CHAPTER FOUR
1199 Words
ARIA
“It’s strange…” I murmured, my gaze fixed on the wall of photographs.
A soft creak pulled my attention toward the door as it swung open, carrying with it the sterile scent of antiseptic mixed with something earthier—herbs, maybe.
The pack doctor stepped inside, a tray of food balanced in one hand. What was his name again?
Aaron. Right.
His brow lifted slightly as he set the tray down on the small table beside my bed. “Strange?” He followed my line of sight to the pictures.
I hadn’t expected him to hear me.
The photos were lined up in precise rows, too neat—too intentional. Someone had taken the time to frame and arrange them with care. The images showed men and women in hospital gowns, their expressions frozen in forced smiles. Yet, it wasn’t them my eyes kept returning to.
It was him.
The same man. Over and over again.
Lucian Draven.
In every photo, he stood in the center, shaking hands, offering warm embraces, smiling that unreadable smile. Was it genuine? Or carefully practiced?
Why was every shot about him?
Of course, it was.
Lucian Draven. The Alpha who had sent Aaron away with the kind of authority that made it sound like he owned me.
The kind Alpha.
Just perfect.
A dry scoff left my lips, my fingers curling beneath the blanket. “Are you seriously expecting me to believe this?”
Aaron’s eyes flicked back to me, his expression unreadable. “Believe what?”
I gestured vaguely at the wall. “That this pack is kind. That Bloodfang, of all places, is some kind of sanctuary for the weak and wounded.” My voice was steady, but beneath the covers, my hands trembled. “I’ve heard the real stories, Aaron.”
Silence stretched between us.
Good. I needed him to tell me the truth. And if he didn’t, I would find it out myself.
Aaron exhaled, the sound quiet but heavy, as if he’d had this conversation before. He pulled a chair closer, settled into it, and met my gaze.
“And what exactly have you heard?”
I studied his face, searching for any flicker of deception.
“That Lucian Draven doesn’t keep rogues.” My voice was even, but my heart slammed against my ribs. “That he kills them on sight.” I inhaled slowly. “So tell me, Aaron… why am I still alive?”
Aaron didn’t answer immediately. His silence told me more than words could. He was loyal, that much was clear. And loyal men didn’t give away their Alpha’s secrets easily.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re determined to see yourself as a prisoner here, aren’t you?”
I arched a brow. “Aren’t I?”
His smile faded. “No. You’re not.”
I let out a quiet breath of disbelief. “Right. And now I’m supposed to believe that Bloodfang suddenly has a soft spot for rogues like me?”
Aaron leaned back, his gaze flicking to the photos once more before returning to me. “Fair point.” He tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair. “Tell me, Aria… why do you think those people are smiling?”
He didn’t ask what I meant by rogues like me.
I frowned at his question, my eyes drifting back to the photos. The people in the hospital gowns… they weren’t just smiling.
They looked relieved.
But relief could be faked, couldn’t it?
Back in the Ashen Pack, they made me smile too—forced me to. Even when my ribs ached from beatings, even when I didn’t want to.
My throat felt dry.
Aaron’s voice cut through my thoughts, eerily calm. “You think they were forced to smile.” It wasn’t a question. He said it like he’d reached into my head and pulled the thought straight out. “That their emotions aren’t real.”
I averted my gaze, unwilling to confirm it.
Aaron exhaled through his nose, like he already knew I wouldn’t answer. Then, without another word, he pushed the tray toward me.
“Eat,” he said simply. “And while you do, think about this…”
I eyed the bowl of soup warily. “Think about what?”
Aaron stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his shirt. “What if everything you’ve been told about this pack isn’t true? That maybe, just maybe… it’s different here.”
Wh–what?
I stared at him, but he was already turning toward the door. Panic spiked through me, and before I could stop myself, I called his name.
“Aaron.”
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.
I swallowed hard. “Why did he save me? Tell me the truth.”
His expression didn’t change, but for a fleeting second, something flickered in his eyes—something I couldn’t quite grasp before it was gone.
“Because he could,” he said with a casual shrug. “And because you needed saving.”
Then he walked out, leaving me alone with a hundred new questions.
I turned back to the pictures. I needed saving? Was that what the mark was about?
My heart pounded as I carefully raised the hem of my gown, my fingers tracing the strange symbol on my thigh—the one that had been there for as long as I could remember. The one that never faded.
I jabbed a finger at it. “You’re the reason I’m still alive, aren’t you?” I whispered. “And I’m going to find out why.”
—
I didn’t get the chance.
Not to process. Not to figure anything out.
Because Lucian Draven didn’t give me time.
One minute, I was confined to the hospital bed. The next, Aaron was half-dragging me through a series of beautiful hallways, moving way too fast for someone who had just told me to rest and recover.
I barely had time to glance around, but even then, I noticed the details—the stark contrast between the polished wooden floors and the dark wallpaper, the portraits that seemed to watch me as we passed. But two frames stood out.
Because they were empty.
“The Alphas of Time,” Aaron chimed in cheerfully, as if that explained anything.
By the time we stopped, I found myself in front of a door. Not just any door.
It was directly across from another—a larger one.
My stomach twisted.
Aaron sighed, pushing open the door beside me. “This’ll be yours,” he announced, flashing a bright smile that did nothing to ease my growing dread.
I didn’t even need to ask.
I already knew who that other door belonged to.
I could feel it.
My jaw tightened. “Why here?” I snapped, glaring at him. “Of all places, why does it have to be oppositeLucian Draven’s room?”
Aaron’s grin widened, like he’d been waiting for that reaction.
“Because,” he said, patting my shoulder in that infuriatingly patronizing way, “if I put you anywhere else, the Alpha would cut off my head.”
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