38. Aria

38

ARIA

T he graveyard was eerily quiet, as if a blanket had been thrown over the world. I moved my hands, focusing on the flow of energy around me. It was different now, more controlled thanks to Philesia’s training. Three sessions, and already the wild currents of magic within me had settled into streams I could command. I couldn’t help it; I smiled.

“Good,” I whispered. “I’m getting better.”

I stopped to catch my breath, the whispers of the dead brushing against my senses like cobwebs. They gathered around me, their spectral forms translucent. They didn’t scare me anymore. If anything, their company was a comfort. Suddenly, the spirits became restless, whirling around me. Their faces contorted as if in warning, and the hair at the back of my neck stood on end.

I spun around, scanning the forest.

They burst from the forest, sudden and silent as death itself. Black robes, masks, the glint of knives in their hands. My heart kicked against my ribs. All that calm, all that control, wavered as the attackers closed in on me.

“Damn it,” I muttered, backing up.

My hands shook, but I forced them to steady. Magic bubbled up inside me, wild and fierce. I didn’t hold back. The control I’d fought so hard to gain vanished. I raised my arms, and the sky above turned black. Lightning cracked, a bright spear hurling toward the attackers.

“Move,” one yelled.

They scattered as the bolt hit the ground, shaking the earth, but it didn’t deter their advance.

“Come on,” I whispered.

The river nearby answered my call, its waters rising, spilling over the banks and flooding the graveyard. Trees swayed violently, roots straining against the surge.

I’d gone too far. It was too much. I had to control it.

Before I could try, Philesia appeared. Magic flowed from her, arcs of light pushing back the masked attackers.

“Guys, I feel like we’ve done this before,” Philesia said over the noise. Her weapons glowed bright against the dark, and she moved like she was part of the dance of the elements herself.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable!” one of them shouted.

“Delaying the inevitable?” I threw the words back at them like daggers. “What’s inevitable is your defeat.”

They circled, their eyes glinting with the fervor of their beliefs. “We have the best interests of the true leader of Lycanterra in mind,” one intoned, his voice almost hypnotic.

“By attacking me in a graveyard?” I countered, gripping my magic tighter. “Are you going to tell me who your leader is or do you want me to guess? Crimson Fang? Right?”

“Caius has chosen us, his most trusted soldiers, to sacrifice you. He’s given us powers to take you down. You can come willingly or die!”

He’d confirmed my suspicions. They were some kind of loyalist group from Crimson Fang. Some of the magic he was holding on to escaped. A disturbing, sickly green energy radiated from him. I readied myself to fight.

Philesia glanced at me. “Aria, go. Now.”

I hesitated. She nodded once, a silent command that brooked no argument. With a heavy heart, I turned and ran.

My feet pounded against the sodden ground as I fled, dodging headstones and sinking into the mud. I glanced behind me. Philesia’s magic flared, bright against the darkening sky.

With the sounds of battle fading, I thought I was clear of the danger. Then, a shadow detached from the gloom. One of the men lunged at me, his cloak billowing in the wind. I dodged to the side.

“You thought you could escape?” His voice was rough, scratchy, and his dark intent wrapped around me.

I responded with a surge of water. It slammed into him, but he remained standing. My fury ignited, and lightning streaked across the sky, a wild dance I couldn’t quite lead.

“Just hit him,” I muttered, but the storm was beyond my command.

Water swirled, rising higher as we lunged at each other. I dodged his blows as I unleashed the chaos of the elements. Water lashed at my ankles as I ducked, his blade slicing through the air a hair’s breadth away from my head.

“Give up, witch,” the shifter snarled, his eyes glinting with malice.

“Never,” I spat back.

Without warning, the shadows around us deepened, stretching and twisting with a life of their own. Atticus stepped from the darkness, his presence a sudden shield between me and my attacker.

“Atticus,” I breathed, relief fleeting as he surveyed the scene.

“Stay back,” he commanded, the shadows coiling around him like obedient serpents.

I stumbled backward. Shadows reached out, tendrils wrapping around the shifter’s throat. There was a strangled sound, then silence. The shifter fell, shadows dissipating into the night as swiftly as they had appeared.

“Let’s go.” Atticus grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the fallen shifter. We ran, the graveyard a blur as we hastened toward the manor. “Aria, reel in your magic. I can’t shadow-walk us to safety unless you control yourself.”

The flood was relentless. Water surged around us, turning the ground to a murky river that threatened to sweep us off our feet. With every step, I fought against the tide I’d inadvertently summoned, my magic unyielding and wild.

“Focus,” Atticus yelled over the roar of the water.

The torrent only grew stronger, fueled by a power I couldn’t tame. We pushed on, soaked to the bone, the village center looming ahead.

We emerged into what once was the square, now a devastated landscape. Buildings were half-submerged, debris floating aimlessly. People clung to rooftops, calling for help that couldn’t come fast enough.

“This can’t be me,” I whispered, taking in the wreckage. But I knew the truth. My raw, untamed magic had wrought this destruction.

“Stay with me, Aria,” Atticus said, his grip on my hand tightening. “We’ll make this right.”

I nodded, swallowing the guilt that rose like bile. Together, we waded through the ruin, seeking the safety of higher ground and the shelter of the manor, leaving behind the flooded remains of a village caught in the crossfire of a battle that was far from over.

When the storm died down, I surveyed the destruction of the graveyard. Water flooded our sacred ground. The trees that had withstood decades of storms and drought now lay like fallen soldiers, roots naked. Between them, tombstones were scattered, some lost beneath the muddy water, others leaning as if trying to escape their fate.

“Look at this mess,” I muttered. I could feel the splatter of every drop of rain, every gust of wind that I had summoned in my rage. They were supposed to be tools, allies, not weapons that wreaked havoc.

My hands shook as I took it all in. Philesia’s words echoed in my head. Control, balance, harmony. All things she drilled into me, all things I had cast aside when I let loose the storm.

“I should’ve known better.” Guilt tore through me like the floodwaters through the land. I should’ve kept it in check. The scars on the land were as deep as the ones forming inside me. This was my doing. My battle, my fury, turned against the very place I was meant to protect.

“We’ll fix this, Aria. I’ll help you fix it,” Atticus said.

I clenched my fists. The destruction was mine to own, but so was the future. Standing still wouldn’t rebuild homes or mend hearts. I had to move, act, be the leader my pack needed.

I couldn’t change what was done, but I could shape what’s to come. With purpose in each step, I walked toward the manor. Its walls had seen generations weather their own storms; now it would witness our resilience. I pushed the heavy doors open, the creak echoing through the empty halls.

“Let this be our sanctuary,” I said. I glanced back at the chaos once more before stepping inside. “We’ll start here. We’ll heal here.”

I ran through to the kitchen where the staff were huddled together for safety, their wild eyes and fear feeding the guilt. I’d caused this. I’d made these people feel unsafe in their own home.

“I need as many volunteers as I can get,” I called out. “I need you to run into the village, reach out to anyone in the pack displaced by the flood. Tell them Alpha Aria has opened the manor to them all.”

Shakily, three of the younger yard hands got to their feet.

“Tell them to come here, Alpha?” one asked incredulously.

“Yes. Go, now,” I urged.

They took off out the kitchen door, each running in a different direction to spread the word.

“It seems we are about to have visitors,” I said to the remaining staff. “Can we ensure there is food, clothes, and blankets ready for them?”

The first of them arrived just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the battered land. A family of four, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and relief as they approached the manor. Their belongings were few, salvaged from the ruins of what was once a home.

“Welcome,” I said, stepping forward to meet them.

“Is it true?” the mother asked, her voice trembling. “Is this place open to all?”

“Yes,” I said, offering a small, comforting smile. “You are safe here.”

I led them inside, Atticus’s silent presence at my back a steady reassurance.

“Here, let me take that,” Atticus offered, gently relieving the father of a tattered suitcase.

Rooms were plenty, and I assigned one to the family, handing them blankets still warm from the storage by the hearth.

“Rest now,” I said. “You’re home.”

As night fell, more came. Some alone, others in groups, all weary. I greeted them with a nod or a touch on the shoulder. “Come in,” I said. “Find warmth. Find rest.”

“Thank you,” a young man whispered as I handed him a blanket.

“Thank you,” echoed an elderly woman, her hands shaking as she accepted my help up the stairs.

“Thank you” wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wasn’t doing this for thanks. I did it because it was right, because it was needed. Because they were only here because I couldn’t control my powers.

“Atticus, can you—” I started to say, turning to find him already moving with the staff, distributing blankets.

“Got it,” he replied calmly.

We worked together until the manor buzzed with life. In the main hall, the fire crackled, its light flickering over tired but hopeful faces. I stood there for a bit, watching, listening to the voices blending into a song of survival.

“Will they forgive me?” I asked, twisting my hands together.

“They will,” Atticus assured me, his hand finding mine. “You’re doing more than most would.”

“Still...” I trailed off as I looked around. This was my pack, my responsibility.

“Need a hand with that?” Seren interrupted.

I looked up to see her hoisting a box of supplies onto a makeshift table. Eldan was right beside her, his arms laden with linens. The sight of them working together, helping without being asked, eased a fraction of the tension in my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I replied, taking a stack of blankets from Eldan and gesturing toward the corridor. “Those supplies go to the second floor, first room on the left.”

“Got it.” Eldan nodded.

Seren wiped her brow with the back of her hand and glanced at me. “Where do you want me?”

“With me,” I said. “You’ll be staying in my room for now.”

“Sure thing,” she agreed with a quick smile.

Atticus cleared his throat. “Eldan, if you need somewhere...”

“Appreciate it,” Eldan called over his shoulder. “But Aria’s got me covered.”

“Good. Just making sure.” Atticus’s eyes met mine, and a silent understanding passed between us.

“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for his unwavering support.

“Always.” He brushed my hair out of my face. “It’s time for me to head back.”

“Okay.” I was reluctant to let him go, but I knew he had his own people to tend to.

He caught my chin and kissed me. The feel of him lingered like a whisper against my skin.

“Sleep well.” He strode to the door.

Putting my fingers to my tingling lips, I watched the shadows swallow him. The bond that tethered us was stronger than ever before, an almost tangible thing I could pull on if I needed.

With a sigh, I turned to Seren. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

I helped her take her belongings to my room. Inside, I unceremoniously dumped the box I was carrying onto the bed and cleared some space for her in my closet. The two of us made quick work of unpacking Seren’s things.

I slid the last of her books onto the shelf beside my own. Her spiritual texts looked strange next to my adventure novels. It made the room feel different. It wasn’t just mine anymore, but ours.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Seren said after we settled into chairs, our hands wrapped around mugs of tea.

I hesitated, then let it all spill out—the fears, the doubts, the guilt from the destruction I didn’t mean to cause. “Everything feels so fragile,” I admitted. “Like one wrong move could shatter it all.”

Seren reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re trying to mend what’s broken. That’s what matters.”

A knock at the door interrupted our quiet. “Yes?”

The door creaked open and Lorian, the ghost butler who had served my many-times great grandmother, popped his head in, his eyes bright with the offer of service. “Ladies, is there anything you need?”

I gaped at him, then at Seren. “How?—”

Seren chuckled. “He wanted to help, so I gave him a boost.”

I laughed a little breathlessly. “A glass of white wine sounds wonderful,” I said, hoping to ease the tension that still clung to my muscles. Could ghosts serve wine?

“Make it two,” Seren added with a small smile.

“Right away.” He gave a curt nod and disappeared.

Seren turned to me, her eyebrows raised in playful reprimand. “You’re indulging tonight.”

“I need it. Today was...” What word could possibly encompass it?

“Overwhelming,” she supplied, reading my thoughts.

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t long before Lorian returned, this time with a polite knock. Apparently, popping through walls with wine in hand was beyond even his capabilities, but he could carry it.

Handy.

“Thank you, Lorian,” I said as he handed us each a glass filled with the pale golden liquid.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Nothing for now,” I replied, and with another nod, he closed the door behind him. Had I gained a ghost butler? It seemed so.

Seren took a sip of her wine, her gaze returning to mine. “Now, where were we?”

“I’ve been thinking about my powers,” I confessed, swirling the wine in my glass. “The damage I caused today… it’s an extra burden added to the weight I’m already carrying. I’ve put so many people out of their homes.”

“Being an alpha is no easy task,” Seren said.

“It’s more than that. It’s the balance I need to find.” I paused, searching for the right words. “This power inside me is formidable. I have to learn how handle it without losing myself or harming those I’m meant to protect.”

“Finding that harmony is a delicate dance,” Seren agreed.

“Yes, it is. And it’s a challenge I have to meet not just for myself, but for the entire pack. Their future depends on it.”

I drained the last of my wine as Seren stifled a yawn. “We should get ready for bed,” I said.

Seren nodded.

We took turns in the bathroom, changing into comfortable pajamas, then climbed into bed.

The moon was high by the time I realized sleep wasn’t coming. My gaze roamed the room, flitting over Seren’s belongings now strewn about my space. Everything felt alien, yet familiar, which summed up my life lately.

“Can’t sleep either?” Seren mumbled from her side of the bed.

I shook my head, though she couldn’t see it. “No. It’s like there’s too much noise in my head.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Words wouldn’t fix this restlessness inside me.

“Try closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing,” Seren suggested, but I barely heard her.

My mind was elsewhere, wandering down the unseen paths that connected me to Atticus. Ever since we’d forged our bond, I could sense his constant, comforting presence at the back of my consciousness. As I focused, I pinpointed his location without effort. He was outside, maybe even just under my window. Very close.

“ Atticus ?” I reached out tentatively with my thoughts.

Almost instantly, a ripple of amusement tinged with warmth echoed back through the bond. “ Aria ,” came his mental reply, clear as if he were whispering in my ear . “Can’t sleep?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I feel the same.”

“Strange, isn’t it? How quickly we’ve adjusted to this... awareness of each other.”

“Useful, too. Especially when one of us is prowling around at night.”

“Are you prowling right now?”

“Something like that.”

I could totally picture the smirk on his face.

“Try not to scare anyone. ”

A yawn crept up on me.

“Never. Get some rest. You need it,” he said.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Try. For me.”

“Fine.” I smiled despite myself. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

His presence lingered, a silent guardian in the dark, until the relentless tide of weariness pulled me into a restless slumber.