36. Aria

36

ARIA

I paced at the edge of the woods, absentmindedly tracing the crescent moon birthmark on my collarbone. The ground beneath my pulsed with an energy that seeped into my veins. I was at the battlegrounds, where the whispers of the ancients floated through the leaves.

“Come on, Philesia,” I muttered, my impatience growing with every rustle in the underbrush.

The temperature dropped suddenly, cold air gusting around me. I turned sharply as Philesia materialized before me, her presence commanding even in silence. Bright white hair framed an ageless face that emanated a powerful combination of sternness and kindness. It was her eyes, however, that revealed the depth of her wisdom.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her eyes locked on mine.

Her sudden appearance made me tremble. I clenched my fists to disguise my reaction. “Teach me,” I demanded.

Philesia nodded once, her sharp gaze never leaving mine. “Magic is intention. You must channel it with purpose. Show me what you can do.”

I tried to focus, envisioning my power as a stream of water, my will the banks guiding its flow. Extending my hand out, I attempted to summon a simple gust of wind. Instead, an uncontrolled torrent erupted. Leaves and dirt swirled around us, the air singing in my ears.

“Steady,” Philesia commanded. “Your fear scatters your power. Use it, don’t let it use you.”

I bit back my frustration and nodded stiffly. The next attempt was less chaotic, but still far from controlled.

“Again,” she insisted.

I repeated the motions over and over, each cycle a battle against my own instincts. My muscles ached and sweat trickled down my back. Slowly, so slowly, the patterns of nature’s forces began to reveal themselves to me.

“Feel the elements,” Philesia guided. “They dance to a rhythm older than time itself. Join them, become one with them.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. This time, my magic responded with a whisper instead of a shout. Leaves lifted gently on a breeze that came at my beckoning.

“It’s not just about power,” Philesia said. “It’s about balance. It’s essential, in magic and life.”

I nodded, wiping sweat from my brow.

“Your destiny is far greater than you know. It will demand everything from you—your strength, your wisdom, your heart.”

“Everything?” I asked barely above a whisper.

“Everything.”

I tried to steady my shaking hands. I had always known my path would be hard, but this felt like something else, something bigger.

“As the elements move with purpose, so must you,” she instructed as she painted invisible strokes that stirred the breeze. “Control comes from understanding the flow of energies, feeling it around you and within you and responding.”

I focused on her every gesture, attempting to mimic the grace and intention behind them.

“Feel it,” Philesia said. “It’s all around us.”

I reached out with my senses, trying to grasp the elusive currents she spoke of. There was a rhythm, a dance of forces at play, and I yearned to join them.

The water in the stream spiraled into the air, twisting patterns that held the geometry of nature within their curves and edges. I had shaped these same swirls since childhood, each ripple a plaything under my command. Yet the thrill had vanished. Duty had turned the dance into drudgery.

“Focus. What you once did for joy, you must now harness with purpose.”

With her near, my fear of the water’s power ebbed away. I could master this.

“Like this?” I asked as I sent a ribbon of water arching high above us.

“Better. Now, the wind.”

I flicked my wrist, feeling the rush of air before it even began to stir. Gusts answered my call, circling around us, whipping at our clothes. Each summoning came easier than the last, my movements syncing with the unseen currents.

“Good. Remember, the elements are an extension of your will,” Philesia said. “You are not just fighting for your pack. You are a guardian of the balance between all things. If you wield your power with heart and wisdom, you can heal the fractures of this world.”

Her words speared into me. My role, it seemed, stretched far beyond what I had ever imagined.

“I’m a guardian of balance?” It was a daunting concept, yet it felt right.

“You are. Remember, true strength comes from the heart.”

Muscles aching and breath heavy, I released the last stream of air from my fingertips, watching as it dispersed into the twilight. Where commanding the wind had terrified me before, it was now second nature. As the final breeze faded, a profound stillness enveloped me.

“Philesia, I never knew how much more there was to this.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “You’ve done well. Your connection to the elements is deepening. They’re not just your allies in battle; they are part of you, an expression of life’s balance.”

I dropped to one knee in deference, the cool earth grounding me, and looked up at her. “Thank you,” I said, meaning every syllable. “For showing me this. For everything.”

“Rise.” She held out her hand, and I took it, letting her help me to my feet. “This is only the beginning. There is still so much more to come.”

My powers, once a source of uncertainty, now commanded a new respect. They were more than just a means to fight; they were a symphony of nature, and I was their conductor.

“Today is just a step forward,” she continued. “Your journey will be long, but remember, the strength you need is within you.”

I nodded. The exhaustion clinging to my limbs was a small price to pay for the rush of exhilaration. This was the start of something greater. Something that would test me, change me, and ultimately define my destiny.

“Still want to learn?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Very well. Here’s your next lesson,” Philesia said sternly. “Go home, eat, and sleep. You can reflect on what we’ve learned today when you are rested. You’re no good to anyone if you’re running on fumes, girl.”

The air crackled with electricity as a deafening thunderclap and blinding lightning strike swallowed her up.

I trudged back to the manor, each step a Herculean effort for my weary body, and sighed in relief when the back door came into view.

The kitchen welcomed me with its familiar warmth, and I sagged onto a stool at the table. Stew bubbled on the stove, and I ladled some into a bowl, then grabbed a hunk of bread. A pitcher of chilled water stood on the table, and I filled a glass, gulping it down before refilling it. I rushed through my meal, eating without tasting the flavors. With a weary sigh, I pushed away from the table and went up to my room.

I closed the door to my bedchamber, trying to still my thoughts. The secrets tucked away in my father’s office added a new burden to my already full mind. Stripping off my clothes, I sank into the tub, hoping the hot water would wash away the residue of the day. It didn’t help. My brain simply wouldn’t stop pulsing with the memories, the revelations, the voices of my friends, and the intensity of Philesia’s lessons.

“Focus,” I whispered, but that only served to amplify my disordered thoughts. I took a deep breath in, an attempt at calm, but it was like trying to smooth the surface of a gale-tossed ocean.

Groaning, I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me as I padded out into the bedroom. I stopped short when I saw Atticus sitting at the window. The light outside was fading fast, casting his face half in shadow, half in a soft, orange glow. It made him look like he was part of both worlds—the dark and the light. My heart skipped, then settled. He shouldn’t have been here, but he was, and that was all that mattered.

“Atticus,” I whispered.

He turned his head toward me, his eyes piercing mine. There was a lot going on in those blue depths, stuff I couldn’t quite read at first glance. It didn’t scare me. With him, it never did.

“Hey,” he said simply.

I walked over to him, close enough that I could make out the individual tattoos trailing up his arms. Each line and curve was a secret waiting to be shared, and I hoped he’d share them with me someday.

“Were you asleep?” I asked, noticing his mussed hair.

“Nah, just thinking.” His voice carried a weight that was too heavy for one person to hold.

“About what?”

He shrugged, then took my hand. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” I admitted, letting the warmth from his skin seep into mine. Something about his touch always made the world seem less sharp around the edges.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I plopped down next to him, very conscious about my state of undress. “You wouldn’t believe what happened today,” I began, the words tumbling out in a rush. I told him about the ghosts that had whispered secrets, the ancient texts that seemed to pulse with life under my fingertips, and how Philesia pushed me past what I thought were my limits. It all felt like pieces of some grand puzzle falling into place.

Atticus was quiet the whole time, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in, elbows on his knees, completely focused.

“Sounds intense,” he said when I finally paused for breath.

“Intense... but amazing. I feel like I’m finally starting to understand my power. Like I’m not just fumbling around in the dark anymore.”

He nodded, his lips quirking up at the corners. “That’s good. Really good.”

His approval sent a warm glow through me. “There’s more,” I said, reaching for the worn leather-bound journal I had set on the table earlier. I held it out to him. “We found this today.”

Atticus’s fingers brushed mine as he took the journal.

“It belonged to Thea, my three-times-great-grandmother.”

He put his arm around me, and I curled into him in the window seat, the cushion soft beneath us. The connection we shared was more than just magic; it was like finding a missing piece of myself.

I opened Thea’s journal. My fingers trembled slightly against the old parchment, but I steadied them as I started to read aloud.

“‘Today we faced trials that tested our will’,” I began, my voice echoing faintly in the quiet room. “‘In the struggle, we found unity. It is this unity that will light our path forward’.”

Atticus’s chest rose and fell steadily against my back, and his chin rested on my head as he followed the words with me.

“Unity,” he murmured. “That’s what keeps a pack strong.”

“Or a family,” I added, thinking out loud.

“Or two people who care about each other,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

I nodded, leaning back into his embrace as I continued reading. “‘Under the silver gaze of the moon, our pack thrives, united by the sacred bonds of kinship and the shared gift of our magic. Tonight, we celebrated the solstice.’”

“The solstice. That’s a powerful night for us,” Atticus murmured, his voice low.

I continued, “‘The air was alive with energy, our powers mingling in a dazzling display of light and spirit.’” A chill ran down my spine from the power that seemed to leap off the page. “‘It is a reminder that we are but a part of the greater cycle, guardians of the balance that sustains us all.’”

I hesitated before reading the next part, sensing a shift in Thea’s tone. “‘Yet, as I stand among my kin, my heart heavy with the burden of leadership, I cannot shake the sense of a looming doom.’”

Atticus rubbed my arm and I looked up at him.

“Something was wrong even then,” I said, a knot forming in my stomach. “Here she says she felt ‘a discordant note in the symphony of our existence that threatens to unravel the fabric of our unity.’”

He glanced out the window, where the landscape of Lycanterra lay unaware of the past turmoil.

I cleared my throat and read the last sentence on the page. “‘We stand at a precipice, and the choices we make now will echo through the generations.’”

He turned to face me, his ice-blue eyes searching mine. “What do you think she meant by that?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like she knew something was coming. Something big.”

“Like what we’re facing now,” he said.

I turned the page. Thea had written a vow there. “‘I vow to lead with both strength and compassion, to forge a path that honors the legacy of those who came before and paves the way for those yet to come. May the spirits of our ancestors guide us, and may we never lose sight of the light that binds us.’”

Atticus blew out a breath, the warmth tickling my ear. “Sounds like she knew her role in their world.”

“Yeah. She understood her responsibility.”

We lapsed into silence as I closed the journal gently and looked out the window. Moonlight spilled over the land below us. Lycanterra lay peacefully under the night sky as if it didn’t have turbulent history, as if it was unaware that its future lay in the balance.

I pushed off the window seat, securing my towel around me. “It’s a long road ahead.”

“Maybe,” Atticus said, coming to stand in front of me. “But you’re not walking it alone.”

His hand found mine, warm and solid. In that touch, I found an anchor, something real and present amidst the uncertainty. His throat moved, a quick bob that spoke of nerves or maybe something more. My stomach flipped and fluttered.

“Atticus,” I whispered. “I?—”

“Shh, Aria.” He cut me off, his gaze intense. He brought his hand up to my face, hesitating a moment before his fingers brushed against my cheek. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through me.

“Your skin,” he murmured, “I’ve missed this.”

I leaned into his hand, closing my eyes. There was a raw honesty in his touch that I’d been denying myself for too long. My heart raced, each beat echoing my own longing.

“Me too.” The admission came out breathless, and before I knew it, his other arm was around me, pulling me into an embrace that felt like coming home.

“Gods, Aria,” he groaned as I buried my face into his neck. His scent enveloped me, earthy and wild, stirring up feelings I’d tried to bury.

“Why did we stop this?” I asked, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the solid muscle under his shirt.

“I don’t know Aria. Why did we?” His voice, which had been low and thick with need a few seconds ago, had changed. When I looked up, I saw the hurt I had caused reflected on his handsome face. It made it difficult to speak past the lump in my throat.

“We haven’t really spoken about what happened after the ritual, have we?” My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t even swallow. “I’m so sorry for ending things with you the way I did.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just searched my face as if looking for something he’d thought lost.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” His words were blunt, but not unkind. It was the truth I needed to hear.

I nodded, accepting the sting. “I know. I was scared.” I rested my head against his chest. The powerful, steady beat of his heart drummed against my ear. “I panicked. The ritual hadn’t gone as planned. My father’s death hit me hard, and I needed to find my way as alpha. It’s no excuse, but I listened to the negativity some of the pack spewed about rogues. Everything, everyone, overwhelmed me.”

Atticus stiffened beneath me.

I stole another glance at him, taking comfort in the weight of his arms around me. He hadn’t let me go. “I believed that in order to be the best alpha, I couldn’t do it with you by my side. But I was wrong, Atticus, so fucking wrong,” I confessed, brushing away the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “I don’t care what anyone says anymore, as long as you’re with me. I shouldn’t have listened to anyone. I need you.” I stumbled over my words, desperately trying to find the right way to express the emotions he stirred in me.

My heart stuttered when he released his embrace, thinking he was going to push me away. Instead, he cradled my face between my palms, wiping my tears with his thumbs. “Shh.” He pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. There was a firmness to him, an edge of command that wasn’t there before.

“I wish you’d come to me, trusted me. I understand why you did what you did, but no more running, Aria. We’re in this together. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve faced, proves we’re stronger together. I can’t live with this perpetual worry that a day from now or a week from now, I won’t be good enough.”

“I swear,” I said, leaning into his touch. It felt right, being this close to him again. “I’m sorry, Atticus. I don’t know how else to say it, but if you’ll let me, I’ll prove it. Every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Show me,” he said, then his lips were on mine.