Aria
I didn’t sleep. Not after reading the note. Elias knows. He’s coming back.
Those words sat heavy in my chest, curling tighter with every hour that passed. I stared at the ceiling of the Luna quarters, my hand resting over my stomach—wondering. Hoping. Dreading.
I heard the door open just after dawn.
Matthew.
He stepped in slowly, the light from the hallway catching in his eyes. They looked darker than usual—tired, guarded, searching.
I sat up, my heart already racing.
He didn’t greet me. Didn’t sit. Just stood there, the tension in his shoulders screaming louder than words.
“What did he know?”
I froze. My throat tightened. “What?”
He took a step closer. “The note. I found it after you went to the healer’s den.” His voice was low, but sharp. “What did Elias know?”
I looked down, fingers twisting in the blanket. My lips parted, then closed again.
“Aria,” Matthew said, voice cracking slightly. “Tell me.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I stood slowly and walked toward him until we were barely a foot apart.
“I’m late,” I said quietly. “Weeks.”
He stared at me, his expression unreadable.
“My body’s changing,” I continued. “I’ve been dizzy. Exhausted. The healer said nothing’s certain yet, but… she told me to consider the possibility of life.”
A heavy silence stretched between us.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to say it until I was sure,” I added. “I didn’t want to put more pressure on us.”
His eyes flickered—something raw and sharp flashing behind them. Hope. Fear. Maybe even rage.
“You think Elias knew before me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“I don’t know what he knows,” I said honestly. “Maybe he sensed it. Maybe someone told him.”
Matthew looked away, jaw clenching. He paced once, then turned back to me.
“You should’ve told me the moment you suspected.”
“I was scared.”
“Of me?” he asked, like the thought physically hurt him.
“I was scared of all of it,” I whispered. “Of what this means for the pack. For us. For me.”
He stepped forward, hands open, like he wanted to hold me but wasn’t sure if I’d let him.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I said, pulling away slightly. “If this isn’t what you wanted, if this is too much—I can do this alone.”
Something in him snapped. He grabbed my face, gently but firmly, his palms warm against my cheeks.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled, eyes locked onto mine. “Don’t you ever say that again.”
My breath hitched. “You’re mine,” he said, voice trembling. “And so is this child.”
I blinked, tears stinging my eyes.
“I don’t care if I’m not ready. I don’t care if I mess up every step of the way,” he went on. “But I will not let you do this alone.”
I reached for his wrist, clutching it like a lifeline.
“I needed to hear that,” I whispered.
“I needed to say it,” he replied, forehead leaning gently against mine.
We stood there in the stillness, breathing the same air, holding each other like the world had paused—just for us. And then the world shattered again.
A howl tore through the forest—loud, guttural, unmistakable. It wasn’t just any howl. It was his.
Elias. And he wasn’t alone.