Chapter Two
Aria
Darkness presses against my thoughts like wet cotton, heavy and suffocating. I drift somewhere between sleep and nothingness, my body floating, and unanchored. I think my eyes are open, but everything is black.
I hear boots. Voices. A woman crying. Metal screaming. Then a roar so deep it vibrates inside my bones. I try to move but I can't. My limbs respond like they belong to someone else, or no one at all. Pain flickers across my nerves in thin, electric threads. I breathe in ... and gag.
The air tastes like bleach and rot and the metallic bite of my own blood.
I’ve learned to identify those smells. Months inside this place trained me well. Maybe years, I’ve lost the rhythm of time. The Hunters are always careful to keep us disoriented.
Except tonight ... something is different.
There’s shouting. Panic. The sharp thud of bodies hitting the ground. Someone is fighting them. Someone strong.
I try to focus, but the drugs drag me back down. They dull my instincts, bury my leopard under layers of fog until she barely stirs. She hates it. I hate it. But she sleeps because she’s forced to. Because I’m too weak to help her.
Footsteps stop in front of my cage.
A growl, deep, furious, and familiar in a way that terrifies me.
My pulse spikes, frantic. I crawl backward until cold metal bars scrape my spine, my breath leaves me in shallow, shuddering gasps. I don’t know who’s out there. I don’t trust anything that sounds like power anymore.
Power has only ever brought me suffering.
The footsteps come closer.
My vision flickers—the shadows bending, light cracking through them. And then a figure steps forward, broad shoulders blocking the weak overhead bulb. He crouches, bringing himself level with me.
I blink and the world sharpens around him.
His eyes, Goddess, his eyes are like storm clouds over steel. Hard. Wild. And when they lock onto mine, something inside my chest twists violently. Heat pulses between us, bright and sudden. Then just as quickly, it fades and flickers out like someone blew on the flame.
I inhale sharply as pain stabs low in my stomach. It’s not physical but something else. Something ... elemental.
The man, no, the shifter, flinches at the same time. A tiny hitch of pain across his jaw.
His voice is rough, cracked with worry and something too gentle to belong in a place like this.
“Easy,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
Liar, I want to say. No one has had me for an exceptionally long time. Not in the way that means safety. But my lips won’t move. The drugs keep my voice locked inside.
He hits the cage door with his shoulder, once.
Twice. I flinch with every impact, and he curses under his breath, bracing his feet like he’s about to tear the world apart.
Another man appears behind him. Smaller and around the same age.
He moves like a warrior, but my shredded nerves don’t care.
Another male in the room means more danger.
My ears ring.
My pulse hammers.
They’re Hunters, my mind insists, too slow to process the difference. They’re going to hurt you again.
But that’s not right. Their scents are different from the Hunters. Not harsh. Not chemical-soaked. But warm and earthen. They’re wolves. I haven’t smelled real wolves in ... I don’t know how long.
The lock snaps with a metallic crack. The man in front, the one with storm eyes, pushes the door open.
He waits.
He doesn’t rush me.
Doesn’t bark orders.
Doesn’t grab me like I’m a thing.
He waits.
My fingers shake as I crawl forward. My muscles burn as though they’re tearing from my bones. I move because I know staying in this cage means death. Not freedom. Just the next phase of suffering.
My leopard stirs faintly under the drugs, like a whisper. Go. Move.
When I’m close enough, he slides his arms under me. Warm, solid, and so incredibly careful. The contact should make me recoil, but my body goes limp instead. Too weak to fight. Too tired to care.
The moment he lifts me, the heat between us sparks again then stutters. Fails. Breaks.
His breath catches. His arms tense like he’s holding back something feral. I want to tell him I’m sorry. That I’m too far gone. That my animal can’t answer. That I might be beyond the Goddess’s reach.
But I can’t speak. I let the darkness swallow me again.
****
I come back to consciousness slowly. I’m being carried. The movement is uneven, bouncing. The steady rhythm of running feet as the wind whips past us and frigid night air bites my cheeks.
Someone shouts to the left. A crash sounds behind us. A roar, terrible and powerful, answers it.
Then the man carrying me swears loudly. “It’s a fucking trap! Move! Move!”
My eyes blink open. Light slices across my vision. Trees. Moon. Chaos. We’re outside. We’re actually escaping. I’m so excited I start to tremble. A hand touches my back, gentle and grounding.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”
Safe. The word vibrates in my chest in a way nothing else has for years. I try to cling to it, but terror claws at my throat. I hear gunfire. Screams. Wolves howling and snarling.
He holds me tighter, bracing my head against his shoulder so I won’t see what he’s running through. It’s too much. My breath hiccups and my skin goes cold. I want to shift. I want my leopard out. I want her to protect me. But she’s terrified too.
The last time we shifted in front of strangers, they drugged us until she curled into a corner of my mind and stopped trying. She doesn’t trust anyone.
Not even me.
Not anymore.
I shake uncontrollably.
“We’re almost out,” he promises, his voice rough with something like desperation. “Just hold on.”
Hold on. Hold...
I fold back into darkness again.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I wake again, everything is warm. Soft. Quiet. The air smells like cedar and incense and something clean, like fresh rain. It pulls at something deep inside me, something instinctive, feral, and wounded.
My leopard uncurls slightly. Not enough to rise. Just enough to let me know she is still there.
I’m lying on a bed covered in thick blankets with a humming heater in the corner. A soft light glows from a nearby lamp. An intricate wooden dresser stands against the far wall. There’s a window, just a pane of glass, no bars.
This isn’t the compound. This isn’t a cage.
Someone sits near the bed and I freeze. His scent reaches me before I turn away. That storm-wild canine scent. The one from the rescue.
My stomach flips.
I turn my body just enough to see him. He’s sitting in a chair, forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped loosely. His eyes are on me but not pinning me. Watching. Quiet and patient.
Everything about him is too big. Too strong. Too intense. My pulse jumps.
He notices. His expression tightens, not in anger, but concern. “You’re awake.”
His voice is deep, low, almost soothing. But I don’t trust soothing. I push myself up, bracing against the wall behind the bed. My arms shake. I grit my teeth through the weakness. He stands slowly, hands visible, like he’s approaching a feral animal.
Which ... is fair, I guess.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says.
They always say that. Usually right before they hurt me.
I swallow, my throat is sandpaper dry. “Where...?”
“The Katu pack compound," he answers softly. “It’s safe territory.”
Safe. That word again. I want to believe it, but I can’t force my mind to accept what he keeps saying. He takes a step closer, and I shrink back before I can stop myself. His jaw flexes, pain crossing his features, but he stops immediately.
“I won’t come closer. Not unless you want me to.”
Want. It’s been a long time since anyone cared about what I wanted.
My voice cracks when I manage to speak. “Why ... why did you take me?”
The bond flickers between us, weak and inconsistent, like a heartbeat struggling to find its rhythm. His breath catches. He knows it. He feels it too.
He swallows. “Because you’re...”
He cuts himself off, eyes flickering like he’s arguing with himself.
I wait.
Finally, he says quietly, “Because you were dying. And because you’re important.”
Important. That doesn’t feel real.
“I’m...” My voice trembles. “I’m not important. I’m nobody.”
His eyes flash. “Don’t say that.”
I flinch at the sharpness. He notices and immediately softens again. “You survived something unforgivable. That alone makes you something.”
Tears sting my eyes and I blink them away. He doesn’t approach. He doesn’t crowd. He gives me space, a full two feet of space, and somehow that makes me want to cry harder.
“Aria,” I mumble before I can stop myself.
His brows lift. “Is that your name?”
I nod weakly. He absorbs it like it matters. Like he’s tucking it somewhere safe inside himself.
“I’m Silas.”
Silas. The name fits him. Sharp edges and heavy shadows.
He hesitates. “Aria ... I need you to know something.”
My heart stutters.
He looks away, jaw clenching. “When I found you, something happened. Something unexpected.”
The bond flickers again. My leopard stirs a little more, curious but fearful. I already know. On some instinctive, primal level, I knew the moment he picked me up.
“You felt it,” I whisper, voice barely there.
His eyes snap to mine. “You did too?”
A tremble runs through me. “Yes. But it...” I swallow. “It isn’t working right.”
His entire body reacts, shoulders tensing and muscles locking, like someone stabbed him without warning.
“I thought it was just me,” he murmurs.
“It’s not. It’s ... broken.”
His eyes darken with rage, but I instinctively know it’s not aimed at me. Never at me. At the world. At the Hunters. At fate. Don’t ask me how I can be sure of this, I just am.
“We’ll fix it,” he says with terrifying certainty.
I shake my head. “You can’t fix what they did.”
“I can try.” His voice shakes on that last word. He cares. Too much already. And that scares me more than anything.
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them. My whole body shivers, but I try to hide it. I’ve learned not to show weakness. Weakness earns punishment.
Silas watches me, his eyes softening.
“You’re safe here,” he whispers.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You keep saying that.”
“It’ll be true,” he vows. “Even if it isn’t right now.”
Silence stretches between us. A creak of floorboards sounds outside the room. Silas turns his head slightly, posture alert. Someone is standing in the hall. The scent hits me a second later. A female, a wolf, strong and warm like sunlight.
A soft knock follows the scent. “Silas?” a woman calls gently. “How is she?”
He glances at me, asking permission without words. I nod once. He opens the door just enough to speak to her.
“Peyton,” he says softly. “She just woke up.”
She bends slightly to peer past him, her expression gentle, mother warm.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Peyton says softly. “Welcome to the Katu pack.”
I try to answer but my throat closes. Silas growls under his breath, as if the sound of my fear hurts him.
Peyton gives him a meaningful look. “Let her breathe, Silas.”
He steps back, jaw tight.
She nods to me. “You’re safe. Truly safe. No one here will touch you without permission.”
Permission. Another thing I’m not used to. Peyton doesn’t push further. She just leaves a tray of what I can smell is chicken broth and water on the dresser and backs out with a gentle smile.
Silas closes the door again, leaning on it for a moment as if steadying himself. Then he returns to his chair, not approaching and not demanding. Just being there. Quiet, present, and steady.
A warmth spreads through me, unfamiliar and frightening. I don’t understand it. I don’t trust it. But I don’t hate it. I curl under the blanket, trembling while I stare at him. He watches me with an expression that scares me more than the Hunters ever did.
Hope.