Chapter 11, Aria
The silence of the chamber was broken by the sudden creak of the heavy oak door. Aria jumped, the book she had been pretending to read slipping from her fingers and landing with a soft thud on the rug. She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Thorne stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the corridor light. He looked tired, the sharp angles of his face softened by the shadows, but his eyes were still that piercing, unreadable grey. He didn’t say a word. He simply stepped into the room and extended a hand.
Aria hesitated for a fraction of a second, her instinct to run warring with her curiosity. But he was the Alpha, and her body remembered the feel of his commands. She took his hand, his grip firm and warm, and let him pull her to her feet.
“Come,” he said. He didn’t give her time to ask where they were going or to prepare herself. He led her out of the chambers and down the long, echoing corridors. Thorne’s pace was steady, purposeful, and Aria had to hurry to keep up.
They arrived at the Great Hall. It was a cavernous space, with a ceiling so high it seemed lost in shadows, supported by pillars of black stone.
The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and fresh bread.
The tables were long and made of dark wood, arranged in a massive semi-circle around a dais at the far end.
Thorne walked to the dais and took his seat at the head of the table.
He gestured for Aria to sit next to him.
She sat, her hands clasped in her lap, feeling incredibly small.
She expected the silence of a prison, but the moment she sat down, a woman appeared.
She was young, with a warm smile and kind eyes, holding a large silver platter.
“Alpha,” the woman said, bowing her head slightly. She served Thorne a portion of meat and poured a dark amber liquid into his goblet. Then she turned to Aria, her expression softening. “For you, Aria.”
She served Aria as well, her movements efficient and respectful.
As the woman walked away, Aria looked around, her eyes wide.
The tables were filling up. It wasn’t a gathering of prisoners.
It was a gathering of community. She watched as other wolves entered, some shifting from their human forms to their wolf forms, their fur bristling and their eyes glowing, to take their seats.
But it was the humans who caught her attention.
They sat at the lower tables, interspersed between the wolves.
They wore simple tunics and the leather collars that marked them as mates.
They weren’t looking down in fear. They were laughing, their heads tilted back as they spoke.
One woman was feeding a piece of bread to a large wolf sitting beside her, the beast licking her fingers with a tongue that was surprisingly gentle.
Aria ate in silence, her eyes darting from face to face.
She saw wolves being affectionate with their mates, nuzzling their necks, and being scratched behind the ears.
She saw children running between the tables, pups who were just beginning to shift, their bodies still small and awkward.
One little boy, no older than six, was sitting on the lap of a wolf who looked like he could tear a man in half.
The boy was laughing, pointing at something and the wolf’s tail was thumping happily against the floor.
It looked so normal. It looked like a family dinner, if you ignored the occasional wolf that would randomly sprout fur or a child who would shift into a clumsy puppy for a moment before scrambling back into their chair.
Thorne ate with the efficiency of a man who was always busy, his fork moving with practiced precision, He didn’t speak much, but when he did, his voice carried, resonating through the hall.
The pack listened, their postures relaxed, their eyes respectful.
They weren’t afraid of him. They were wary of his wrath yes, but there was a deep-seated trust there, a reverence for his strength.
He was their protector, their leader, the monster they bowed to because he kept them safe.
Aria felt a pang of jealousy mixed with relief.
They had found a home here. She was just a guest, a possession.
When the meal ended, Thorne stood up. He didn’t wait for her.
He walked down the dais and gestured for her to follow.
They returned to his chambers, the silence of the fortress closing in around them again.
Once inside, he led her to the massive ensuite bathroom.
He stepped in front of her, his hand on the handle of the massive rainfall showerhead.
He turned it on and a roar of water filled the room, steam billowing out immediately, fogging up the mirrors.
Thorne began to undress, his movements efficient as he stripped off his clothes, revealing the tanned muscular expanse of his body.
He turned to her, his eyes dark in the steam-filled room.
“Undress,” he said. Aria hesitated, then with a sigh, pulled the silk dress over her head, and stood naked in the steam, shivering slightly as the air hit her skin. Thorne stepped closer and pulled her into the shower with him. The hot water cascaded over them, soaking their hair and skin.
He grabbed a bar of soap and began to wash her.
His hands were rough, his grip firm, but his touch was surprisingly careful.
He worked the soap into a lather, running his hands over her shoulders.
Then his hands slid down her arms, his fingers traced the curve of her spine.
He cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over her nipples until they hardened against his palms. Aria gasped, her head falling back.
“Stop,” she breathed, trying to push him away.
“I can do it myself.” He ignored her. His hands moved lower still, his fingers tracing the line of her hip, his palm pressing against her stomach.
He knelt in the shower, the water sluicing over his dark hair, and took her into his mouth.
His tongue was hot and wet, tracing the sensitive folds of her sex, and Aria cried out, her hands tangling in his wet hair, her body arching against his mouth.
She tried to push him away, but her struggles were weak, perfunctory.
She was overwhelmed by the sensation, by the heat and the water and the intensity of his attention.
She hated that he could make her feel this way, hated that her body was betraying her, but she couldn’t deny the pleasure that was coiling deep in her belly.
He stood up, his mouth glistening with her juices. He turned her around, pressing her face-first against the wall of the shower. He positioned himself behind her, his hands on her waist, his erection pressing against her lower back.
“Spread your legs,” he growled. Aria obeyed, her body trembling.
He entered her from behind, hard and sudden, filling her completely.
She cried out, her nails scraping against the wet tiles.
He began to thrust, his hips slapping against her skin, the water making the sound loud and rhythmic.
He held her tight, this hands bruising her hips, his body flush against her back.
“Look at me,” he commanded. Aria turned her head, her eyes blurry with tears, and looked at him over her shoulder. He was watching her, his face twisted in a mixture of hunger and satisfaction. He was taking her with a fierce intensity, his wolf rising to the surface, claiming her with every thrust.
He reached around and rubbed her clit, his fingers moving in time with his thrusts, and Aria screamed as the pleasure built, overwhelming her senses. She came, her body shuddering, her inner muscles clamping down on him, milking him for all he was worth.
He thrust one last time, deep and hard, and released, his seed filling her.
He held her there for a moment, his chest heaving against her back, his breath hot in her ear.
He pulled out, turning the water off. The steam swirled around them, obscuring the room in a white haze.
He grabbed a towel, drying himself quickly, then moved to Aria, drying her off with rough efficient strokes.
He wrapped the towel around her, pulling her close against her chest. She was limp in his arms, exhausted, her body aching in the best possible way. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and him, a strange sense of peace settling over her.