Aria
It started with subtle things. Missed meetings. Changed schedules. New patrol orders.
Elias was supposed to lead the border inspection that week, a routine assignment every Beta handled. But the morning of, Matthew cancelled it without telling anyone. He took the post himself, leaving Elias reassigned to inventory duty—inside the Pack House.
Then he moved my patrol.
Twice.
The first time, I thought it was a mistake. The second time, I asked a warrior about it. He shrugged and said, “Alpha’s orders. You’re to patrol with him from now on.”
I didn’t question it. Not at first.
Being near Matthew wasn’t a punishment. It felt safe. Steady. Like maybe he was trying, in his own way, to be close. Maybe this was how he showed affection—through proximity, not words. But then the decisions stacked.
He began sitting in on every meeting I led, even ones he used to skip. He interrupted my sessions with the Omega trainers. He changed which elders I spoke to and redirected who could attend “Luna Council” with me.
At first, it felt like protection. Then it started to feel like control. That afternoon, I finally said something. We were in the strategy room, alone, and I laid the latest patrol report on the table without looking at him.
“I was supposed to ride out with Elias today. You changed it again.”
Matthew didn’t look up from his map. “I needed you with me.”
“You always do.”
His eyes flicked to mine, a warning in the silence.
I took a breath, steadying my voice. “Matthew, I don’t need a guard dog. I need a partner.”
That did it. His hands slammed down on the table. “Then stop acting like you need saving!”
I blinked.
The heat in his voice scorched more than the words. It was the anger, the edge underneath. And the way he looked at me—not like I was his Luna, but like I was something slipping out of his grip.
I pushed the chair back and stood. “I never asked you to save me,” I said coldly. “I asked you to see me.”
Then I turned and walked out. I didn’t wait for him to follow.
I didn’t have a plan. I just needed to breathe, to think, to be somewhere that wasn’t walls and claws and cold authority.
Elias found me near the stables, adjusting the saddle on a mare I barely remembered calling for.
He approached slowly. “He did it again, didn’t he?”
I didn’t answer, just tightened the strap and gritted my teeth.
“I was supposed to meet you at the village project,” he added gently. “The one you planned with the young apprentices.”
“I still want to go,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to. “I just… need to leave this place for a while.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll ride with you.”
The ride was quiet at first. The wind cooled my face. My thoughts tangled somewhere behind me. By the time we reached the forest edge, my shoulders had finally relaxed.
Elias rode beside me, not in front, not behind.
Beside.
That night, we worked with young she-wolves learning how to plant herbs that would one day become medicine. We taught them how to carve stones for boundary markers. I laughed—genuinely laughed—when a little girl challenged me to a mud-throwing contest and won.
For a few hours, I wasn’t Luna or prophecy or possession. I was just Aria. And I missed her.
By the time I returned, the moon had risen high. The Pack House was dim, most lights out, except for the one near the front door.
He was waiting.
Matthew stood in the shadows of the entryway, arms crossed, his jaw sharp, his eyes unreadable.
I dismounted slowly, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the tension that had been building for days.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just opened the door.
I stepped inside.
And the second I did, he slammed it behind me and pressed me against it, his hands braced on either side of my head.
His breath was hot. His chest was rising and falling too fast. His eyes searched mine like they were looking for something to tear apart.
Then his voice dropped—low, rough, almost a growl.
“Tell me you’re not falling for him.”