Chapter Eight
Aria
The sunlight creeps slowly across the floor, warming the wooden boards one inch at a time.
My breathing finally slows after the panic, settling into something almost normal.
The trembling in my limbs fades little by little.
But the echo of fear is still there, hiding under my skin like a living thing.
Silas doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t look away.
He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, close enough that I can feel his heat, far enough that I can breathe. I risk a glance at him.
He’s watching me carefully, but not the way the Hunters watched. Not waiting for me to break. Not calculating what to do with the pieces. He watches like he’s terrified of hurting me. Of being the reason I fall apart.
My chest aches with a strange, sharp emotion I don’t know how to name.
“I didn’t mean to ... react like that,” I whisper.
His brows pull together slightly. “Aria, you don’t need to apologize for being scared.”
I curl my fingers in the blanket. “It was just a howl.”
“No,” he says gently. “It was a trigger.”
Trigger. The word fits. Perfectly. I wonder what else will trigger me now that I am free. Am I free? I don’t feel like it. Instead of a cage, I now live in a prison of fear.
“It’s stupid,” I mutter, shame burning through me.
He shakes his head. “It’s not.” I look away, but he continues, voice low and careful. “You weren’t scared of a sound. You were scared of everything it reminded you of.”
My throat closes. A tremor slips into my chest. He’s right. And somehow hearing him say it makes the fear feel less like weakness and more like something human. Something understandable.
I draw in a long breath and it helps, a little.
His presence helps more. But I don’t want him to know that, but he probably already does.
I clear my throat. “Did you have to handle something important?”
His jaw flexes. “It was a pack meeting.”
“For me?” I whisper.
“For the Hunters,” he corrects gently. “But, yes, partly for you.”
My stomach drops. “Because they’re after me.”
His silence confirms it. He doesn’t sugarcoat. He doesn’t lie. Something that I didn’t know I would appreciate.
“We won’t let them get near you,” he adds, voice firm but soft.
“We?” I echo, my heart tightening.
“Me.” His voice roughens. “And the entire pack.”
The idea of so many wolves protecting me should terrify me. It should overwhelm me. But part of me feels ... warmer. Stronger. Less alone.
I drag in another breath. “And when I panicked ... you came right away.”
“Of course I did.”
“Why?” I whisper.
He hesitates for a heartbeat. Just one. “Because you needed me.”
The words slam into me with too much force, too much honesty. I grip the blanket to stay grounded. “You say it like it’s simple,” I manage.
“It is simple,” he replies. “At least for me.”
My heart stutters painfully. The bond flickers, warm and soft, then sharp again. Not painful, but intense. I curl my knees to my chest and look out the window, trying to escape the weight of the moment. My leopard presses against my awareness, pacing, and restless.
She’s watching him too. She’s the one who pushed my hand forward earlier. She’s the one who reached for him, not me. Not fully at least. But I didn’t stop her.
Silas shifts slightly, drawing my attention back. “There’s something we should try today,” he says carefully.
My muscles tense. “Try?”
“Only if you want to,” he adds quickly. “And only if you feel safe enough.”
I grip the blanket tighter. “What is it?”
He studies me for a moment. “Walking.”
I blink. “Walking?”
“Just in the room,” he clarifies. “Nothing outside. Nothing overwhelming. But you’ve been in bed since you got here except for your shower, and moving might help your leopard feel less trapped.”
Trapped. The word resonates too sharply. He’s right. I am trapped, in my body, in my mind, in all the leftover pieces of what the Hunters did.
I nod slowly. “I think I can ... try.”
He stands up immediately, giving me space. He moves toward the corner of the room, far away enough that I have the whole floor to myself.
“I’ll stay here,” he says, leaning against the wall. “You don’t have to come near me.”
My leopard huffs inside me. I ignore her. I swing my legs off the bed. My feet hit the floor, cool and solid. The world doesn’t tilt. That’s good. My pulse thunders a little too fast, but that’s normal. Expected.
I stand. My legs tremble, not from pain, but from not being used, from nerves. Silas watches, still and steady, like a guard or an anchor or something in between. Not pushing. Not coaxing. Just there.
I take a breath and take one step. One.
My muscles protest, stiff from sleep and fear and too much stillness. But I don’t fall. I take another step. And another. My breathing eases. My leopard stretches inside me, curious. Awake.
“You’re doing well,” Silas says softly.
I swallow, not looking at him. “It feels strange.”
“How?”
“Like the room is too big. Like there are too many directions I could run.”
“You don’t need to run,” he murmurs.
“I know. But my body doesn’t.”
He nods. “Then we’ll teach it slowly.”
I walk to the dresser. Then to the window. Then back to the bed. Each loop gets easier. Silas watches me like every step is a masterpiece. My chest warms again. I hate how easily he makes that happen. But I don’t want it to stop.
After a few minutes, I sit on the bed again. My breathing is shallow but not panicked.
He approaches slowly, checking my face for signs of distress. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Just tired. It was ... more than I thought.”
“That’s enough for today,” he says gently. “You did well.”
The praise hits me harder than it should. I look down, embarrassed. “It’s just walking.”
“It’s recovery,” he corrects softly. “Recovery is never just anything.”
My throat tightens. No one has ever spoken to me like this. Not even the other leopards. Not even the healers back home. Certainly not the Hunters. Silas sits back in his chair. Not as close as yesterday. But not far, either. My body relaxes.
“Can I ask something?” he says after a moment.
The question is soft. Careful. Like he is afraid of spooking me. I nod.
“When you panicked earlier ... you said the Hunters howled before they brought someone new.” His voice stays gentle, but I can feel the tension beneath. “Did that happen often?”
My mouth goes dry. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want him to picture it. I don’t want to be seen as the fragile thing they made me. But the bond flickers again with warmth, urging gently. My leopard presses closer, whispering safe in the back of my mind.
I breathe slowly.
“They brought in shifters,” I whisper. “All kinds. Wolves. Bears. Foxes. Some of them were half-wild. Some were ... broken.” Silas’s jaw clenches. “They didn’t tell us what happened to the ones they took away,” I continue softly. “But sometimes we’d hear screams. Or growls. Or nothing.”
His eyes darken with fury he tries to swallow.
“They used the howl as a warning,” I say. “So, we’d know to behave. Or else.”
Silas lowers his head, rubbing his hands over his face. “Goddess, give me calm.”
My heartbeat quickens. I shouldn’t have told him. He already carries too much weight. Too much anger.
“Silas?” I whisper. He lifts his head immediately, eyes sharp and focused on me. “Are you angry at me?”
He looks startled. “What? No. Never. Aria...”
I wrap my arms around myself. “You looked—”
“Angry at them,” he says quickly. “Not you. Never you. Not a single shifter that was taken by the Hunters deserves anger. It’s no one’s fault except theirs.” He spits out the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
My throat closes again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Don’t apologize.” His voice softens to a low rumble. “You shared something painful. I’m honored you trusted me enough to do that.”
Honored. Like my pain is worth something. Like my voice matters. My leopard presses against me, confused, curious, and leaning forward instead of retreating. I’m trembling before I realize it but Silas notices instantly.
“Aria,” he says softly. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, unable to explain. Too many emotions. Too much vulnerability. Too many years of being punished for speaking. He stands slowly, not approaching, but shifting his posture in a way that somehow lowers the tension in the room.
“You’re safe,” he says gently. “You’re safe with me.”
My breath catches as I tilt my head to stare at him. “Why does hearing you say that ... hurt?”
His expression cracks in the softest, saddest way. “Because no one ever meant it before.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. One escapes before I can blink it back. Silas goes very still. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t reach for me. He just softens his voice until it’s barely above a whisper.
“Aria?”
“Yeah?” My voice breaks.
“Can I sit closer?”
My breath stutters as I nod. He moves to the bed, slowly, carefully, and sits beside me, leaving a respectful space. But close enough that I feel his warmth. His presence. His strength.
I curl my fingers in the blanket.
He notices my trembling hands and asks softly, “Do you want me to hold your hand?”
I can barely breathe. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.” His voice is gentle. “Then I’ll just sit here.”
He does. Quiet, steady, and patient. Minutes pass in silence. My tears stop and my breathing steadies. The bond flickers, not painful this time. Just warm. Just alive.
My leopard nudges me again. Before I can overthink, I move my hand one inch. Then another. Then another. Until my fingers brush his.
He freezes. Not a muscle moves. Not a single breath escapes too loudly. He waits for me. Always waiting. My hand shakes as I place it fully on top of his. Our skin barely touches, just the fingertips. Electricity races up my arm and my heart jumps.
Silas inhales sharply, as if the contact surprises him.
“Aria...” His voice is a low growl of emotion.
I don’t pull back. I hold his hand, just barely, and whisper, “Stay.”
His fingers curl around mine so gently it almost isn’t a touch. But it is.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes. And for the first time, the bond doesn’t flicker in pain. It glows. Soft, warm, and real.