51. Atticus

51

ATTICUS

I watched Aria sleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest calming the whirlwind brewing inside me. Aria’s face was peaceful, untouched by the world’s harshness that awaited beyond the walls of my den. Her luminescent silver eyes were hidden beneath delicate lids. I took in the way her hair spilled across the pillow, catching the first hints of dawn, her breath whispering softly, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and committed it all to memory.

“I could stay like this forever,” I murmured.

Right now, it was just Aria and me, and the quiet before the mayhem. This here, this peace, was all I needed. Today wasn’t about what I wanted. Standing between Aria and me was my father, Valora, and this fucking mating ceremony.

I took one last look at her crescent moon birthmark, identical to my own in all but placement, a sign of our destined greatness. The day would bring a battle, not of fists and claws, but of wills and destinies. I leaned down, breathing in her scent—something wild and soothing all at once—and pressed my lips to the marked skin on her collarbone.

“I’m sorry, my love,” I whispered, easing my arm from under her. She stirred, curling into the warmth I left behind on the sheets. I stood and moved to where my belongings lay scattered.

As I bent down to retrieve my boot, I knocked over a picture that had been placed on the shelves along the wall. I quickly reached out to catch it before it hit the floor. It turned out to be a photograph of Liza, Joren, Hale, and Mia. My chosen family . When I returned it to the shelf, my hand brushed over the artifact I’d dug up in the old pack lands, its surface a cold contrast to the warmth of Aria’s skin still lingering on my fingertips. This small piece of history seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and some deep instinct within urged me to tuck it into my pocket.

“Could be useful,” I muttered, knowing it was more hope than reason guiding my hand.

The den, my refuge, felt smaller as I prepared to leave it, and her, behind. I glanced down at Aria, still lost in dreams. She didn’t know how the world would pull us in different directions yet. For now, she slept on, and I brushed my lips over her forehead, the urge to wake her up wrestling with the need to protect her from what was to come. I chose to leave her in peace.

Stepping into the living area, the sight of my family hit me like a punch straight to the heart. A dire mood hung over the room like a storm cloud. No words needed saying; their readiness to fight alongside me spoke volumes.

Hale rose, his frame solid as an oak. “I’m coming with you,” he declared.

Liza and Joren nodded. “Maybe if we all go, we can take him down together,” Joren added, looking around at the others, their nods fueling his proposal.

Mia sat with her herbs, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she also nodded. “You aren’t alone, Atticus.”

My chest tightened. Their loyalty was enough to stagger any man. “No,” I said urgently. “You can’t. He’ll kill you all because you matter to me.”

Their faces flamed with outrage, but I pressed on. “You have to trust me. Let me do this alone.”

A hushed silence descended on us, the shared understanding silently reminding us that some battles must be fought alone.

With no rush to return to my father, I strolled away from the den. The morning sun’s rays caressed the vibrant foliage, casting a gentle glow on the small blue flowers that carpeted the forest floor.

The closer I got to Crimson Fang territory, the more the pressure of the upcoming mating ceremony intensified, looming over me like a thundercloud on the horizon. This wasn’t right. It shouldn’t feel like attending a funeral. But then I wasn’t mating a woman I loved. I was being matched for breeding purposes to ensure favorable genetic traits.

My mood had taken a downward turn, and I didn’t want to have to make nice with pack mates who followed Caius. So when I reached the border, I pulled the shadows around me and stepped into the Crimson Fang manor. My room awaited, grand and oppressive, with its high ceilings and antique furniture echoing my isolation. I stood before the mirror in the entryway. Atticus Sebastian Thorne stared back, a warrior’s image, but his eyes revealed the inner struggle.

“Get it together,” I muttered to my reflection. The man in the glass had a hollow look, as if he had been drained of all hope and purpose, trapped in a game of thrones he never sought to be a part of.

I paced the chamber, each footstep a silent drumbeat in my private war. Ideas moved in and out of existence—defiance, escape. Each tempting as a siren’s call, each snuffed out by reality’s cruel hand. My father’s shadow overwhelmed everything, his authority absolute.

I couldn’t confront him. Sabotage was too risky. Plans formed and fell apart in my mind, the potential repercussions paralyzing. With every discarded strategy, the walls closed in on me. Duty, that unremitting jailer, held me fast.

“Fuck,” I growled, feeling my lineage and the expectations that came with it.

There was no escaping the path laid before me. I had to walk it, whether it led to salvation or ruin.

I needed a damn drink. As I lifted the decanter off the drink cart, the rich, amber liquid inside swirled. With steady hands, I poured, concealing the storm inside me. The drink was a crutch, but I poured it anyway, needing the brief escape it promised.

“Here’s to choices,” I murmured, the irony not lost on me.

The first sip burned all the way down, a fleeting comfort against the chill of duty and expectation. The warmth spread through my chest, a shield against the dread of what was to come.

“Fortify or forget?” I whispered to the empty room, already knowing there was no forgetting.

I set the glass down harder than I intended, shaking the bottles and glasses on the cart. My reflection caught my eye one last time in the mirror. There was a ghost of defiance in my face, battling the resignation.

“Goodbye, Atticus,” I said to him, to the man I could’ve been. “It was nice dreaming.”

With that, I turned my back on the mirror, on the possibility of another life, and prepared to face the inevitable.

I strode out of the chamber, my boots silent on the cold marble floor. The corridor was empty, the echoes of my own footsteps a stark reminder of the solitude. As I walked, my decision pressed down on me like the stones of the manor itself.

“Last chance,” I muttered, a grim mantra for what I was about to do.

I reached the door at the end of the hall sooner than I had hoped. My fate would be sealed when I walked through it. Pausing, my hand hovered over the ornate handle before grasping it firmly and pushing it open.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered under my breath.

I stepped into the ceremony room, a place where history and wealth collided in a show of power that the Crimson Fangs wore like a second skin. Above me, the vaulted ceilings were a canvas of victories and conquests, frozen in time. The crystal chandeliers hung low, soft light touching on the faces of the crowd like a gentle caress.

“Atticus, you clean up nice,” someone joked, clapping me on the back. They were oblivious to the fact that I was to be the sacrificial lamb, adorned not for celebration but for slaughter.

“Thanks,” I muttered. The velvet tablecloths, the silver, the candles… All chains of this life I would now be leading. Each flicker of candlelight caught on a goblet felt like it was mocking me.

“Isn’t this just magnificent?” another guest gushed, sweeping a hand through the air as if to gather the opulence and claim it.

“Sure is,” I lied, my smile tight. The cloying scent of exotic flowers suffocated me. They were everywhere, splashes of color that screamed life when all I could feel was the impending finality of what was to come.

“We can’t wait for the ceremony,” a voice whispered conspiratorially from behind me. “Word is your father has something special planned.”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I said, locking my knees against the fear to suppress my anxiety. I turned to shake yet another hand, feeling the rough texture of a lie with each grasp. The laughter around me was a jarring symphony against the screaming inside my head. I could almost hear the sharpening of the blade destined for my neck.

“Come on, Atticus. Lighten up! It’s a party, after all,” someone chided, nudging me playfully.

“Right, a party,” I echoed. They didn’t know, couldn’t know, that I wasn’t here to be celebrated. I was here to be sacrificed.

The murmurs dwindled as my father, the alpha, stepped up. His presence owned the room. No one dared speak over him.

“Pack, friends,” he boomed, “we gather tonight for a sacred union.”

I shifted my weight, feeling the stares.

“Tradition has its place,” he continued. “Today we set it aside for something greater.”

There were whispers, curious glances. I caught none of them. My attention was fixed on my father.

“Tonight,” he declared, “you will witness a magical mating bond. One that lasts an eternity.”

A chill ran down my spine. This wasn’t just a mating ceremony. It was a sealing of fates, unbreakable, irreversible. My throat tightened.

“Prepare yourselves for a spectacle unseen for generations.” His eyes met mine, and in them, I saw no mercy. Only determination.

The crowd erupted into excited chatter. I stood there, alone in the noise, facing my eternal binding.