Aria
I wasn’t made for bonfires. Not the kind where laughter came easy, where girls wore flower crowns and danced barefoot around flames like they were light as air.
No. I was the girl who sat too still, breathed too shallow, hoping no one remembered I existed.
The pack celebrated the full moon that night—flames flickering tall in the center of the courtyard, music echoing between trees, and wolves shifting in graceful circles under the stars. Plates overflowed with roasted meat, ale sloshed in mugs, and every she-wolf looked like they belonged in a storybook.
I didn’t.
I slipped away when no one was looking, my footsteps silent over the cobblestones, dress brushing past rose bushes and ivy vines until I found the garden hidden behind the east wing. Moonlight spilled across the stone bench where I sat down, folding in on myself like a secret.
The voices from the bonfire drifted over the hedges—happy, full of life. I picked at a thread on my sleeve, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. That it didn’t feel like I’d been thrown out of a life I was never welcome in.
Why are you even here? I asked myself for the hundredth time. I didn’t notice the footsteps until he spoke.
“You always hide during these things?”
I turned.
Elias.
The Beta. Second-in-command. Sharp-eyed and silver-tongued. But right now, he looked softer than usual. His dark hair was swept back, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he carried a gentle smile I didn’t expect.
“I wasn’t hiding,” I said quickly, then paused. “Okay. Maybe I was.”
He chuckled, not unkindly, and took a slow step forward. “Mind if I join you?”
I hesitated—but then nodded.
He sat on the stone edge, a little closer than necessary, but not close enough to make me flinch. The silence between us felt… comfortable. Like he wasn’t expecting me to perform or shrink.
“You don’t belong here,” I whispered before I could stop myself. It sounded bitter. Defensive.
But he didn’t take offense.
“No,” Elias said softly. “You belong somewhere better.”
I looked down, throat tight. “That’s a lie. My own father left me here to rot.”
“Oh come on. You know that’s not true, you have a purpose.”
The wind picked up slightly, rustling the garden leaves. I felt his eyes watching me, not the way the others did, not full of judgment or curiosity. Just… watching. Like I was something worth seeing.
He reached out suddenly and brushed his fingers across my wrist.
The bond mark.
It shimmered faintly in the moonlight, like a scar laced with starlight.
Elias’s brows pulled together. “He hasn’t claimed you?”
I shook my head, the shame creeping back in like poison. “No. He said I’d embarrass him.”
His jaw tightened. “Then he doesn’t deserve you.”
Something cracked in my chest. Not pain. Not longing. Something gentler. Something that made breathing feel easier.
I blinked, trying not to cry. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Because someone should be.”
We sat there, surrounded by moonlight and silence, the kind that stretched too long. Too still.
Too close.
He turned to face me, his gaze unreadable. I could feel it—the shift in the air, the ache of something unsaid.
And just when he reached like he might brush my hair from my face—
A low, savage growl sliced through the night. We both shot up.
Matthew.
He stalked into the garden like a storm, his black shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes burning with something wild. His fists were clenched, and his wolf was right beneath his skin—fur shimmering at his knuckles, canines poking at the corners of his lips.
“What the hell is this?” he snarled.
Elias moved slightly in front of me—not blocking me, just… standing there.
Matthew’s eyes snapped to the space between us, then to my wrist. He saw the mark. The bond. The closeness. And he lost it.
“You touching what’s mine now, Beta?” he snapped, voice sharp and venomous.
Elias didn’t flinch. “She’s not a possession.”
“She’s my mate,” Matthew hissed, taking another step forward.
“You haven’t claimed her. You haven’t even looked at her like she’s more than a burden.”
That hit a nerve. Matthew’s chest rose and fell. His eyes flicked to me—and for a split second, they weren’t angry. They were something else. Betrayed. Torn. But the softness vanished as fast as it came.
He turned fully toward me now, voice lowering, curling with something cruel.
“Why are you such a pick-me?” he asked, eyes cold.