Chapter 9
759 Words
The rain started just after midday, a cold, steady drizzle that soaked the training grounds and turned the dirt paths into slick ribbons of mud. Aria stood beneath the overhang outside the pack house, watching the warriors gather for the afternoon drills.
Normally, she would be leading them.
Today, she wasn’t allowed.
ECLYRA pressed close. “They weaken us.”
Aria’s jaw tightened. “They think they’re protecting the pack.” “They fear us,” ECLYRA corrected. “And fear breeds betrayal.”
Aria didn’t argue.
She felt it too.
Kael approached from the side, rain dripping from his dark hair, his expression carved from stone.
“They’re starting without you,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
Kael’s eyes darkened. “This is wrong.”
Aria didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The ache in her chest was too sharp, too raw.
Across the field, Rowan stepped into the center of the training circle. The warriors straightened immediately, their attention snapping to him. Lyria stood near the edge, the pup in her arms, sheltered beneath an umbrella held by one of the omegas.
Aria watched Rowan scan the crowd.
He didn’t look toward her.
Not once.
Kael muttered, “He’s avoiding you.”
Aria swallowed hard. “He’s doing what the elders asked.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
Aria didn’t respond.
The drills began.
Rowan barked orders.
Warriors shifted and lunged. The rain fell harder.
Aria watched every movement, every misstep, every opening. Her instincts screamed to correct them, to guide them, to lead them.
But she stayed where she was.
Invisible.
Unwanted. Untrusted.
A sharp cry cut through the air.
One of the younger warriors—Tessa—slipped in the mud and fell hard, her ankle twisting beneath her.
She cried out again, clutching her leg.
Aria moved before she could think.
She sprinted across the field, Kael right behind her. The warriors parted instinctively as she dropped to her knees beside Tessa.
“Don’t move,” Aria said gently. “Let me see.”
Tessa nodded, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Aria reached for her ankle—
“Aria, stop!”
Rowan’s voice cracked like a whip.
Aria froze.
Rowan strode toward her, rain plastering his hair to his forehead, his expression thunderous.
“Step back,” he ordered.
Aria blinked. “She’s hurt.”
“I said step back.”
Aria slowly rose to her feet. “Rowan, I’m trying to help.”
“You’re not supposed to be out here,” he snapped. “You’re not cleared to handle pack injuries right now.”
Aria stared at him, stunned. “Cleared? I’ve been treating injuries since I was sixteen.”
“That was before,” Rowan said. “Things are different now.”
Kael stepped forward, fury radiating off him. “She’s the Luna. She outranks every healer on this field.” Rowan turned on him. “Not today.”
Tessa whimpered in pain.
Aria took a step toward her—
Lyria gasped loudly from the sidelines. “Rowan, her eyes—look!”
Aria froze.
Rowan’s gaze snapped to her eyes.
They glowed faintly.
Not with rage.
Not with threat.
With worry.
But Rowan didn’t see that.
He saw danger.
“Aria,” he said sharply. “Back. Away.”
Aria’s breath caught. “Rowan—”
“Now.”
The word hit like a blow.
The warriors watched.
The elders watched from the porch.
Lyria watched with wide, trembling eyes.
And Aria felt something inside her crack.
Not a small crack. Not a quiet one.
A deep, splintering fracture.
Kael stepped between her and Rowan, his voice low and lethal. “You’re humiliating her.”
Rowan’s eyes flashed. “I’m protecting the pack.”
“From what?” Kael growled. “From the woman who’s saved every one of us at least once?”
Rowan didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
The silence said everything.
Aria stepped back, rain soaking through her clothes, her braid heavy against her spine.
“I’m leaving,” she said quietly.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Good.”
Kael snarled. “You don’t deserve her.”
Aria turned away before she could break in front of them.
She walked across the field, the rain washing down her face, her steps steady even as her heart splintered.
Behind her, she heard Lyria’s soft voice.
“Rowan… she looked so angry.” Rowan exhaled shakily. “I know.”
Aria didn’t look back.
But the pack felt the shift.
The fracture.
The beginning of the end.
- Writer
