Aaron #2
“I was holding back when you came at me the first time,” I tell him, my voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on me. “It wasn’t because I was afraid that you could kill me.”
I squeeze my hand into a fist, and the effect is immediate.
Ahmal’s hand contorts unnaturally, the bones inside it cracking one by one.
The sound is sickening. Wet, sharp pops like twigs snapping underwater.
He howls, the sound ripping from his throat as his fingers bend at impossible angles.
The long bones of his palm go first, fracturing with audible snaps.
Then the smaller bones of his fingers, twisting and splintering under the pressure of my magic.
Blood vessels rupture under his skin, the flesh already darkening with bruises.
His wrist collapses inward, the joint disintegrating.
“I learned that trick when I was a boy,” I say, watching him writhe in mid-air, his face contorted in agony.
“I have this ability. My magic learns from other witches and warlocks. It siphons their energy. I don’t need to be taught.
” I hold my fingers together like I’m about to snap them.
“Would you like to know what I learned from our king? Call for Mara. NOW!”
“Fuck you,” Ahmal spits through gritted teeth, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth where he’s bitten through his own lip.
“I don’t want to kill you to get to her,” I warn, tightening my magical grip. His hand crumples further, the bones now nothing but fragments beneath his skin. The pain must be excruciating, but still he defies me.
Dayo bursts from Ahmal’s cabin first, his broad shoulders filling. Tunde is right behind him, long legs eating up the porch steps in two strides. “Father!” Dayo yells, his voice cracking with panic. “Aaron, please stop!” Tunde begs, tears streaming down his face, his strategist’s calm shattered.
“I just want Mara,” I say, my voice breaking.
“Aaron, stop!” My mother’s voice carries from the territory line, but I can’t. The desperation for Mara is killing me. So I’m going to die one way or another. Might as well be this way, trying to see her one last time.
“Maybe I can show you what my magic has learned from Queen Anora,” I tell Ahmal, giving him a wink. “She’s far, far worse than the father of shifters.”
Everything stops when Amir teleports into the pride, appearing between Ahmal and me. He stands with hands clasped behind his back, pointed ears twitching slightly as he takes in the scene. Dayo and Tunde fall silent immediately, dropping to their knees.
“That is enough, Aaron,” Amir says, his voice calm. He looks around at the gathered lion shifters, his golden eyes assessing. “You’ve shown them what a Blackwood can do. Now put him down.”
I’m breathing heavily, glaring at Amir, my chest heaving with each painful breath. For a moment, I consider refusing. I flick my wrist and Ahmal falls to the ground.
Amir grins.
“You jerk!” my mother yells from the territory line. “You should’ve been here!” She’s pulling at Jacob, trying to break free from his grip. “Let me go or I’ll use magic on you!”
“No, she won’t,” Amir says calmly, not even bothering to look in her direction.
“Fuck you!” my mother shouts back, which only makes Amir’s grin widen.
“Family quarrel?” he asks, looking amused.
“I just want Mara back,” I say, my voice raw with exhaustion. “That’s all.”
Amir turns to Ahmal, who’s pulling himself to his feet, cradling his shattered hand against his chest. The once-powerful alpha is hunched in pain. The lion shifters who had come to his defense immediately drop to one knee at Amir’s presence, their heads bowed.
“Majesty,” Ahmal says, his voice raw with pain.
“What is this, Alpha?” Amir asks. His tone is light, which is worse.
Ahmal points at me with his good hand. “He is trying to destroy my daughter.”
Amir sighs, the sound heavy with a tired patience. “You know the laws of Mother Fate.”
“He crossed the territory line,” Ahmal protests, wincing as he shifts his weight. “He’s not welcome here.”
“Wintermoon was built for unity,” Amir murmurs.
“A sacred land we could only dream about before the Great War. Now we have it. We cannot be at war with one another.” He looks between us, his golden eyes flat and patient.
“The humans would love nothing more than to see us tear ourselves apart. Then they could reclaim what was once theirs.”
Ahmal falls quiet, breathing heavily, still holding his injured hand. The bone fragments shift with each movement, the hand now a misshapen lump at the end of his arm. His face is drawn with pain, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Is it not up to Mara?” Amir asks, looking between Ahmal and me. Neither of us speaks.
Amir grins, then turns and steps aside. And that’s when I finally see her.
Mara is standing on the porch of her family’s cabin. Her lion ears are flat against her head, her amber eyes wide and wet, her golden-brown tail limp behind her. The look on her face breaks something in me. Horror at what she’s seeing.
She slowly walks down the porch steps and approaches, the lions stepping out of her way. Amir looks at me, and I wave my hand, dissolving the barrier I’d put up to shield myself from the other lion shifters.
Mara has her hands clutched at her sides, her tail swaying nervously as she approaches.
When she reaches us, her eyes immediately go to her father holding his shattered hand.
Her mouth falls open in horror. She makes a small, wounded sound in the back of her throat, a noise so full of pain it breaks my heart.
“Mara, baby—“ I start, but she runs past me.
“Dad!” she cries, reaching for Ahmal’s injured hand. Her voice breaks on the word, tears already streaming down her face. She’s trembling, her ears flat against her head, her tail curled tight against her leg in distress.
“I’m alright, Mara,” he says, though his voice is strained with pain. He tries to straighten, to show strength for his daughter, but the agony is written in every line of his body.
“Ah, the beautiful lioness,” Amir says, watching her. “A creature that human men fought wars over.” He approaches her slowly. “Is that what you’re doing, Mara?”
She nervously shakes her head, and Amir grins at her discomfort. Mara’s eyes keep darting between her father’s mangled hand and my face, horror and betrayal warring in her expression.
“I will not force you to rejoin your mate,” Amir explains. “But I also won’t intervene if they fall into battle again.” His golden eyes hold hers. “What will you decide?”
Mara looks away from him, back at her father’s hand.
“I can handle it, Mara. You don’t have to...”
He falls quiet when her lips tremble, her tail falling limp behind her, her big beautiful eyes welling with tears that spill down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake with suppressed sobs, her claws digging into her own palms hard enough to draw blood.
“I can’t be the reason, Dad,” she whispers, her voice so small I barely catch it. The defeat in her tone cuts through me.
“Mara—“ he starts, but she looks over at me, her head down. This isn’t how I wanted it.
“I will submit,” she says softly. “Go back to Aaron.”
I hold my hand out, and magic spills from my fingers toward Ahmal. Mara and Ahmal both stiffen. Ahmal roars at me, and Mara steps forward, her body positioning itself between us.
“Aaron, please, I beg you—“ She falls quiet when she sees the magic fall over her father’s hand.
Blue-gold light wraps around the shattered limb, seeping into the skin.
Ahmal winces, his face contorting as the bones shift beneath the surface.
The fragments rise, reconnecting in the proper alignment.
Blood vessels heal, bruises fade from purple to green to yellow to nothing.
The whole process takes less than a minute, but I can feel Ahmal’s pain through my magic.
Each bone scraping against another, each nerve ending firing as connections reform.
When the spell completes, his hand is whole again, as if I’d never shattered it.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” I tell him.
“You did,” Ahmal says flatly, flexing his restored hand experimentally.
Mara looks between us, her tail still limp behind her.
“Go home, lioness,” Amir says, his voice soft. “I will tend to the pride.” He turns to us, his expression serious. “I expect you both at the royal palace in two days.”
Mara keeps her head down, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Her shoulders are slumped, her entire posture radiating defeat.
“I will not come back, Father,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Mara!” Ahmal calls after her, his voice breaking.
“Ahmal!” Amir appears in front of him in a blink. “Your daughter has chosen. Go back home to your family. You must yield.”
Ahmal’s tail stiffens, but he doesn’t challenge his king. He roars in frustration, then storms off toward his cabin. Amir looks back at me, his expression hard.
“What you have just done could have ruined everything that Wintermoon stands for,” he warns, his voice cold. “We will have words.”
Amir turns away and walks off, the rest of the pride following him, leaving me alone with Mara.
“Mara...” I reach for her, but she looks up at me and my heart sinks. She looks emptied out, her eyes dull and lifeless. She walks past me toward the territory line, and I can only follow, staring down at my hands, wondering what kind of monster I’ve become.
Meanwhile, my mother is screaming at the top of her lungs, still fighting against Jacob’s grip. I turn around, following Mara, and when we reach the territory line, she gasps at the sight of the guards still lying unconscious on the ground, blood pooling beneath one’s head where it struck the tree.
I quickly cast a healing spell over them, blue-gold light washing over their bodies. They begin to stir, groaning as they wake up. Mara’s mouth snaps shut, and she just looks at me, her expression unreadable.
The question in her eyes tears me apart.
Does she see the man that loves her, who is desperate for her? Or does she see the monster?