3. Atticus

3

ATTICUS

T he dense forest dripped with the aftermath of the storm’s fury as Aria struggled against the tangled ropes and the invisible snare of pride. Her face was a canvas of emotions, anger dominating the foreground and embarrassment lurking in the background. Even in disarray, hanging by her one foot, those long, silver tresses trailing in the detritus, she was stunning, and a surge of desire caught me off-guard. Despite the situation, my body reacted to her presence with an involuntary twitch in my cock.

I clamped down on the primal urges that she unwittingly stirred within me, reminding myself that I was a rogue, packless for a reason. I had no interest in the chains and guidelines that were imposed by living in a pack. A rogue’s presence in the unclaimed territories was tolerated—barely—by the pack alphas. Fucking the daughter of the Silver Claw pack’s alpha was a major no-no. It would be a surefire way to be forcefully removed from the place I called home.

Regrouping my scattered thoughts, I prepared to address her again, but she beat me to it.

“Do you always take pleasure in others’ misfortune?”

“Only when they’re as interesting as you, Aria Winters.”

The words slipped out before I could rein them in. A flirtatious dance on the precipice of danger. What was it about this woman? I knew her only by the stories that fluttered like moths through the ranks of the rogues and packs alike. Tales of her beauty and intelligence were vast and many. It was said that in her pack, she was a force to be reckoned with, fighting with the strength and valor of a true warrior. Yet, here she hung, the embodiment of wild grace under duress, challenging me with a simple gaze.

I chastised myself once more, a mental lash for each step I took closer to the line I had drawn. My reputation wasn’t built on foolish decisions, but here I was, conversing with the one person I really should avoid. The air between us crackled with an energy I hadn’t anticipated, and I forced my focus on the leftover raindrops pattering from leaf to leaf, attempting to douse the smoldering heat that her proximity provoked.

Interesting didn’t begin to cover who Aria Winters was or what she was doing to me. There was something about her, the way she held herself amid chaos, her fiery spirit, that drew me in. But flames burned anything that got too close, and I would do well to remember that. Especially when they danced on the face of the alpha’s daughter.

Aria and I stood locked in a silent battle of wills, the world seeming to stop on its axis. Her luminescent silver eyes blazed with a defiance that was so like the wild spirit of the forest surrounding us. In that suspended moment, something primal in me acknowledged her strength even as I drew my knife from my pocket.

I stepped behind her and reached up, the blade catching the dappled light as it cut through the rope and snare that had held her captive. She landed on the compacted earth with a soft thud, the air forced from her body in a gasp. Her chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to fill her lungs with air as she lay sprawled on the forest ground.

“Steady there.” I extended a hand, not out of chivalry but an unbidden impulse to ease the indignity of her drop.

Her fierce eyes blazing with the spirit I had glimpsed earlier, she ignored my offer and pushed herself up with the grace of a warrior. Her balance faltered slightly as she regained her footing.

“Why are you here?” The barely perceptible tremor in her tone suggested she was not as confident as she seemed.

I tilted my head slightly, considering how much to reveal, aware of the increase in my pulse that thrummed in my veins, a traitorous rhythm incited by her proximity. If I’d thought her beautiful hanging in the human snare, then she was absolutely stunning standing before me.

“I could ask you the same.” I carefully studied her face, the flush that still colored her cheeks, and the determined expression etched onto her jawline. “Rarely do I find someone from the Silver Claw pack wandering into my neck of the woods. Especially not the alpha’s daughter.”

“ Your neck of the woods?” she said. “You’re a rogue with no territory. This part of the forest belongs to no one. I belong here just as much as you do.”

A soft laugh escaped me as I stepped back, giving her the space her pride demanded. The muscles in my arms remained taut, itching for action yet restrained by an unspoken code.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Aria Winters. The forest belongs to itself. We’re mere visitors here, just passing through.”

Surveying our surroundings, she contemplated this, taking in the presence of the watchful trees that appeared to guard our encounter. With each inhale, the forest seemed to draw nearer as if it desired to reclaim its rightful territory, unmoved by our insignificant disputes.

“Instead of being preoccupied with my territorial claims, maybe you should prioritize your own safety by being vigilant and avoiding traps,” I added.

“I don’t need advice from a rogue,” she spat.

“Clearly you do, princess,” I said without missing a beat, the corner of my mouth lifting in amusement.

“Princess?” She bristled, eyes flashing a challenge that made me want to meet it head-on. “This princess can kick your ass.”

A chuckle rumbled from my chest, and I turned my back on her, feeling her stare drilling into me as I went.

I had to stay the hell away from her. The thought was a mantra, a warning drumming through my consciousness. She was enticing, no doubt, an alluring blend of might and vulnerability that spelled trouble for any man, especially one with my particular disregard for authority. But she was the alpha’s daughter, in line to be alpha herself. There was nothing to be gained from tangling with someone like her. I could find a good lay without such complicated strings.

Still, as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the image of her. It remained imprinted behind my eyelids, a ghostly afterimage that refused to fade. She was obviously a spoiled alpha brat, that much was clear, but I begrudgingly admired her unwavering determination and refusal to back down, even in her predicament.

Trust didn’t come easily to me. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford in a world where everyone had their own agendas. People left—they always did—and I had learned long ago that the only person I could rely on was myself.

Sometimes, freedom meant sacrificing the bonds of connection. Suppose, for once, someone actually stayed instead of leaving. Suppose they truly cared?

No. Screwing around with Aria Winters was still a terrible idea. I had to remind myself of that, of her position as the alpha’s daughter. Yet, her image stubbornly refused to fade from my thoughts, testing my willpower.

The idea of her went against everything I believed in. Aria was all about pack life, and that came with rules and restrictions, especially the hierarchy she’d have to adhere to. As a rogue, I had freedom, and I surrounded myself with people because I loved them, not because some tradition meant I had to. I had a family of my own choice, where we all had an equal voice.

Being a rogue was safer. You weren’t constantly watching your back, waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under you because they feared you or wanted your position. And no politics, which was always a bonus.

I continued deeper into the forest, the terrain familiar beneath my boots, the sounds of nature resuming their symphony around me. The land that bordered the Silver Claw territory was a place of untamed beauty. It was where I belonged, where I thrived, away from the complexities of pack politics and forbidden desires.

Yet, as the sky gradually darkened and the first stars twinkled above, I couldn’t deny the truth that haunted my very soul. Aria Winters had awoken something inside me, a wild and restless energy, and no matter how much distance I put between us, breaking free from its grip would prove to be a challenge.

With the grace of a predator, I made my way through the damp underbrush. A thrum of energy coursed through the air as I ventured deeper. This was a location untouched by man, where nature reigned supreme, and I was but a fleeting phantom passing through its hallowed halls.

Upon reaching the secluded network of caves that served as my den, I paused to scan my surroundings and make sure I hadn’t been followed. These caves were not just a place to seek shelter; they were a sanctuary, a safe haven where I could find refuge from the chaos of the world beyond.

With practiced ease, I navigated through the dense foliage toward the opening hidden from untrained eyes. The concealed alcove was a masterpiece of nature, with a tapestry of moss artfully crafted by an invisible hand adorning the entrance. Thick roots framed the mouth of the cave, interwoven so intricately that they completely concealed the cave.

I brushed aside the green veil and stepped across the threshold, the cool, musty air of the den greeting me like an old friend. In these hallowed caverns, even the softest whisper held power, echoing back to remind me of truths I sometimes yearned to forget.

I was Atticus Sebastian Thorne, a rogue by choice, obligated to no pack, no laws but my own.

I strode into the middle of our sanctuary, the central communal area of the den. Moonlight, timid and scarce, filtered through the skylights above, dimly illuminating the rough-hewn walls. The sound of my boots softly scraping on the stone floor connected me to this hidden world.

A wood stove stood in the corner, providing both warmth and the opportunity to cook if we chose. The aroma of smoldering wood mingled with earthy, damp moss from beyond the cave’s threshold, creating a captivating scent that immersed me in the untamed essence of the wilderness.

Lounging chairs, pieced together from branches and hide, beckoned with the promise of rest, though such luxury was seldom indulged. The large stone table where we gathered for meals or to make plans dominated the space and bore the scars of countless heated debates and shared laughter.

And surrounding us was a gallery of our world, maps etched with our territories, sketches of potential threats and safe havens, and wooden carvings that told lore and legend of shifters—pack and rogue. They were not mere decorations, but testaments to the resilient spirits of those who flourished in the mainstream and the shadows of our society.

Turning away from the communal area, I followed the branching pathways that led deeper into our private quarters. To my left, a storage room brimmed with provisions, stocked meticulously to sustain us through the leaner months when the forest grew stingy with her bounty.

Farther along, a modest alcove served as our haven of meditation. Here, the air hummed with a tranquility so profound, it could mute the chaos of the outside world, and one could shed their ties and commune with the primeval rhythms that pulsed beneath the soil.

The way to my personal sanctuary twisted through the labyrinth of the den, away from the communal grandeur and into a secluded chamber. I opened the door made of rough timber, stepping into a space that was unequivocally mine. Streaks of moonlight spilled through the narrow fissures above onto the sparse setup. A corner of the room held a rustic bed made of wood and a mattress of deer pelts. It was where I found solace in dreams or confronted the terrors of my nightmares.

Beside it, a wooden crate acted as a makeshift table. On it sat the few items that tethered me to a past I both venerated and reviled: a photograph, worn-out and faded, that depicted figures I couldn’t recall without stirring a poignant longing; and an old amulet, its silver tarnished but the intricate carvings of a wolf and moon still clear. Touching the cool metal, I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. The amulet was a constant reminder of the life I once knew, of promises made under the watchful gaze of ancestral spirits.

I shook off the memories, forcing myself to return to the present. And as I did, my mind went straight to Aria. The thought of her drew a frustrated growl.

I paced the length of my room, my muscles bunching under skin adorned with tattoos that each told a story of battles fought and scars endured. Now, against all reason, Aria was becoming part of that narrative, a tale not yet inked but no less potent. Only time would tell how significant a part she would play.

“Dammit,” I growled to nobody. “What have you done to me?”

The reflection in the small mirror propped against the far wall showed a man caught between worlds, a protector of these woods and the people I loved, a maverick heart that beat too fiercely for any cage. Yet, deep in my eyes, there was a glimmer of a different emotion, something dangerously close to desire.

Among my family, I was the leader of choice, but I was still a rogue wolf. That did not make me a prospect for the alpha’s daughter, and I’d do well to remember that.

The scent of petrichor lingered in the air as I again approached the communal area of our den. I sought comfort in the familiar, in the certainty of stone. But even as I joined the others, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense that fate was orchestrating events. Aria Winters could be the catalyst to dismantle everything I had built so meticulously.

“Guess who I had to pluck from a human hunter’s trap today?” I asked, the words drenched in irony only I could fully appreciate.

Lyza, a young shifter who found shelter with me after fleeing conflict in her old pack, perked up. “Not another one of those overconfident yearlings from the east?” The corners of her mouth twitched with the hint of a smirk.

Her mate Joren’s face lit up with youthful curiosity, his eyes shining with anticipation.

I chuckled, the sound reverberating against the stone walls as I collapsed onto a pile of cushions with feigned exhaustion. “Nope.” I allowed the suspense to build for a second longer. “The Silver Claw alpha’s daughter herself, Aria Winters.”

Everyone’s attention shifted towards me, their expressions a medley of surprise and intrigue. Joren had just taken a sip from his drink. My words startled him so much that he coughed and spluttered, narrowly avoiding a spill down his shirt.

Mia, our healer, stopped sorting through her cache of herbs and looked up, her eyes filled with a deep, ancient wisdom. Even Hale, our confirmed bachelor and the eldest among us, raised an intrigued eyebrow from where he lounged.

Joren wiped his mouth with his sleeve and winced as Lyza jabbed him in the ribs. “You what?” he said. “Did you give her your standard lecture on staying safe in the forest?”

I chuckled wryly. “As if she’d listen to a rogue about safety.”

Mia set aside her herbs, the lines of her face shaping into a mask of concern. “The alpha’s daughter, in a trap? How did she manage that?”

“Either carelessness or fate,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe both.”

Hale leaned back, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Well, clearly she was out looking for the renowned rogue hero to save her.” His tone was as dry as the desert sands, but his jest was clear in the glint of his eye.

“More like cursing me and the day she decided to take a walk. She’s full of spirit, that one.” I kept my tone lighthearted, but inside, the memory of our encounter flared bright and hot, impossible to ignore.

I tried to shake off the image of Aria, the way her body had arched against the constraints. I was not successful.

“Did you play the mysterious stranger, all brooding and silent?” Joren cackled as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“More like the exasperating savior,” I murmured, my gaze locked on the dancing flames. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me.”

I leaned my head back against the rough stone wall and crossed my arms over my chest, watching as Mia shook her head.

“I can’t imagine why,” she said. The corners of her mouth twitched upward, and her dark curls caught the faint light that filtered in from above. “You’re such a charmer.”

My lips curled into a half-smile at her sarcastic remark. Before I could craft a retort, Lyza chimed in playfully. “So, are we expecting a thank-you note from the alpha, delivered by a royal messenger bird?”

Her jest stirred something in me, an unsettling blend of anticipation and dread. No, there would be no acknowledgment, no letters or gestures of gratitude. Yet, Lyza’s words conjured images of delicate feather quills and ink-stained parchment, a symbol of civility from a world I barely remembered.

“Hardly.” The idea was absurd enough to draw a genuine laugh from my lips. “Silver Claw royalty wouldn’t lower itself to correspond with rogues.”

Still, the notion lingered like a ghost of a possibility. It was ludicrous, but part of me hungered for that connection, for a sign that our fierce encounter had meant something to her, too.

I pushed the idea away, burying it under layers of skepticism and nonchalance. “Besides, if Aria Winters wanted to send me any message, I doubt it’d be one of thanks.”

Hale snorted over the laughter. “More likely a warning to stay away from precious pack princesses.” His words were heavy with sarcasm, but not entirely devoid of concern.

“Atticus!”

A voice from outside grabbed all of our attention. All amusement vanished, leaving behind a growing sense of apprehension.

Joren stood. His posture, rigid and alert, sent a ripple of tension through the air. I rose without a word, every sinew in my body tensing, ready for whatever threat lurked outside. The lingering thoughts of Aria dissipated like mist, replaced by the familiar focus that emerged with impending conflict.

As I stepped into the cool evening air, I picked up the faintest trace of an unfamiliar scent. It held urgency and something akin to desperation.

A rogue on the edge.

“Atticus!” The call came again, more insistent this time, and I vaguely recognized a scout from another rogue group standing at the threshold of our domain, his chest heaving from exertion.

Seizing his arm, I pulled him towards me, minimizing the space he had to launch an attack. In an instant, my finger morphed into a razor-sharp claw, poised menacingly against the delicate flesh of his neck. “What can I help you with?” I asked in a low growl.

“Peace,” he gasped out, his hands raised in a gesture that spoke of no harm. “I need to speak with you.”

Mia, Lyza, and Hale emerged silently from the den, their presence a comforting solidity at my back. We weren’t a pack, but in this moment, we stood united as one force, formidable and unyielding.

Retracting my claw, I pushed him away. “Speak,” I said, though my tone carried less bite than before.

“I bring troubling news from the east. The Crimson Fang. They’re moving closer, encroaching on the forest we call home.”

This wasn’t news. Crimson Fang had been moving in for some time now. Hale and I had set up patrols with some of the rogues willing to work with us, to monitor their presence, but I sensed there was more to this shifter’s tale.

I loosened my stance even as my mind sharpened. “Continue.”

“Rumors of expansion, roads cutting through the heartwood, machines that tear at the roots of our world.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Conflicts are inevitable, and they won’t just affect the packs. Even rogues—even you and your family—are at risk.”

Family. The word echoed a truth I had long recognized. We were joined, not by blood or birthright but by choice and necessity, by the shared understanding that each of us was a lone wolf who found strength in unity.

Here, in the unclaimed territories, my name carried weight among the rogues as the leader of our group. I was no alpha, not in the traditional sense, but I’d stepped into a position where I protected those I loved and prioritized the well-being of my family. I stood as the figurehead, but I was surrounded by a team of equals. No rank separated us. We all had a voice.

“We can’t manage this alone.” He broke through my introspection. “None of us can. We need alliances, strategies. The forest holds ancient magic older than any individual, and its degradation...” Pain flashed across his features. “I refuse to stand by and watch it suffer. That pack has always been trouble. Always will be.”

The rogue’s passion stirred the smoldering ember of responsibility that I often cloaked in indifference. I shifted my weight, thumbing the cool, slick leather of the knife handle at my belt. There was a fine line between survival and surrender.

“Understood,” I said. “We have no love for chains, nor do we desire to see our sanctuary desecrated. You’ve done well to bring this to light.”

He nodded, relief mingling with the lines of worry, and turned to leave. As he faded back into the shadows and slipped away, a silent vow formed in my soul, a promise to protect what was ours, whatever the cost.

“Let’s go in.” Bitterness coated my tongue as we convened in our hidden sanctuary.

“They come closer every season,” Mia said. Her weathered yet deft hands were still for once, not sorting through her herbs or concocting remedies but interlaced tightly.

“We must proceed with caution,” Hale said, leaning back against the unadorned walls. His humor was absent now, his expression quietly contemplative. “We’ve always thrived by avoiding direct conflict.”

The warm glow from the woodstove filled the room with dancing shadows that caused the light to waver and fade intermittently.

“Caution?” Lyza paced the length of the space, her steps barely audible on the smooth stone floor. “What do you suggest, Hale? That we hang around and watch them destroy more of the land? Wait for them to box us in? Haven’t we given them enough caution?”

Joren nodded. “Lyza’s right. Action is what’s needed. We cannot allow ourselves to be cornered.”

Their words hung heavy in the air, each syllable saturated with the promise of a fight I knew too well. As their leader, my call to arms was more than just strategy. It was an admission of my own restless spirit, the part of me that hungered for the thrill of the chase, the clash of unseen forces.

But there was something else, a silent whisper deep in my mind that urged me toward the Silver Claw pack. Toward her. Aria.

“Atticus?” Mia asked.

“We strike first,” I declared, my conviction growing stronger with each word. “We gather information, establish alliances where we can. We may not be a pack, but in unity, there is strength.”

Joren’s grin was a flash of white in the semi-darkness. “Then let’s show them that the forest has fangs.”

“Okay,” Hale agreed, the lines around his eyes softening. “But we must not forget, this is about so much more than us. We’re defending a way of life, protecting the forest and its unique ecosystem. This is not just about defending or taking territory.”

They nodded resolutely, a silent pact forged between family—one not of blood and hierarchy but of choice. We would stand together, as we always had, in defiance of a world that sought to chain us.

“Prepare yourselves,” I said. “We move at dawn.”

As my friends dispersed to their respective quarters, I remained alone in the communal area. The decision was made, the way set.

The rogue factions—my brethren in defiance—were as scattered as the stars, yet we shared the same sky. It was time for unity, however fleeting it might be. For the sake of the forest that was our home, for the magic that pulsed beneath our feet, we needed to stand together.

My mind whirled with countless strategies and contingency plans, but even through the frenzy, Aria’s face emerged, the untamed cascade of her hair and the fierce spark in her eyes that spoke volumes about her spirited nature.

I shook my head to dispel her visage. I was a rogue, a shadow that flitted unseen. This wasn’t me. I avoided seeking out individuals unless they were targets or allies. Yet, I was contemplating a visit to the Silver Claw pack under the guise of gathering information.

The truth clawed at me, raking its sharp nails across the smokescreen I tried to maintain. I yearned to see Aria again.

A sigh escaped me, misting in the cool night air. Was I so easily ensnared? I, who had slipped through countless traps, who moved through life like a wraith, was now tethered by an invisible thread of curiosity and desire. But no, I would not, could not, admit it was anything more.

Flexing my fingers, I called on the darkness that was both my ally and cloak. Shadows writhed and coalesced around me, whispering mysteries only I understood. They knew the contours of my soul, the hidden paths I walked, and the lies I told myself.

With one final glance at the heavens, at the bright stars that silently judged my betrayal, I immersed myself in the comforting darkness of the night. The forest swallowed me whole, my passage as silent as the owl hunting overhead. I was the predator now, stalking through the territory that bordered the lands of the Silver Claw, each step taking me closer to her, to Aria.

I was going for information only. I would gather only what I needed. I would learn the movements of men and the whispers of unrest. And if fate decreed our lives should cross once more, then so be it.

But in the stillness of the night, as I became one with the shadows, I knew the truth. This journey was not solely for the sake of my chosen family, nor the fragile alliance I sought to forge. It was for her—for Aria—and the undeniable pull I felt at the very core of my being.