Lucien’s POV

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    “Forget my face,” Aria said, her voice sharp as a de drawn in the dark. “Every soul who has ever seen me… truly seen me… is dead. You don’t want to join them.”

    Her words coiled around me like a curse, and I frowned, trying to make sense of them. Her face was shadowed beneath her hood, her tone carrying the conviction of someone who had killed before–more than once.

    “What are you talking about?” I rasped, my throat still raw from blood loss. “Why hide yourself from me?”

    She didn’t hesitate. Her answer came swift and brutal.

    “In battle, no prey is allowed to see the hunter’s true form. That’s the rule I live by. Anyone who does–doesn’t live long enough to speak of it.”

    A chill ran down my spine. Wolves didn’t talk like that. Warriors didn’t hide their scars or their faces. But there was something feral in her, something more beast than woman.

    And yet… something inside me stirred. Reckless. Hungry. I wanted to see her. To strip away the veil of shadow and stare her straight in the eyes. I wanted to know if she was flesh and blood–or the ghost that haunted me.

    But when I dared ito /imeet her gaze, her eyes red with the threat of death, cold and merciless, and it stopped me in my tracks. My breath caught, pinned under the weight of her unspoken promise.

    It was madness. Pure madness. Riley was gone–burned to ash in fire and memory. This woman was not her. She couldn’t be.

    And yet the thought wed at me.

    Aria moved closer, kneeling beside me. Her hand pressed against my chest, firm but not cruel. Heat spread through me, strange and soothing, and pain ebbed from my ribs where ws had torn me open. A soft glow trembled beneath her palm,

    8:03 Tue, Sep 9

    not light exactly, but a pulse of energy, raw and alive.

    Healing. She was healing me.

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    “Consider yourself lucky,” she said tly. “I’ll spare you once. Only once. Next time, there will be no mercy.”

    I clenched my fists, my pride bristling at her words. “Why?” My voice broke low, rough. “Why let me live at all?”

    Her lips curved–not a smile, not kindness, but something darker. A cruel reminder.

    “Because you’re weak right now. That witch’s brew you drank has chained your wolf. I don’t strike those who are already bound. I prefer a fair hunt.”

    Her words cut deep, sharper than any de.

    Aria rose to her feet, her cloak whispering against the floor. “A week from now, the full moon will rise. The Western Pack’s defenses will falter. Then I’ll let you go. You’ll return to Stormridge, heal, and when you’re ready…” Her eyes gleamed, savage and unyielding. “We’ll finish this properly.”

    I stared up at her, my chest tight. Her confidence was unshakable, her promise of battle ringing with hunger. It wasn’t about cruelty. It wasn’t even about vengeance. She wanted the fight itself, wanted it to mean something.

    And so I stayed.

    Two days passed beneath the Western sky, two endless days of waiting, watching, and recovering. My strength returned slowly, though the potion’s grip lingered like chains around my soul.

    During those hours, I found myself speaking to her more than I should have. I told her of the East–the frozen rivers that cut through valleys like silver veins, the iron forests where no sunlight could pierce, the bitter winters that forged warriors sharper than steel. She said little, only listening, but I could tell she was

    memorizing every word, her silence heavier than speech.

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    …

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    And I watched her. Gods, I watched her.

    The way her head tilted when she listened. The impatient drumming of her fingers against her arm when she thought no one noticed. The sharp flicker in her eyes when something caught her off guard.

    They were Riley’s habits. Riley’s eyes.

    The first time I noticed it, I told myself it was coincidence. The second time, my gut twisted. By the third, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear my own words.

    Gods help me, they were Riley’s.

    Every passing hour my suspicion grew, gnawing at me like a beast from the inside. My mind whispered lies, my heart clung to ghosts, and I was caught between the two, torn apart.

    It couldn’t be her. Riley was dead. I had seen the mes. I had felt the hollow grave she left in me.

    And yet…

    That night, she left the narrow room where I was hidden, her hand on the rough wooden door. I expected her usual cold stride, her de–sharpposure. But instead, she froze the instant the door opened.

    Her body stiffened.

    Her breath caught audibly in the silence.

    And for the first time, Aria–the woman who had threatened to kill me without blinking, the hunter who swore no prey saw her face and lived–looked as though the ground had been ripped out from under her.

    A shadow loomed in the doorway.

    Aria’s lips parted. But no sound came.

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    And my pulse thundered, because if something could shake her… then whatever stood outside was more dangerous than I had ever imagined.

    8:03 Tue, Sep 9