Chapter Three
Silas
Aria is trembling no matter how still she tries to hold herself, and it shreds something raw and furious inside me. She’s curled under the blanket like she expects someone to rip it away from her. Like warmth is a trap. Like softness is a lie.
My dire wolf pushes against my skin, restless and pacing. Every instinct I have screams at me to climb into that bed and wrap myself around her until the shaking stops. To touch her. To comfort her. To shield her.
But touching her now would break her. And breaking her is the one thing I will never allow myself to do.
I clear my throat quietly. “If you want, I can wait outside.”
Her eyes open a sliver. Gold ringed with brown, shadowed with exhaustion. They flicker over my face, my posture, and the distance between us. She studies me like she’s trying to predict which part of me will hurt her first.
Then, surprising me, she whispers, “Stay.”
My chest tightens. Just one word, trembling and hesitant but it roots me to the floor more solidly than any command from an Alpha ever could.
“All right,” I say softly. “I’ll stay.”
I stay seated. Stay still. Stay contained. My fucking dire wolf doesn’t. He pushes at my ribs like he wants to crawl out and curl at her feet.
Mate. Protect mate.
I grit my teeth and force him down. I can’t protect her if she’s terrified of me.
Her gaze drifts to the window before closing again, her body swaying like she’s fighting sleep and losing. I recognize the signs—drug withdrawal, shock, and exhaustion. She needs rest.
“Aria,” I say gently. “You don’t have to keep your eyes open. I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t let anyone in here without your permission.”
She doesn’t respond. But the tension in her shoulders loosens a fraction, and she drifts off with a soft, uneven breath. A nightmare hits almost immediately. Her body jerks. A broken whimper slips out. Her hands clutch the blanket like she’s holding onto life itself.
Fuck.
My dire wolf snarls, wanting out. Wanting to climb into her nightmares and rip them apart with his teeth and save her from anything that could ever harm her.
I move to the edge of the bed slowly, lowering myself to the floor beside it.
I won’t touch her—she didn’t give permission—but maybe being near will help.
Her breath catches. She curls tighter.
“Aria,” I murmur, not loud enough to startle. “You’re safe. You’re in the Katu compound. Not with the Hunters.”
Her brow twitches. She exhales sharper, a tiny gasp.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” I whisper.
The endearment slips out before I can stop it. It surprises her, her fingers twitching toward me, then retreating. She wakes up with a tiny cry, bolting upright.
Her chest heaves and her pupils are blown wide. She scans the room wildly until her gaze locks on me sitting beside her bed. The terror in her eyes softens, but it doesn’t fade.
“Nightmare?” I ask carefully.
She nods once, an embarrassed flush creeping over her cheeks.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say. “Just ... know I’m here.”
She swallows hard. “I didn’t want you to see that.”
“I’ll see much worse,” I tell her honestly. “You survived hell. Nightmares are a small price for that.”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then her shoulders sag under the weight of exhaustion she tries, and fails, to hide.
“Sleep,” I say again, gentler this time. “I’ll stay until you do.”
And she does, slowly, warily, but she lets sleep take her again. This time, she doesn’t fall apart as hard. This time, I’m close enough to catch the tremors before they turn into quakes.
I stay by her bed until the first hint of dawn breaks through the window. My legs are stiff, my back aching, but I don’t move. Leaving her alone feels wrong. Like I’d be breaking something fragile. Something sacred.
But pack duty doesn’t wait. I owe the Katu pack more than I will ever be able to repay, and I can’t shirk my responsibilities.
When sunrise hits full and bright, there’s a small knock on the door.
Marc’s voice filters through the wooden door. “Silas? Briefing in ten.”
I exhale. Of course. “I’ll be there,” I reply softly.
Aria shifts under the blankets at the sound of my voice. She doesn’t wake up, but she visibly relaxes.
I push myself up slowly. But my body refuses to walk away without seeing her face one more time. I turn back. She’s curled into a corner of the bed, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. Her hair spills over the pillow like ink, hiding half her face. Her breathing is slow, but not peaceful.
The bond flickers again, sharp enough to steal my breath this time. I don’t understand it. Fate doesn’t make mistakes. But this bond feels half-formed, stretched thin, like it wasn’t meant to survive what they did to her.
But it’s there. Even if it’s broken, it’s there.
I step back toward the bed, unable to help myself. I don’t get close enough to touch, but... “I’ll be back,” I whisper.
Her brows twitch faintly, as if she hears me from inside sleep. My chest squeezes. And then I force myself to leave.
****
The conference room is tense when I enter. Caine stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. Peyton is at his side, calm but sharp-eyed. Godrick, the twins, and Marc fill the remaining seats.
Everyone turns toward me as I walk in.
Marc arches a brow. “Did you even sleep?”
“No.”
Caine’s gaze sharpens. “How is she?”
Everyone pretends they’re not listening harder.
“She’s alive,” I say. “Shaken. Hurt. Starving. Drugged. But alive.”
“And the mate bond?” Peyton asks softly.
My jaw clenches. “There ... but damaged.”
Silence drops like a stone.
Marc sits forward. “Damaged? That’s possible?”
“It’s not.” Peyton answers before I can. “Not unless she’s been pushed far past her limits. Trauma can mute a shifter’s animal. Destroy their ability to respond. But a bond?” She shakes her head. “That’s extreme.”
I don’t tell them how my chest cracked open when she flinched away from me.
“How rare are leopard shifters, exactly?” Raleigh asks.
“Very,” Peyton says. “Aria is only the second one we’ve ever encountered.”
“Does that mean she’s connected to any of the leopards you’ve come across before?” Sayer asks.
Peyton’s eyes widen slightly. “No. I think the Hunters stumbled into something far bigger. They found a hidden clan we didn’t know existed.”
The room goes quiet. A hidden clan. One secretive enough that the Katu pack, one of the best-connected packs on the coast, had no idea they existed.
My dire wolf rumbles low in my chest. Aria was never supposed to be found. If the Hunters hadn’t taken her ... she might have spent her whole life hidden. I might have never found my mate. My fists clench.
“We need to know how many others are out there,” Godrick says. “If a clan this rare exists, they might be in danger.”
Caine nods slowly. “Agreed. But we can’t involve Aria yet. She’s not ready.” The protective growl that tears out of me is automatic. Caine’s eyes snap to mine, sharp. “Nobody is asking her anything, Silas.”
I drop my gaze, my breathing unsteady, as I fight to keep my dire wolf at bay. “She can’t be interrogated. Or pressured.” I need to make sure they understand, she is off-limits.
“I know,” Caine says gently. “We’ll take this slow.”
Peyton touches his arm. “We’ll get the healer to check her once she’s rested. Quietly and only if she agrees.”
My dire wolf hates the idea of anyone touching her. But Xavia is safe. Peyton is safe. Peyton is half the reason any broken shifter who arrives here survives.
“She had nightmares,” I admit.
Peyton’s brows soften. “Of course she did.”
“She’s also afraid to shift. I could feel it.”
Godrick nods slowly. “That tracks. Leopards are solitary. Shifting around unknown wolves would make her feel exposed.”
“She wouldn’t even shift with Hunters watching,” Marc mutters grimly. “She probably expects an attack any time she lets her guard down.”
My stomach twists.
Caine clears his throat. “Silas.” I meet his eyes. “You’re staying with her.”
The room inhales at once. Marc snorts. “Well, that was obvious.”
Godrick nods. “He’s the only one she saw during the rescue. Anyone else walking in would send her straight to panic mode.”
The twins nod in agreement.
Caine continues, voice steady. “Until she stabilizes, you’re her anchor. But you need to be careful. She’s fragile.”
“I know.”
“And you need to slow down.”
That, I don’t respond to. Because I don’t know how to slow down where she’s concerned. The instinct is too strong. The pull too deep.
Peyton steps closer, her voice gentle. “Silas ... the bond is hurting you both. She needs time. Space. Safety. Not pressure.”
“I’m not pressuring her,” I grit out.
“No,” Peyton agrees. “But sometimes presence alone can feel like pressure to someone who’s been broken.”
The words hit like a punch and I look away.
After the briefing, Caine catches my arm before I leave.
“She’ll trust you,” he says quietly. “Just don’t rush her.”
I nod, but my throat is too tight to speak.
****
When I return to the room, Aria is awake. She is sitting on the bed with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Knees pulled up again. Her hair is a tangled curtain around her face. Her eyes track me the moment I step inside, first startled, then wary, then ... something softer.
She doesn’t look relieved. Just less frightened. For now, that’s enough. I move slowly, sitting in the chair again. Same distance. Same posture. Predictable and non-threatening.
She watches me for several seconds before speaking.
“Where did you go?” Her voice is small, cracked but clearer than before.
“We had a briefing,” I say. “To plan next steps.”
Her fingers tighten around the blanket. “For ... the Hunters?”
“Yes.”
She swallows hard. “Are they coming back?”
“They won’t come here.” My tone leaves no room for doubt. “This is the safest place on the entire coast.”
She studies my face like she’s trying to detect a lie. I let her look and I don’t look away. Eventually, she nods once, slowly.
Her voice is barely there when she asks: “What ... what happens to me now?”
My chest pulls tight. “Nothing happens to you,” I say firmly. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re not a responsibility. You’re not a tool. You’re free.”
She flinches like the word hurts. Free. I don’t think she remembers what that feels like. I don’t know how long the Hunters held her captive, but I think it was a long time.
“You’ll stay here,” I continue gently. “In this room. As long as you want. You’ll get clothes, food, medical care, but only what you agree to. No one touches you without permission, your permission.”
She blinks rapidly.
“I’m not in a cell,” she whispers, like she’s evaluating the idea.
“No,” I say, voice low. “You’re not.”
Her breathing wavers. She looks around the room like she’s seeing it for the first time. The dresser. The blankets. The window without any bars. Freedom, in small enough pieces she can manage.
She lifts her gaze back to mine. Her voice is so small I almost miss the question. “Will you ... stay?”
My breath catches. Not because of the question. But because she looks afraid of the answer. Like she expects me to disappear. Like she expects abandonment.
I keep my voice soft and steady. “I’ll stay. As long as you want me here.”
Her throat works as she swallows and her eyes shine with unshed tears she refuses to let fall. I stay in the chair and keep the distance between us. I will let her set the pace.
The bond flickers again, bright, then fading, then a pulse of pain. She winces visibly. I feel it too.
She curls in on herself. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” The word leaves me harder than I intend. I soften it immediately. “No. You don’t apologize. Not for this. Not ever.”
She swallows. “It’s hurting you.”
“It’s hurting us,” I correct gently. “But it’s not your fault. It’s the drugs. The trauma. It’ll heal.”
“I don’t think it will.”
“It will,” I say with a certainty I don’t feel. “You survived them. You’ll survive this.”
She looks at me for a long, trembling moment. Then her voice drops barely above a whisper. “Silas ... I don’t know how to be around people anymore.”
My heart breaks cleanly in my chest. “We’ll take it one breath at a time,” I tell her softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes shine. “Promise?”
I nod. She exhales shakily and her body relaxes just a little. And for the first time since I found her in that cage she doesn’t look quite as terrified as she did before.
Not safe.
Not trusting.
Not healed.
But I’m not terrified.
I’ll take it. I sit with her for hours, quiet and still, as she drifts in and out of exhausted sleep. Every time she wakes, she checks if I’m still there. And every time, I am.