Aria
I never knew silence could feel like war.
The healer’s quarters were too still. Too quiet. The air was thick with unspoken things—fear, prophecy, power. My skin still glowed faintly silver beneath the blankets, pulsing gently like moonlight lived inside me now. It wouldn’t fade.
Not since they said it. Not since the healer whispered it aloud.
The Moon’s Chosen.
I should have felt strong. Divine. Touched by something greater. Instead, I felt like a target. Ryle’s words echoed in my mind, cruel and cold.
“Then we’ll kill her before she fulfills that prophecy.”
And just like that, I became a threat.
They locked me in the healer’s quarters for my “safety.” At least, that’s what Matthew told them. He ordered two of his most trusted warriors to guard my door—one on each side. Their eyes didn’t judge me. They nodded when I passed, offered me food, and made sure I was warm. But I wasn’t free. I wasn’t trusted. I was just… watched.
Still glowing. Still dangerous.
I stood near the window, wrapped in a borrowed cloak, staring out at the trees. I hadn’t seen the moon since the night the fire inside me exploded. I missed her. I wanted to ask her why me? Why now? Why did being “chosen” feel so much like being cursed?
The door creaked open behind me.
I turned quickly, heart jumping.
Matthew stepped in, dressed in black from head to toe, his hair slightly damp from the cold night air. He nodded at the guards outside, then quietly shut the door.
“I won’t stay long,” he said softly.
I folded my arms over my chest, unsure what to say. Unsure how to feel.
“They’re asking for you,” he continued. “The Council. They’re scared.”
“Of me,” I whispered.
“They say it’s for a ‘cleansing.’” His lips curled in disgust. “They want to ‘remove what doesn’t belong.’”
“And Ryle?” I asked. “Is he behind it?”
Matthew’s jaw tensed. “He’s leading it.”
A silence settled between us, thick as smoke. “And you?” I finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Where do you stand?”
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for once, they weren’t cold. They weren’t angry. They were just… exhausted.
“If they touch you,” he said, his voice shaking, “I’ll put them in the ground myself.”
I gasped softly. My heart stuttered. “You would defy the Alpha?” I asked.
He stepped closer. “I already have.”
The whole Pack could feel the shift. Tension spread through the territory like wildfire. The Council argued behind closed doors. Elders bickered at gatherings. Warriors glanced over their shoulders during training.
For the first time since I’d arrived, Matthew stood alone. No Ryle. No shadow. Just him.
And Elias?
He moved like a ghost through the Pack House. He spoke with warriors in hushed tones. Omegas whispered his name with hope. And whenever he passed my door, he left something behind: a flower. A book. A carved moonstone.
That night, after the Pack House had gone still, Matthew returned.
He entered without a word, shutting the door behind him. His shoulders were heavy. His eyes rimmed red. I sat up on the small bed, blinking sleep from my eyes.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured. “Not without knowing you were safe.”
“You’re the reason I’m not safe,” I said, not cruelly—just honestly.
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
He came to the side of the bed, knelt down, and took my hand. His skin was cold. His fingers trembled.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t see you when I should have. But I see you now. And I’m not letting them hurt you again.”
Tears burned in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.
“I don’t need protection,” I said quietly. “I need someone to stand beside me.”
“I will,” he promised. “I swear it.”
He didn’t try to kiss me. Didn’t beg for forgiveness. He just laid down beside the bed and shifted—his large, dark wolf curling around the base like a shield.
I watched his flank rise and fall with slow, steady breaths.
And for a moment… I almost believed him.
But peace doesn’t last in a place like Blue Stone. Especially for someone like me. A sharp crash shattered the silence. I bolted upright just as the scent of smoke filled the room.
A torch—flaming and furious—smashed through the glass window and landed on the wooden floor.
Fire.
The curtains caught first. Then the tablecloth. The room erupted in flames.
“Matthew!” I screamed.