Beneath The Surface

Aria's POV

I woke with a scream caught in my throat and sweat slicking my skin.

My heart was racing. My sheets were tangled. And my breath—gods, my breath came in shallow gasps like I'd just sprinted through fire.

I sat up in bed, blinking into the dim light filtering through gauzy curtains. Pale gray dawn crept across the sky, casting long shadows across the walls. The nightmare was already fading, but its claws still scratched inside me.

Wolves. Eyes like burning suns. My name whispered through the trees by a voice that was not Lucien's and yet still wore his shape.

I curled my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and sat there, shaking.

It had been three days since I saw him transform. Three days since the forest turned from sanctuary to stage. Three days since my reality shattered under the weight of golden eyes and snapping bones.

And still… nothing.

Lucien had said almost nothing to me.

I'd heard him pacing in the halls at night. I'd caught glimpses of him through windows, through doorways—always at a distance. Always retreating. And every time I caught his gaze, it was like trying to hold on to smoke.

I didn't know what I wanted him to say.

That it wasn't real?

That I'd imagined everything?

Or that I wasn't just some human girl dropped into a world she didn't belong to?

I pressed my palm over my chest, like I could quiet the ache there. But nothing could silence it—not even the lies I told myself when I dared believe that he didn't feel it too.

⸻

I made my way downstairs, padding barefoot over cold marble.

The estate was silent, the air too still. Every corner of the house reminded me of Lucien: the quiet strength of the structure, the warmth buried under its cold surface, the wildness just beneath the refinement.

He had let me stay here.

But he hadn't let me in.

The kitchen was empty. No staff today. Just me and the ghosts in the wallpaper. I boiled water for tea more out of habit than desire. As I waited, I stared at the steam curling from the kettle and wondered if Lucien had planned this silence as a kindness or a punishment.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I jumped, heart slamming into my ribs.

Caleb leaned against the doorway, coffee in hand, wearing yesterday's hoodie and a face that said he hadn't slept either.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, too quickly.

"You're not," he replied, voice low.

"No," I admitted.

We sat in silence for a while—me at the counter, him watching me like I might dissolve. I hated it. The way he looked at me like I was fragile. Breakable.

I wasn't.

I was already broken. There's a difference.

"You knew," I said finally.

He didn't pretend not to understand.

"I did."

"How long?"

Caleb's jaw flexed. "Since college. Maybe earlier. He didn't tell me. I figured it out."

I stared at him. "And you didn't think I deserved to know?"

His shoulders sank. "I didn't want you to have to know. I thought I could protect you from all this. That it wouldn't touch you."

"Well, it touched me," I snapped. "It sank its claws into me. I watched your best friend turn into a goddamn wolf, Caleb."

"I know."

"No, you don't! You've lived with this. You had time to adjust. I didn't. I got dropped into the deep end with no warning and no idea which way was up."

"I was trying to keep you safe."

I scoffed. "You were trying to keep me ignorant."

"Because I knew you'd go looking. That you'd chase the truth. That's who you are."

I turned away from him, gripping the edge of the counter.

"And what am I to him?" I asked quietly.

"What?"

"To Lucien. What am I to him? Because he looks at me like I matter. Like I'm… his. But then he doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything. Just disappears behind all his damn silence."

Caleb didn't answer right away. Then, softly: "You're his mate."

The word hit like thunder. Echoing. Deep. Final.

I turned slowly to face him.

"What?"

"It's a werewolf thing. A bond. It's rare. Powerful. Soul-deep. He can't fake it. Can't choose it. And once it's formed…"

"Then what?"

"It's forever."

My knees went weak. I gripped the back of the stool to steady myself.

"And he didn't tell me."

"He probably thought you'd run."

I laughed—bitter and raw. "I might have."

"Would you now?"

I didn't answer.

Because I wasn't sure.

⸻

Later that morning, I found him in the conservatory.

He was standing at the far end, half in sunlight, half in shadow. His back was to me, broad shoulders tense beneath a black shirt. I paused in the doorway, the air thick between us.

He turned slowly, as if he'd sensed me before he saw me.

We just stared at each other.

"Are you going to keep avoiding me?" I asked, stepping forward.

He didn't move. Didn't speak.

"Because if you're trying to scare me away with silence, it's not working."

"Then what would?" he murmured.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"What would it take to make you walk away, Aria?"

I stepped closer. "Why are you trying to make me walk away?"

"Because the world you're stepping into is dark. Dangerous. And you don't belong in it."

"And yet," I said, crossing the last few feet between us, "here I am."

He swallowed hard. "You saw me."

"I did."

"And you didn't run."

"No."

"Why?"

Because I couldn't.

Because something in me responded to something in you.

Because even when you were a beast, you were still you.

I didn't say any of that.

Instead, I said: "Because I need to understand."

Lucien's eyes burned gold for a split second, then dimmed.

"I don't want to lie to you," he said. "But there are things I can't say yet. Not until I know what's coming."

"What's coming?"

He looked past me, jaw clenched.

"Trouble."

⸻

That afternoon, we heard about the attack.

A hiker, mauled near the southern ridge.

Lucien turned pale. Caleb cursed. And me?

I stood there, numb, as the pieces started to fall into place.

This wasn't just about me. It wasn't just about him. There was something bigger at play.

Something closing in.

And the worst part?

I wasn't sure I wanted to be saved from it.

Because something about all of this—the danger, the secrets, the wildness—I felt it stirring in me.

Like I belonged to it too.