunning forest had hidden it.

“I think we should check it out,” I said. “We’re here now, and who knows if we’ll find it again? Let’s not forget that the last time it appeared, it gave us what we were looking for. There’s every chance we’ll uncover something to aid us here.”

I gritted my teeth as Atticus lowered to my feet. I leaned heavily against him, the raw ache from my wound flaring up with each heartbeat. The rational part of my brain knew he was right. We couldn’t afford to ignore potential help. My pack needed me, yet here I was, wading through the unknown. But something told me this detour was no accident.

“Okay, let’s do this.” The words came out more resigned than I intended. “But if this is some kind of trap...”

“Then we’ll face it,” Atticus said smoothly, his hand finding mine in the dim light, his touch sending a jolt of warmth up my arm.

I nodded, bracing myself against the pain and doubt. “If there is even the slightest chance that we can uncover something, anything that could tip the scales in our favor, then we owe it to the pack to explore every possibility. We need to be thorough but swift.”

“Agreed,” he said. We stood united, two souls entwined through destiny and necessity.

I moved deeper into the shack with Atticus at my side. The hope that bubbled up in me quelled the fear a bit. Perhaps this was the forest magic at work, guiding us to salvation when all seemed lost. If so, I would welcome it fully, trusting that the same mystical forces that had brought Atticus into my life were now leading us toward a solution that could save my pack.

Curiosity pricked at me like a thousand tiny needles. This was no mere coincidence. I was completely sure this was fate’s design.

“Look at this,” Atticus said.

I turned to the counter where an array of flasks and jars sat, their contents shimmering. Among them lay a salve, its unassuming container catching my attention.

I picked it up and read the elegant script on the label.

Healing Salve—Specially Formulated to Heal Cursed Wounds .

Holy shit. This was exactly what we needed.

“Atticus, it’s perfect,” I said hopefully. It was as if someone, or something, knew of our plight and had prepared this very cure to stamp out the darkness that ate at my flesh.

Carefully, I unscrewed the lid. The potent scent of herbs assaulted my senses. I dipped my fingers into the creamy substance, the coolness a balm to my aching skin.

“Here, let me.” Atticus took the jar from my hand, his fingers brushing mine in a silent promise of tenderness.

He unwrapped the bandage, then gingerly applied the salve to the angry gash on my leg. Warmth trickled through me, not just from the magic in the salve, but from his sure and gentle touch that seemed to hold its own magic. The wound began to close, flesh knitting together and pain dissipating.

It soothed the fire both inside and out, and I looked at the other potions strewn on the counter before meeting Atticus’s eyes. “Who could have known we’d need this?”

“Someone is watching over us,” he said, his lip curling in the barest hint of a smile, one that spoke of disbelief tinged with hope. “An ally. Someone who knows more than we do.”

He was right. This wasn’t mere chance. An unseen force was guiding us, propelling us forward. The shack, this place of healing, was a sign that we were not alone in our fight.

As the last of the pain drained away, leaving only a faint echo of its memory, sweet relief washed over me. Without a word, I launched myself into Atticus’s arms.

“Atticus!” My exclamation was a laugh mixed with a sob that got lost in his warmth. His strong arms wrapped around me as I buried my face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you.” I trailed kisses along his jawline.

“Always.” His hands roamed my back as our bodies pressed together—a perfect fit. Our lips crashed together in a confluence of relief and longing.

I leaned against Atticus’s chest and marveled at the serendipity of it all. Goosebumps danced across my skin. The world seemed to bend and weave itself, offering salvation in our most desperate hour.

“Do you feel it?” I asked. “The way this place... it’s alive, connected to us, responding to our needs.”

“I do,” he said. “It’s as though the spirits are guiding us, molding events in our favor when we least expect it.”

We stood there for a second longer, wrapped in each other, before urgency nudged us forward. With tender care, Atticus helped me to my feet, and we began a thorough search of the space, eager to find any other miracles left behind by our unseen benefactor.

I moved with cautious steps, the lingering ache in my leg a reminder of my recent brush with death. As we scavenged through the room, my fingers brushed against vials filled with unknown substances, each item seeming both out of place and perfectly positioned for our arrival.

Then, nestled between two unassuming jars, I spotted a book that drew my attention as if by magnetic force. Legends of Lycanterra: The Eclipse Amulet and its Guardians.

I reached for it, the word “eclipse” leaping out at me. I tapped Atticus’s shoulder and held the book out to him.

He scanned the title. “Was this here before?” he asked, although we both knew the answer.

“No. It just appeared,” I said. “There’s a purpose behind this, a reason we’re meant to find it now.”

He nodded solemnly. “Then we must take it with us. Whatever knowledge it holds, it’s part of our journey. Part of whatever lies ahead.”

I flipped a few pages in and found a passage about an amulet. “This is seriously no coincidence.”

The amulet is an ancient artifact believed to have been created in the beginnings of the realm. It is imbued with the ability to amplify the magical abilities of its bearer, making it a coveted item for any who seek to wield great power. More importantly, the amulet has the unique ability to harness and manipulate the energy lines that flow beneath the land, those that are critical to maintaining the balance of magic within the world.

As I tucked the book securely under my arm, I felt a kinship with the generations of guardians who had come before me, those who had fought and bled for the mysteries contained in these pages. It was a lineage I was only beginning to understand, a legacy that was mine to uphold.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Whatever other answers we seek, they won’t be found standing still.”

Casting one last glance at the curious array of items on display, we stepped back into the forest, the shack receding behind us as though it had never existed.

Out in the sunlight filtering through the trees, I studied the book’s cover. “It looks just like the amulet in your den.”

He leaned closer and peered at the cover. “Yes, but this piece here is missing on mine.” He pointed to the top curve. “As if it was deliberately severed.”

“Or torn away in battle,” I said.

“Could be,” Atticus mused. “Either way, it seems the shack wasn’t just offering healing; it was leading us to answers.”

“Answers we need,” I said.

Without another word, Atticus and I shifted into our wolf forms. The transformation was swift, a rush that never ceased to thrill me. My fur bristled with the energy of the magic inside me.

Side by side, we burst through the forest, muscular legs propelling us. The wind whipped through my fur as we ran, every muscle in my body in perfect harmony with Atticus. The trees blurred past, reduced to mere strokes of green and brown as we raced against time itself. With each leap, the manor drew closer. My pack drew closer.

We approached the daunting silhouette of my home and slowed, our forms shifting back to human in a pull of sinew and skin, a transformation that never lost its wild grace. Thanks to the magic, I still had the book tucked against me. I didn’t question how that worked—it was far beyond my abilities.

Atticus stood beside me. “Ready?”

“I am.” I drew on courage I hadn’t known I possessed until he’d entered my life.

As we crossed the threshold, the atmosphere bristled with tension. Ragnar met us in the foyer, his luminescent silver eyes betraying his fury. Beside him, Larkin exuded an aura of smug satisfaction, his smirk a crack in his otherwise stoic demeanor. Atticus stiffened, his muscles tightening. A predator ready to pounce.

“Back again, rogue?” My father’s disdain rang through the air as he glared at Atticus. “Your presence here is as unwelcome as it was before.”

Atticus’s jaw clenched, but he remained as calmly controlled as the stillness of a winter lake. “I come bearing no ill will, Alpha Ragnar. Only concern for your daughter and your pack.”

I could tell it took immense effort for him to maintain that calm. An electric current charged the air around us.

“Your concern has been noted,” Ragnar said, each word deliberate and slow.

I stepped forward, placing a hand on Atticus’s arm, a silent message of solidarity. The manor was my birthright, but it was this man, this rogue, who was my future.

“We need to talk,” I said to my father. “There are things you must know.”

Ragnar glanced at me, the intensity in his eyes softening a fraction. A silent conversation passed between us, a lifetime of expectation distilled into a single moment.

“Come.” He turned on his heel and disappeared through the grand entrance of the manor.

Larkin followed, the gleam in his eye reminiscent of a blade catching the light just before the strike. I suppressed a shiver, knowing full well the complexity of the web we were about to step into.

“Come on.” I squeezed Atticus’s arm before releasing him and moving to follow my father. With each step, my future pressed down on me, but it was a burden I no longer bore alone.

We followed my father and Larkin into the library, where I wasted no time getting to the point.

“Atticus saved me!” I exclaimed, my voice echoing through the room. “While you were busy playing politics with Larkin, Atticus and his people defended our borders against the Crimson Fang. I was injured. I almost died!”

Before my father could interject, I kept going. “Your choice of mate for me has brought nothing but unrest. By aligning with the Crimson Fang, you’re not just gambling with my future, Father, but the future of our entire pack.” The words spilled from my lips, each an unspoken plea for him to see reason. “We now need an alliance with the rogues. Without it, we are vulnerable on all sides.”

Ragnar narrowed his eyes as his face flushed in anger. He advanced toward me, inspecting me with a skeptic’s gaze. “If you were so gravely injured, where is your injury now?”

I knew better than to mention magic to a man rooted in reality. “It’s a long story, but I was healed. And I am standing here before you because of that fact.”

“Your tales grow tiresome. And they make me question whether you have the wisdom to lead this pack.”

“Believe what you will, Father,” I said softly, steeling myself against his judgment. “But know this—my loyalty to our pack is as unyielding as yours. And I will do whatever it takes to protect them.”

“Ragnar,” Atticus said, “I wasn’t alone when I heard Larkin’s betrayal. Eldan was there. He heard every vile word that slithered from Larkin’s lips.”

I nodded at Atticus, urging him to share it all. The truth needed to come out, now more than ever.

“Tell us, then,” Ragnar said in challenge as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest, a formidable silhouette against the stone walls of the library.

“Eldan and I heard Larkin plotting with the Crimson Fang, speaking of things no true member of Silver Claw would dare whisper,” Atticus said, head held high, his tone somber. “He spoke of Aria’s imminent death, said she needed to be kept alive until they were mated to secure his own ascension. You cannot ignore this.”

“Surely you cannot believe these lies, Alpha?” Larkin said scornfully.

I cast him a withering glare. “Shut up.” Larkin spluttered, but I ignored him and looked at my father. “Father, when will you let go of your prejudice, your bias against rogues? They are not so different from us. We share the same sky, the same earth beneath our paws. Why can’t you see that?”

The disbelief on my father’s face hit me harder than any physical blow could. It wasn’t just about proving myself anymore, but bridging a divide that had existed for far too long.

“Atticus has shown more loyalty to our pack than some born in it,” I said. “How can you question my judgment when all I’ve ever done is fight for our people? For our future?”

Something passed over Ragnar’s face. Was it doubt? Pain? Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind the same stoic mask. But I had seen the smallest crack in his armor that gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, my words were finally beginning to reach him.

Larkin’s innocent appearance was a masterclass in deception, but I’d seen the doubt on my father’s face.

“By the moon goddess, you’re all blind!” Atticus was about to lose it. “Ragnar, can’t you see? Placing your trust in Larkin will lead your pack to ruin. Your daughter lay dying, and Larkin spoke of her as though she was already a ghost haunting these lands.”

Larkin’s expression remained unfazed, but the slight twitch at the corner of his eye betrayed him. Ragnar’s face was a battlefield of emotion: skepticism warring with the ingrained beliefs that had governed his reign for so long.

I watched my father closely, searching for any sign that my words, our pleas, had begun to erode the fortress around his reason. His hesitation was minimal, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to give me a bit of hope.

The heat of the argument had dissipated, leaving a tense silence. “How did our pack fare?” I asked. “Did we… that is, did everyone make it?” The question hung over us, its answer poised to either soothe or sear my already-frayed nerves.

Ragnar looked toward me, his eyes guarded fortresses that revealed little. But then, as though a gate had been cracked open, I caught a glimpse of something softening in their depths.

“No lives were lost,” he said gruffly, “but we’ve surrendered land to the Crimson Fang. The pack is understandably upset.”

I detected the subtle shift in his demeanor, a reluctant thawing that only I could perceive, and clung to it like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to see beyond the iron bars of his prejudices.

“Go to bed,” he said. “We will discuss everything tomorrow.” His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he might have smiled but thought better of it. “Stay on the premises.”

It was nearly a jest, a bit of levity in the grim landscape of our reality. The punishment I’d braced myself for was nowhere to be seen. Was this a mere slap on the wrist? Or perhaps an olive branch extended in the privacy of these four walls?

“Of course.” I nodded once. As I turned to exit the room, the tension that had coiled around my muscles began to lessen. Maybe there was hope for us yet. Hope for my father to see the truth, hope for an alliance that could save us all.

Atticus slipped out of the front door without another word to my father or Larkin. In my mind, I heard his voice, deep and strong, a message meant only for me.

I’ll be waiting in the shadows.

As I walked toward my room, my thoughts wandered. Could my father finally be doubting Larkin, or was it wishful thinking on my part?

I stepped into my quiet room and went straight for the balcony doors. A shadow moved outside. Atticus. Just as he promised, there he was, waiting for me. Tall and imposing, he somehow managed to blend into the darkness. I hastened to let him in, my fingers fumbling slightly with the latch.

“Did anyone see you?” I asked as he stepped over the threshold.

“Nobody sees me unless I want them to,” Atticus said, smiling wryly.“Except you. You see me. Even when the darkness hides me, you see right to the heart of me.”

He pulled me into his embrace, and I leaned into his warmth. His gentle hands found the knots of stress along my neck, and he massaged them with practiced ease.

“How are you holding up after all of that?” he asked.

I sighed. I wasn’t used to showing my vulnerable side so much to anyone, but it was different with Atticus. He would never use it against me, wouldn’t see it as a weakness.

“It’s overwhelming,” I said. “I’m clinging to hope that my father is starting to see Larkin for who he truly is. But the fear that I’m wrong, that he’ll never understand… it eats at me.”

“Hope is a powerful thing,” Atticus said. “You’re stronger than you realize.”

With his hands working magic on my muscles, I allowed myself to believe that everything would be all right. Something about Atticus’s unwavering faith in me made me think we could conquer anything, even the treacherous tides of fate that threatened to pull us under.

I perched on the bed, the light spilling through the open balcony doors. My heart was a tangled mess of worry and hope. “I keep replaying it, my father’s reaction. The way he almost seemed to falter.”

Atticus took my hands, gently prying my clenched fists open before interlacing our fingers.“Seeing you there, lifeless on the forest floor… I’ve never known terror like that.”

“Atticus...” His name came out as a whisper, an acknowledgment of everything he’d become to me, a rock standing tall in the swirling currents that threatened to sweep me away.

The tension that had cocooned my body unraveled as I looked into his eyes.

“Let me help you,” he said.

I nodded, surrendering to the sensations only he could elicit from me. He leaned in, his lips meeting mine.

Atticus’s hands charted the landscape of my body, worshipping every curve with reverent touches. The kiss deepened, our tongues tangling and breath mingling. As we explored one another’s mouths, my heart raced against the smooth planes of Atticus’s chest, his fingers tangling in my hair, urging me closer.

Our bodies melted together. His scent filled my nostrils, our hearts beating as one as he cradled my cheek with his palm. Our skin met with a softness and yet a ferocity. Atticus traced gentle patterns on my back as he nuzzled my neck. We became desperate then, a primal need soaring through us both. He tasted like the night air, like the wind itself, and held me like I was the answer to an age-old prayer.

We sank back on the bed, fully clothed but with an aching need to be closer. Every move was synchronized—our breathing, our hearts beating in a rhythm that matched our desires. I yielded to him, melting under his touch with a soft moan. I gripped his hair tightly in my fists as he pulled away to stare into the very depths of my soul. He kissed my jaw, then down to my collarbone before untying the clasp of my tunic with eager fingers. The leather fell open to reveal my smooth skin beneath. I shuddered as his cool fingers brushed over my bare skin.

The moonlight danced across his face, casting shadows over his features, making him look almost supernatural. My heart raced in anticipation of what was to come. He trailed hot, hungry kisses down my collarbone and lower, each touch setting my skin aflame. A gasp escaped me as he nipped at the sensitive flesh just below my throat, and for a moment, I was so overcome with desire that I forgot my own name. His hands slid up under my tunic, tracing the outline of my ribcage and lingering on the swell of my breasts before cupping them gently. His thumbs brushed over the hardening peaks of my nipples, sending electric currents straight to my core. I arched into him, unable to contain the moan that escaped from deep within me.

Atticus’s other hand found its way to the band of leather holding up my pants and started to undo it slowly, pulling it down while maintaining eye contact with me. His voice was rough when he spoke against my skin.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured. “The most breathtaking creature I’ve ever seen.”

When his hand finally slipped beneath the fabric, I nearly came undone. Pure heat roared through me, burning away any remaining doubt or hesitation. He whispered sweet nothings against my skin as he explored every inch of me, making me writhe underneath him like a moth drawn to flames. Our tongues met again in a passionate kiss that sent tremors rippling through our bodies. As his fingers glided over my skin, I succumbed to the searing flames that licked at my core. I cried out, my head falling back at the sensation of his touch. The shadows danced and twisted around us in time with Atticus’s pounding heart, an ethereal dance of darkness and desire.

We moved with the rhythm of the night, the throbbing pulse of our hearts mingling with the whispering winds. Our bodies merged with a divine fluidity as he sank into me, filling me. Each caress, each kiss, each touch seared itself into my memory, marking me as indelibly his.

As he began to stroke in and out of me, waves of pleasure crashed over me. We were one now, wholly intertwined, our insatiable need driving our pulse. His body moved with mine, our hearts beating as one. Our skin shimmered with sweat as our passion intensified with each thrust. Our moans were a symphony of pleasure that reverberated through the night.

As I reached my peak, the world blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. Time stood still as my body convulsed with pleasure, singing in harmony with his touch. Atticus’s name was a ragged breath from my lips as the ecstasy lit up my body, leaving me breathless.

The languid beating of our hearts slowed to a synchronized rhythm under still-flushed skin. As the last whispers of pleasure faded away, I nestled closer to Atticus, seeking the warmth of his broad chest. His arms tightened around me, pulling me into the shelter of his body, and all my worries melted away.

“Stay with me,” he implored. “Just like this.”

“Where else would I go?” I asked, half-teasing, half-serious. The idea of being anywhere but here, entangled with him, seemed impossible. Unthinkable. My room was our momentary haven.

His chuckle vibrated through me, making me smile. “Good point.”

I tilted my head up to look at him, finding those ice-blue eyes soft with something akin to wonder. “You saved me out there,” I said.

“I’ll always save you.”

Our lips met in a tender kiss, sealing the promise we’d made to each other. The vow that needed no words.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, I nestled against him, pressing my cheek to his chest.With a contented sigh, I drifted into dreams.