Chapter 19
DECLAN?
I’m lying on my back in a field somewhere outside pack territory, the grass soft beneath me and the sky impossibly blue overhead. Spring. Everything smells green and alive, and there’s a breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers.
Aria is beside me, curled into my side with her head on my chest. Her hair is loose, spilling across my shoulder in waves that catch the light. I can feel her breathing, steady and peaceful, and my arm is wrapped around her like it belongs there.
We’ve been laughing about something. She doubles over, gasping for breath between giggles, her eyes bright and unguarded. I pull her down onto the grass and she comes willingly, fitting against me.
No one knows we’re here. That’s the best part. Out here, away from the pack, away from the whispers and the judgment, we’re just us. Not the Alpha’s son and the rankless orphan. Not the future leader and the girl who shouldn’t even be looking at him.
Just Declan and Aria.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice soft and content.
I tilt my head to look down at her. “The future.”
She props herself up on one elbow, studying my face. There’s a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and I reach up to brush it away with my thumb.
“What about it?” she asks.
“What do you want?” I counter. “When no one can tell us we don’t belong together—what do you want our life to look like?”
Her expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across her face. She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing absent patterns on my chest.
“A family,” she says finally, so quietly I almost miss it. “I know that sounds stupid, but I’ve always wanted that. A real family. People who belong to each other.”
My chest tightens. She never talks about being an orphan—never complains, never shows how much it hurts. But I see it sometimes, in moments like this. The loneliness underneath everything else.
“That’s not stupid,” I say firmly. “And you’ll have it. I promise.”
She looks up at me, her eyes searching. “You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.” I shift so I’m facing her fully, my hand cupping her cheek. “We’ll have so many kids you’ll never be lonely again. A whole pack of our own. And I’ll protect all of you—you and them. Always. That’s my promise.”
Her smile breaks across her face like sunrise, bright and beautiful and completely unguarded. She believes me. She trusts me.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too.”
I lean down to kiss her—
And everything changes.
The warmth drains out of the air like someone opened a door to winter. The sky overhead darkens, clouds rolling in too fast, and suddenly I’m not lying in the grass anymore.
I’m standing in the ceremonial grounds, surrounded by the pack.
Aria is there too, but she’s not smiling now. She’s staring at me with devastation written across every line of her face, and I don’t understand why until I look down and see Celeste in my arms.
I’m marking her. I can feel my canines sinking into her neck, can taste her blood, can hear the pack cheering around us.
And Aria is watching.
“No—” I try to say, but the word won’t come out. I try to pull away from Celeste, but my body won’t obey.
Then Aria runs.
I’m chasing her through the forest, my wolf driving me forward with violent, furious purpose. She’s ahead of me, darting between trees, her breath coming in ragged gasps that I can hear even over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
“Catch her!” I hear myself shout, and the pack surges forward with me.
She stumbles. Goes down hard. Gets back up, but she’s limping now, and there’s blood on her leg.
“Stop!” I want to yell. “Stop running!”
But the only thing that comes out is: “Don’t let her escape!”
She glances back over her shoulder, and our eyes meet for just a second.
The pain in her face is unbearable.
Then she screams.
The sound tears through the forest—raw and broken and full of agony. It doesn’t stop. It just keeps going, echoing off the trees, filling my head until I can’t hear anything else.
“Aria—!”
I wake with a start, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The scream is still there. Still echoing in my ears like it’s real, like she’s still running, still hurting.
I’m drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs. My hands are shaking.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But it doesn’t feel like one.
I sit up, running both hands through my hair, and force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
The scream fades slowly, but I can still hear the ghost of it. Can still see the look on her face when she turned back.
I throw off the covers and head for the bathroom, my legs unsteady.
The shower is scalding, but I don’t turn down the heat. I stand under the spray and let it beat against my shoulders, trying to wash away the lingering images.
But they won’t go.
Aria laughing in the sunlight. Aria smiling at my promises. Aria running through the forest while I hunted her down.
I press my palms flat against the tile and close my eyes.
Do I still love her?
The question surfaces before I can stop it, sharp and unwelcome.
No. Of course not. It’s been six years. Those were just young, sweet promises that didn’t mean anything in the long run. Childhood dreams that reality destroyed.
I’m over her.
My wolf—Titan—snarls, furious and defiant.
Liar.
I grit my teeth. We moved on. We had to.
You marked another woman and let the pack destroy her. You didn’t move on—you ran.
She attacked Celeste. She—
She was scared. She was protecting herself, and you didn’t even ask why.
I slam my hand against the tile, the impact jarring up my arm.
Enough.
Titan goes quiet, but I can still feel him there—restless and accusing.
I’m not in love with Aria. I’m guilty. That’s all this is. Guilt for how things ended. Guilt for not listening. Guilt for the way she looked at me that night.
I just need to find her. Apologize. Settle this weight pressing down on my chest so I can finally breathe again.
That’s it. That’s all I need.
I shut off the water and step out, grabbing a towel.
When I walk back into the bedroom, Celeste is there.
She’s standing near the window, wearing a silk robe that barely reaches mid-thigh. Her hair is loose, falling over one shoulder, and she’s looking at me with an expression I’ve seen too many times.
“You didn’t come to bed last night,” she says, her voice soft and chiding. “I waited.”
“I was working,” I say flatly, moving past her toward the dresser.
She steps into my path, her hand coming up to rest against my bare chest. “You’re always working. You need to relax, Declan. Let me help you.”
Her fingers trail down, and I catch her wrist before she can go lower.
“Celeste.”
“What?” She looks up at me through her lashes, her lips curving. “I’m your mate. There’s nothing wrong with—”
“Not now.”
I push her hand away, but she doesn’t back off. She moves closer instead, pressing herself against me, her nails dragging lightly across my shoulder.
“You’ve been so distant,” she murmurs. “Ever since that doctor arrived. Are you worried about your parents? Because once she fixes me, once I can give you an heir, everything will—”
I step back sharply, and her nails catch on my neck as I pull away. I feel the sting, the faint burn of a scratch, but I don’t care.
“Get dressed,” I say. “We’re going to see Dr. W.”
Celeste’s expression falters for just a second before she smooths it back into place. “Of course. Let me just—”
“Now, Celeste.”
She stares at me, then turns without another word and heads for the door.
I grab a shirt and pull it on, ignoring the shallow scratch on my neck. It’s nothing. Barely even bleeding.
When we leave the house, the morning air is cool and sharp, cutting through the fog still lingering in my head. Celeste walks beside me in silence, her heels clicking against the stone path.
The temporary clinic isn’t far—a small building near the medical wing that we’d set up for Dr. W’s use. I’d made sure it had everything she might need. Privacy. Space. All the equipment and supplies a healer could want.
When we reach the door, I pause.
I don’t know why. There’s no reason to hesitate.
But something in my chest tightens, and my hand hovers over the door handle for a second too long.
Celeste glances at me, her brow furrowing. “Declan?”
I push the door open.
Dr. W is inside, standing at a table near the window. She’s organizing supplies—jars and vials lined up in neat rows, a mortar and pestle sitting beside a stack of dried herbs. The morning light catches on the edge of her mask, and she doesn’t turn when we enter.
Perhaps because of the dream, I find myself thinking she looks somewhat like Aria again.