2. Aria

2

ARIA

L ater in the afternoon, when the second storm finally subsided, I went for a run. The air still hummed with a restless energy, mirroring the chaos I couldn’t escape. With every step, the forest floor revealed a patchwork of puddles, reflecting fleeting glimpses of the sky above. My desperation for release made me feel like a caged animal, claws outstretched and ready to pounce.

My skin prickled with anticipation. It wasn’t the run itself that caused this electric sensation, but the escape it promised. A temporary reprieve from expectations, from decisions that were like shackles around my ankles.

“Going somewhere awfully fast, aren’t we?” Ilaric rumbled. He was one of our oldest pack members, and I’d loved him with all my heart for as long as I could remember. If anyone had been a grandfather to me, it was Ilaric. Where my father was strict and focused on status, Ilaric was the epitome of kindness.

I turned to see him leaning against a tree, his tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves, telling tales of war and pain, of freedom and the wild. Each inked line was a story, and Ilaric’s history was mapped out across his body. Some stories I knew, some I didn’t. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, missed nothing—not the slight tremor in my hands, nor the stiffness in my posture.

“Ilaric,” I said, forcing a fake nonchalance. “I needed to clear my head. Thought it would help me to go for a run.”

“Depends. Are you running from or toward something?” he asked, his eyebrow cocked in a manner that suggested he already knew the answer.

“Does it matter?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

He scrutinized me for a moment longer, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wry smile. Then he nodded once, acknowledging the chaos he sensed in me, the freedom I sought. With that, he stepped aside, granting me passage without another word. He would be there when I was ready to talk.

Embracing the shift, I let go and allowed my primal instincts to reign, immersing myself in a world of raw simplicity. The change came effortlessly, my body adapting with a graceful fluidity as my bones and tissues reconfigured themselves, my skin rippling and giving way to a luxurious coat of silver fur. Within seconds, I was standing on four legs instead of two.

The world sharpened into crystal clarity, each sound, smell, and texture becoming distinctly pronounced. My wolf form was powerful, my muscles coiled and ready to spring. I ran faster, leaped higher, and for a moment, I left the complexities of being me behind.

With a surge of adrenaline, I took off. Wind whipped through my fur, and I pushed myself harder, faster. Trees blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. The undergrowth clawed at my coat like a persistent fisherman’s hook as I darted forward. The only sounds to reach me were my paws pounding on the packed earth and my breaths coming in rapid huffs.

I tested my limits, running until my legs burned and my lungs begged for mercy, only slowing down when the farthest border of our territory loomed ahead, a line drawn by nature yet respected by all who knew its significance.

Reaching the edge, I skidded to a halt, the thrill of mutiny fizzing through my veins like champagne bubbles. Here, on the precipice of the known and unknown, I was master of my own fate, if only for a fleeting moment. I threw my head back and howled, a sound of pure, untamed defiance that ricocheted through the forest and beyond.

The world realigned with a shiver of energy as I returned to my human form, the magic clinging to my skin like morning dew. As a favor to the pack, a local coven had cast a spell that meant our attire shifted with us. No humiliating scramble for modesty here. Yet, even clothed, something about me felt exposed. Raw.

With a protestor’s silent triumph, I crossed the invisible threshold that marked my pack’s territory. With each step deeper into the wilderness beyond Silver Claw borders, I welcomed a privacy that was as sweet as it was heavy. The trees became my silent guards, their lofty tops swaying in a gentle dance with the wind.

I hurried across the mosaic of leaves and pine needles. The forest hummed with life. Birds hidden in the canopy serenaded the world like an orchestra that played for no one but itself, and now for me, a solitary audience seeking solace.

This secluded spot was my personal refuge, a place where I could temporarily escape the demands of my role as the alpha’s daughter and simply immerse myself in solitude and the tranquility that surrounded me.

A sigh escaped me as I pondered the fading glory of our realm around me. These forests had once been borderless and teeming with life. Now, the once-pristine landscapes bore the scars of encroachment. Humans and their machines ate away at the lush green like a plague, leaving behind a trail of destruction. Our territories shrank, prey grew scarce, and the once-mighty packs found themselves fighting over scraps. The thriving pulse of the wilderness had faltered, drowned out by the relentless march of progress, leaving us all in its wake.

How ironic. We fought amongst ourselves for the remaining scraps while the true enemy continued its advance.

It left a bitter taste in my mouth, but the forest offered no solution, only the eternal patience of nature observing the follies of those who claimed dominion over her.

The tangle of emotions that had been strangling me loosened with every step I took deeper into the dense woods. The spirits had grown quiet lately. It used to be that their whispers were akin to a second heartbeat beating within the pack, a rhythm of life that promised prosperity. But now? The silence was deafening. We clung to any symbol of their favor, such as the birth of a child, no longer a common joy but a precious rarity that was heralded as a divine blessing among our dwindling numbers.

“Come on,” I called out to the spirits, half in challenge, half in plea. “What do you want from us?”

As if in response, a subtle breeze weaved through the trees and caressed my skin, almost like an acknowledgment from the forest itself. This ancient, enigmatic entity pulsed with secrets that predated any group or belief. Around me, Lycanterra stood watchful and wise, its roots entrenched in the core of our lands as if it cradled the very soul of the world.

For centuries, we’d lived isolated from humanity, hidden deep in vast, unspoiled lands surrounded by towering mountains to the north and west and the Lycan Sea to the south. Once an uncharted realm on most maps, our lands had become vulnerable as the spirits weakened and their gifts lessened, thinning out the forest.

Despite the mystery surrounding the dwindling spirits, there were times, like now, when their presence could be felt. It was a hushed anticipation in the air, as if they were holding their breath and waiting to see how we would handle this reality.

“Are you watching me now?”

They didn’t respond, not that I’d expected them to.

“Can you feel this tornado inside me?”

Not long ago, I’d have scoffed at the idea of confiding in anything that couldn’t reply. But thanks to my upcoming forced mating, I was desperate. Desperation had a way of peeling back skepticism to reveal the raw hope beneath.

“Help me understand,” I said to the forest, to the spirits, to any force that might be listening. “Show me how to protect what’s ours.”

The wind picked up, rustling through the foliage. Shadows danced between the trunks, playing tricks on my eyes, inviting me to see signs where there may be none. Yet, I was connected to something greater than myself, greater than the pack.

I let the wild scent of the air fill my lungs, let the earth beneath my feet ground me. The spirits might have withheld their blessings, but Lycanterra remained. As long as the forest stood, as long as its wisdom flowed through the land, there was still hope. And with hope came the ability to face whatever lay ahead.

The forest seemed to sigh around me, a gentle murmur of leaves and life that ricocheted through my soul. With each step farther away from the border of Silver Claw territory, an exhilarating sense of freedom filled me, a wildness that mirrored the unbridled furor inside me. I was just another creature among many, my burdens insignificant in the vast canvas of nature’s artistry.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans for me.

A sharp pain lanced through my ankle, and in a split second, I was airborne, gravity betraying me as I was violently wrenched upwards. I tried to scream, but the sudden inversion stole my voice. My long, silver hair cascaded down towards where my feet had just been, flowing like a shimmering waterfall.

“Great. Just perfect,” I said, the irony of my predicament not lost on me. Arms flailing, I struggled for something to grab onto, something to anchor me and stop the spinning world. But the trap held firm, a snare meant for prey far less cunning than a shifter.

By failing to stay alert to my surroundings, I had broken the first rule of the forest. I’d put myself in harm’s way.

“Come on, for fuck’s sake,” I cursed as I twisted in mid-air. I stretched my arm toward the rope that held my foot prisoner, my core muscles straining with effort. I grazed the coarse fibers with the tips of my fingers, so close but agonizingly out of reach.

There I hung like a deer carcass, suspended and helpless, the future alpha ensnared by a simple human contraption. I would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. If the pack could see me now, caught in such an undignified state, would they question my claim to leadership? Would they whisper doubts about my abilities?

No, I wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t let a hunter’s trap or the expectations of the pack defeat me. Even if I shifted, the rope would simply tighten around my wolf’s leg.

With a roar, I contorted my body. This was not how the story of Aria Winters would end. This was merely a setback, another test of my willpower, and I refused to fail.

As I swayed from the rope, the forest blurred into a whirlwind of vibrant greens and earthy browns, spinning around me like a dizzying carousel. Each twist and turn intensified the disorienting sensation that made my stomach churn and my lips twist in discomfort. The trap, a cruel example of human ingenuity, held me captive, its grip unyielding as gravity turned traitor against my suspended form. A bitter irony lingered on my tongue, mocking me and reminding me that even an alpha-to-be could succumb to primal panics.

“Caught like a rabbit in a snare,” I sneered at myself, my voice jagged and out of place in the serenity that surrounded me.

A rustling in the foliage grabbed my attention. I wasn’t within the safety of Silver Claw territory. I had no way of knowing if it was friend or foe. The rush of blood to my head and the constricting panic that seized me was overwhelming my senses. I glanced around frantically, searching for any sign of what approached while I conjured images of what might emerge from the gloom-draped woods.

My breath came in frosted clouds, the air around me chilling with the sudden onset of terror. Humans. In my mind’s eye, I could practically see their silhouettes lurking just beyond the thicket, almost hear the crunch of their boots in the undergrowth. They had always been a distant threat, their presence nothing more than a whisper in our domain. But now, they were bold and unafraid, setting traps where once they dared not tread, the changing fortunes of the climate affecting the outcome of their hunts as much as ours and pushing them dangerously deeper into the forest and our territory.

“Well, fuck.” My heart hammered against my chest. My mind raced, each thought darker than the last. Were they nearby, watching me struggle, waiting for the moment to claim their catch? I imagined their cold eyes, their rough hands.

I couldn’t give in to this insane fear. I was stronger than this.

“Of all the times to lack grace,” I muttered, my usual humor twisted into a self-deprecating grimace. Fate was mocking me, reducing me to nothing more than ensnared prey. The irony of tonight’s ceremony, where my father and his group of trusted elders would announce the intended mating of Larkin and me to the pack, only reinforced the feeling of being trapped.

I was becoming increasingly aware that unless a miracle happened, I would remain stuck here, suspended in mid-air. I’d miss the ceremony, disappoint my father, and have to face the disapproval of his council.

The snap of a twig underfoot jolted me from my anxious reverie, the sound breaking the silence like a warning shot. My pulse quickened, each beat hammering against my ribs with the ferocity of a trapped animal fighting to free itself from a cage. No matter how hard I pulled, the rope remained tight, a cruel reminder of the inescapable fate that had befallen me.

“Easy, now,” came the deep, resonant voice of a stranger, but there was no mistaking the amusement that pricked at my pride. “Looks like you’ve found yourself in quite the bind.”

I whipped my head around, strands of hair tangling across my face. A man stood cloaked in the shade of the trees, his presence as undeniable as the force of nature that had wrought havoc on these woods. His jet-black hair, tousled and wild, bore a streak of silver that picked up the scant light filtering through the canopy, a visual echo of my own silver tresses.

“Who are you?” I tried to conceal the tremor of fear with the authority I was born to wield. “Get me down from here immediately.”

With every step he took, the muscles in his arms flexed, hinting at the untamed strength that lay beneath the simple shirt. “Now, why would I do that?” His tone bordered on mockery, which both irritated and intrigued me.

The forest appeared to still as I dangled precariously from the trap. The man’s presence was an intense force, an energy that seemed to sway with the trees and creep under my skin. My alpha senses had only begun to develop recently, but as unskilled as they were, a tremor of realization washed over me as things fell into place. The elders had always told tales about one rogue wolf, a dangerous phantom in the woods wielding mysterious abilities who had set up on the outskirts of the boundary line. My alpha intuition rang like an alarm bell as I studied the shifter before me. Fear gripped me, not solely from being strung up like bait, but from the apprehension that I might be face to face with the very creature they had warned us about.

I suddenly realized I’d seen him before. He’d lurked around the fence while we were training earlier.

“You’re him. The phantom rogue the elders are afraid of.”

I hadn’t meant to speak aloud, for him to know members of the pack were whispering about him. If asked, I’d blame the blood pooling in my brain from dangling upside down for so long.

Surprise sparkled in his ice-blue eyes. Or perhaps it was amusement. Being upside down made it hard to read the enigma before me. There was a certain intensity about him, his relaxed posture masking a reservoir of hidden strength. His lips curled into a smirk, exuding an air of self-assurance. The tattoos on his arms seemed to come alive, each one an intricate narrative waiting to be discovered.

“Scared, princess?” The mock endearment twisted in the air between us, laced with a challenge.

I bit back the retort dancing on the tip of my tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. In truth, I was anything but unafraid. Being suspended upside down, vulnerable and exposed, was not exactly a position of power. And yet, there was something else stirring deep inside me beyond the adrenaline and alarm.

His scent. It wound around me, an aroma that was as intoxicating as it was disarming. It made my head swim, my senses sharpening and blurring as if I were caught in a corporeal paradox. How could a stranger who looked so rugged, so wild, carry a fragrance that was so familiar, so calming, so utterly... divine?

I struggled against the ropes with renewed vigor. But even as I battled to maintain composure, I couldn’t deny the allure that emanated from him, nor the corresponding tug, as if an invisible thread were weaving our fates together in this unexpected encounter.

“Your scent,” I called out. “It’s unlike any I know.”

A shadow briefly crossed his face, a flicker of something unreadable before he masked it with another sardonic smile. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Neither,” I snapped, my pride stinging at the idea of offering him anything that resembled praise.

“Too bad.” He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, predatory. “Compliments can be persuasive.”

“Then let’s hope flattery isn’t the only currency you trade in,” I said, attempting to match his nonchalance. “Because right now, I need more than pretty words to get out of this mess.”

His laugh was a low rumble, harmonizing with the rustling leaves above our heads. It was a sound that, despite my predicament, gave me goosebumps, a prelude to a dance I was sure neither of us fully understood yet.

“Patience, princess,” he said, his playful tone doing nothing to mask the arrogance that flitted across his face. “You’re the one who’s ventured into my part of the forest. Here, we play by my rules.”

Rogue shifters didn’t claim territories. Their very nature was to drift, untethered and free of the rules that governed pack life. Yet, here he was, standing before me, claiming an ownership that was both annoying and unnerving.

“You don’t have any territories, nor do you own parts of the forest,” I spat out. “As a rogue, you’re packless. A nomad, either by choice or circumstance. Or is it both? Thrown from a pack and refused by any you’ve approached?”

Inwardly, I groaned. Why was I goading him? I needed his help, yet I couldn’t seem to stop baiting him.

I watched his infuriating grin widen, and I almost smelled the smugness radiating from him as soon as he realized who I was. He leaned back against a tree and folded his arms across his expansive chest, casually crossing one leg over the other. He was the picture of nonchalance, looking for all the world as if time meant nothing to him.

“The daughter of the Silver Claw alpha, trapped in a human hunter’s snare? Now that’s a story,” he said, his tone rich with amusement.

Heat crept into my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from a smoldering ire. I wanted to retort, to unleash the sharp bite of my wit. Instead, I bit down on my lip, tasting the metallic tinge of frustration. This rogue, this infuriatingly attractive man, had me at a disadvantage, and he knew it.

“Are you going to help me down, or just stand there and gloat?” I demanded, attempting to regain control over the situation. It wasn’t working.

He pushed off from the tree and sauntered closer. “Now, why would I rush such an interesting encounter?” he asked, tilting his head to study me.

“Because it’s the decent thing to do,” I suggested, though appeals to morality were likely wasted on him.

“Decency.” He chuckled softly. “I suppose we all have our own definitions of that.”

“Clearly,” I muttered, acutely aware of the tension that hummed between us. His scent enveloped me again, that intoxicating blend of wildness and an enigmatic, familiar quality that pulled at something deep in my core.

“Patience,” he suggested. “You might find this predicament... enlightening.”

An involuntary tremor coursed through my body, and I cursed myself inwardly for my reaction. I was not some damsel to be toyed with. And yet, as he moved even closer, his hand finally reaching up toward the knot that held my fate, I couldn’t deny the quiver of anticipation that danced through my veins.

“Enlighten me then. Free me from this trap.” My words came out more breathlessly than I’d intended, losing the illusion of the order it was meant to be.