20. Aria

20

ARIA

M y soul entwined with Atticus’s, two halves of a whole brought together by an unbreakable bond of love. We were the eye of the storm, a haven of peace during chaos, lost in each other as we rode out the tempest of our desires.

Exhaustion clung to my limbs as I collapsed alongside Atticus, our sweat-slicked bodies tangled together. My breath came out in ragged pulls, each inhalation mixed with the warmth of his skin. The loft was quiet now, the cacophony of our union fading into the gentle patter of rain against the window—nature’s soft applause.

“Atticus,” I whispered, my voice a sultry hum that vibrated through the quiet. I rested my head on his chest, my silver hair spilling across his skin like cool streams of moonlit water.

I lifted slightly, my gaze locking onto his. The connection was electric, a silent conversation that needed no words yet spoke volumes of the love we harbored.

“You are my storm,” I said softly, tracing the intricate tattoos that chronicled the story of his life. A life that was now inextricably intertwined with my own.

“And you,” he said, his voice deepening, “are the calm that soothes it.” His fingertips glided over my curves.

The storm outside had ebbed, its fury spent, leaving a tranquil hush in its wake. We lay there, our breathing synchronizing as if our bodies were reluctant to part from this perfect harmony they’d found.

“Stay with me,” I murmured, my hands idly roaming across his broad chest. It was not a command or a question, but an invocation. A wish for the future, a plea for the eternities we both craved.

“Always,” he vowed, sealing the promise with a kiss to my forehead. It was a vow I intended to keep until the stars themselves burned out.

With two days left until the ritual, the first light of dawn filtered through the cabin’s sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stirred, my senses slowly awakening to the entrancing rhythm of Atticus’s steady breathing. I blinked open heavy lids, allowing myself a moment to relish the tender peace before reality set in.

As consciousness fully claimed me, an unfamiliar sense of optimism bloomed within my chest. The troubles that once seemed insurmountable were now mere hurdles waiting to be leapt over with grace. I turned my head to gaze at the man beside me, the man who had unexpectedly become the axis of my world.

I watched the soft morning light play across the contours of his sleeping face, tracing the intricate tattoos that adorned his skin. Each inked marking—a lingering scar of memory—seemed to whisper secrets of resilience and freedom. In their silent language, they spoke of a spirit unbound by convention, a living testament to the warrior he was.

“Atticus,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath as I reached out to trace the silhouette of a forest tattooed along his arm.

My touch must have roused him from the depths of slumber because his eyes fluttered open, their color reminding me of the sky above a canopy of ancient trees.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep yet brimming with the warmth that always set my soul aflame.

“Good morning.” My heart swelled with love for him. He curled an arm around me, drawing me closer into the shelter of his embrace. Here, wrapped in his strength and heat, I felt my burdens momentarily dissolve.

“It feels like things are aligning in our favor,” I said, listening to the steady drumming of his heart. “My father… if he’s starting to understand, that means everything.”

“Understanding is the first step towards acceptance.” Atticus stroked my back lazily, setting every nerve ending alight with desire. “But we still have much to do.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “We need to plan for the days ahead. Time’s running out. We have just over a day left. We need to make sure we have the pattern of the triskele and the ritual memorized and ready to go. I know we’re heading in the right direction, that everything is coming together. I just wish we had more time to prepare, ensure we’re ready…”

“Tell me your thoughts.” He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at me.

“We know where the rest of the amulet is hidden,” I said. “And I’ve gathered the ingredients for the ritual. But before we infiltrate Crimson Fang?—”

“Before we reclaim what’s ours,” he interjected.

“Before that, yes, I need to speak with my father alone.” It was a declaration but also a plea for understanding. I sought his support, even as I prepared to venture into the lion’s den without him.

“Alone?” Atticus’s question held no censure, only concern.

“Alone,” I repeated, nodding. “There are things I must talk to him about. Things that might sway the path forward.”

“I’ll give you the space you need.” Atticus pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I trust in your strength. And tonight, I’ll be waiting in the den, eager to hear how it went.”

“Thank you.” The simplicity of his faith in me was more potent than any spoken vow.

With plans laid and hearts entwined, we rose from the bed to face the day, each step taken on a tightrope between destiny and desire. With slight trepidation, we opened the door, instantly leaving behind the cocoon of the magical loft and confronting the overwhelming reality that had been patiently waiting for us. I’d heard people say destiny is a bitch, but I was starting to think time was its twisted big sister.

The rapid thumping of my heart filled my ears, but Atticus was there, his warm hand clasping mine, grounding me and preventing the panic from taking over.

“We’ll get through this,” he promised. “Together.” He placed a gentle kiss on my lips.

Reluctantly, I stepped away before I could fall into the safety of his arms. I had to put on my big-girl alpha panties and speak to my father, then prepare for the ritual ahead. I wished it was the simple celebration the pack had planned for the eclipse, but I couldn’t ignore the foreboding sense that it was going to be a challenging time.

“Until later,” I promised.

“Later,” he echoed.

I waited, watching in fascination as he almost vanished completely, but I could still see his faint silhouette, a shadow within the darkness.

“Show-off,” I muttered with a small smile as I set off in the direction of Silver Claw territory.

Thirty minutes later, I stepped over the threshold of my father’s study, the scent of old leather assaulting my senses, a stark contrast to the wild fragrance of Atticus that still clung to my skin. Father sat behind his broad mahogany desk, the light seeping through the heavy curtains catching his silver-flecked hair. The silence between us was deafening, the air thick with the weight of words unspoken.

“Father,” I began, my voice steady, “we need to talk.”

Ragnar’s gaze lifted from the papers strewn across his desk to rest upon me, an unreadable expression etched into his rugged features. “Where have you been?” he asked, though the sternness in his tone suggested he’d already pieced together the answer.

“I stayed with Atticus.” I braced myself for the storm that might follow.

His gaze turned cool, judgment casting a shadow over his face—a look I had come to know all too well. “I see.”

“Father, I—” But before I could delve into the heart of our troubles, Ragnar held up a hand, halting my words.

“I must apologize,” he said, sorrow tingeing his voice. “For not believing you. For doubting your strength.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, the ache in my chest easing ever so slightly.

“However,” he continued, “I cannot stand by while you entangle yourself with a rogue.” His words felt like a physical blow, dashing the fragile hope that had begun to blossom within me.

“Father, Atticus is?—”

“Atticus is not one of us,” he said, his voice resolute. “You are destined for more. An alpha must not be swayed by divided loyalties. You need a mate of pure blood. One who can unite the pack, not fracture it.”

“Is that what this is about? Bloodlines? Tradition?” I asked bitterly, struggling to reconcile the father I knew with the man who held fast to outdated ideals and prejudices.

“Your mother and I…” he said, softening. “Our union was arranged. It allowed me to focus on leading, on being the alpha this pack deserved. Love bloomed over time, in tandem with our shared purpose.”

“Love shouldn’t be timed or measured,” I protested, fighting the swell of despair. “It should be free, wild. Like the bond I share with Atticus.”

“Perhaps,” Ragnar said, though his eyes remained clouded with doubt. “But understand this: the way of the Silver Claw alpha is not one of whimsy. It is duty, sacrifice. It is choosing the pack above all else.”

“Even above happiness?”

“ Especially above happiness,” he replied. “One day, perhaps when I’m no longer here to witness it, you’ll understand.”

His cryptic words settled over me like a shroud, their true meaning obscured. It was a future conversation, a revelation reserved for another time. For now, my task was clear.

I twisted the delicate silver bracelet around my wrist, feeling its weight like a shackle, a bittersweet symbol of love entwined with sorrow. The cold metal pressed against my skin, mirroring the chill in my heart as I absorbed the weight of my father’s words. He had spoken them with such unwavering belief, his eyes dark pools of conviction.

I gazed down at the trinket. The inlaid stones shimmered with an ethereal glow. It triggered the memory of Atticus’s words. If the stones darkened, it would signify deceit, but they remained unchanged, meaning my father had spoken the truth. His truth. Ragnar didn’t just disapprove of my bond with Atticus; he wholeheartedly believed it to be wrong.

The air around me grew heavy, laden with the scent of ancient wood and the musk of wolf—the very essence of my father’s study and all it represented. Duty. Legacy. Supremacy. These were not just ideals to Ragnar; they were unshakable truths, dictating our lives with the force of ancestral law.

“Is this really what you believe?” I asked. “That I should stand alone, lead without him?” My voice cracked, revealing the fracture lines spreading through my composure. It was one thing to defy your alpha based on principle, another entirely when he stood before you with raw honesty etched into every line of his face.

“An alpha must sacrifice,” Ragnar replied, his tone resolute yet tinged with something that might have been regret. His gaze drifted to the window, overlooking the vast expanse of our territory. “You know as well as I do that some choices are made for us the moment we’re born.”

Anger flared within me, hot and reckless. I wanted to scream, to rage against the invisible chains of tradition and expectation. But beneath the ire lay a sliver of doubt, insidious as a whisper in the dark. What if my father was right? What if my love for Atticus, as boundless and consuming as it was, clouded my judgment? Weakened my resolve?

Atticus was my rogue, my chosen one, whose soul danced with mine under the moonlight. With him, I loved more fiercely, saw the world painted in vibrant hues of passion and possibility. Yet, here I stood, questioning whether I could truly balance the mantle of alpha with my desire. Could I be everything to everyone? To my pack? To him?

“Your heart may belong to the rogue, but remember where your loyalty must remain.” Ragnar’s words interrupted my turmoil, stark and uncompromising.

“Love is not a weakness,” I said. “It is strength. Atticus is my strength.”

“Strength is maintaining order, ensuring survival.”

“Survival without love is mere existence,” I shot back, my conviction bolstering with each word. “I refuse to merely exist. I intend to live.”

Ragnar sighed, the sound echoing through the room like the final note of a somber melody. We were at an impasse, two alphas with visions irreconcilably divergent.

“Then live. But live knowing the consequences of your choices are yours to bear.” His gaze finally met mine again, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between us.

I left his study with shoulders squared and head held high, even as my heart threatened to crumble within my chest. The bracelet glinted in the fading light, mocking the divide between my father’s wishes and my own desires.

I opened the door to my room and stepped inside to find Seren hunched over the chessboard, her focus unwavering as she moved a knight across the checkered battlefield. Opposite her, the translucent figure of a young girl—her eyes hollow with death but alight with the thrill of the game—leaned forward eagerly.

“Check,” Seren murmured, almost apologetically.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for support. The sight before me should have been disconcerting—Seren playing chess with a ghost—but the familiarity of the room, the comfort of being in my personal space, wrapped around me.

“Embracing your gift?” I asked softly, not wanting to startle them. “You’re getting stronger. I can see her.” I gestured to the girl in the chair opposite.

Seren glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s easier here with her in the quiet of your room.” She nodded toward the ghostly girl, who shied away from my gaze.

“Stay as long as you need to,” I said, moving closer to run a finger along the chessboard. “This is a sanctuary for both of us.”

Seren’s smile faltered as she studied my face, reading the turmoil etched into my features. “What’s happened?”

I sighed, sinking onto my bed. “Ragnar doesn’t approve of Atticus. He can’t see past his own biases, or the idea that I should be with someone within the pack for the sake of tradition and unity.”

“Ah, the old ways.” Her gaze returned to the board, her fingers hesitating above her opponent’s pawn. She glanced up at the spirit, who nodded and spoke, though I couldn’t hear her. Seren moved the pawn for her to what I assumed had been the specified placement, then turned back to me. “I would’ve told you to follow those rules once, to play it safe. But life doesn’t care for our plans, does it? This gift I have, speaking to the dead, hearing their stories and regrets, it has taught me something, Aria. You get one shot at this world. One chance to make it count.”

Her words, simple yet profound, hit me hard. The dead girl’s spectral form shifted, flickering like a candle flame caught in a draft as if even she understood the gravity of Seren’s advice.

“Make it count by living in a way that matters,” Seren added, locking eyes with me. “In a way that makes you happy.”

Happiness—a concept so often overshadowed by duty and expectation. I pondered Seren’s counsel, my heart aching with the desire to forge a path with Atticus, my rogue, the very air I breathed. Yet, there was a strangeness in seeking wisdom from a friend whose opponent was no longer among the living.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”

Seren merely nodded, returning her attention to the game as the ghostly girl pointed out her next move, her hand passing through the pieces.

The door to my sanctuary burst open with such force that it shattered the fragile peace like glass beneath a boot. Larkin stormed in, his presence a dark cloud of fury. His eyes, usually so calculating and cold, now blazed with a livid fire that set my pulse racing. Not with desire, but with dread.

“Fuck!” he spat at me, the words venomous. “You’ve really thrown a wrench in my plans. We’re having to move to plan B because of your little escapade.”

I stood from the bed. My skin prickled under his gaze, but I refused to cower. “Get the fuck out of my room, and stay the fuck away from me, Larkin,” I growled, my voice steady despite the tempest raging inside me.

His sneer twisted his face, and the room seemed to writhe in response to his anger. “This is all on you,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “You should have kept your mouth shut. Aligning yourself with those damned rogues and Atticus? You’ve sealed your fate.”

“Leave,” I commanded. “Or you will regret it. And just so we’re clear, my father knows what a treacherous piece of shit you are.”

His laughter was a sound devoid of any humor, hollow and haunting. “Oh, I’m well-aware that Ragnar has turned against me and rescinded our agreement,” he replied, each word measured and deliberate. “But don’t think for a second that it changes anything. You’re still mine.”

Fury bubbled up within me. “I belong to no one,” I hissed. “Especially not to someone who can’t even fathom the meaning of loyalty or love.”

The moment stretched on, and then Larkin’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around Seren’s slender wrist. Her scream pierced the stillness, a call of terror that drilled into my very soul. With preternatural speed, fast even for a shifter, he pulled her against him, one arm wrapping around her as he effortlessly lifted her off the ground, muffling her cries with his other hand.

“Let her go!” I roared, my voice guttural with a fury that shook my core. The plush carpet absorbed the sound of my pounding feet as I ran at him.

Larkin’s laughter mocked me as he dragged Seren down the hallway of the manor. Her cries for help were muffled against his hand, her struggles futile against his unnatural strength.

“Stop!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the high ceilings as I rushed after them. Servants peered from behind doors, their eyes wide, but none dared to intervene.

I was close enough to reach out, to tear Seren from his grasp, when Larkin pivoted. With one arm holding Seren against him, his other hand now wrapped around my throat. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to immobilize two fully grown, well-trained shifters the way he had. Something about him smelled off—wrong—but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. His hand tightened around my neck, increasing the pressure, restricting my air supply, and causing my vision to fade around the edges. An unfamiliar power coursed through him, the dark promise of violence.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. “Or I’ll snap her neck.”

My body trembled. Not with fear, but with rage so strong, it threatened to consume me. Yet, within the storm of my emotions, a chilling droplet of reason whispered to let him leave.

“Go,” I breathed out, the word a shard of ice. “But this isn’t over. Seren, I’ll come for you.”

His smile was venomous as he released me, leaving a lingering imprint of his touch on my throat. I watched, helpless, as he disappeared around the corner with Seren, her screams fading into haunting silence.

I sank to the floor, my knees unable to support the weight of betrayal and loss. I’d let him leave. And with him, he’d taken a piece of my world.