Chapter 1
Aria had never seen the Silvercrest hall look like this.
Lanterns hung from the beams, soft gold spilling over stone walls and long tables. Music and laughter tangled in the air with the scent of roasted meat, wine and pine. Tonight wasn’t just any gathering.
Tonight, the future Alpha had come home.
“Aria, slower,” her mother hissed, catching her elbow before she rammed a tray of goblets. “You’re flying.”
“I’m fine,” Aria lied, forcing her grip to steady. “Just busy.”
“Take these to the elders. And breathe. It’s a homecoming, not a war.”
Sometimes Aria wasn’t sure there was a difference.
She wove between tables, the tray balanced the way her mother had drilled into her years ago. Wolves took glasses without really seeing her; all eyes were fixed on the empty dais beside Alpha Efrain’s chair.
Waiting.
She set down the last goblet and stepped back. Her simple dark‑blue dress wasn’t remarkable, but it fit well. She smoothed the skirt once, then stopped herself. Quiet Beta’s daughter. Spare set of hands. The one who watched from the edges while brighter girls laughed in the center of the room.
Her wolf paced under her skin.
Not yet, she told herself. Soon.
“Aria!”
Jace, one of the younger warriors, appeared at her side, cheeks flushed. “You look nice,” he said. “Nervous?”
“A little.” Her scent would betray worse. “You’d think it was my homecoming.”
He laughed. “We haven’t seen Aiden in two years. Half the pack’s been planning this night since he left for the Academy.”
“Only half?”
“Fine. Most.” He grinned. “The rest just want to see if he got less irritating.”
Aria’s mouth twitched, but her stomach knotted.
A bell rang once, twice, three times. The hall quieted, sound folding in on itself. Alpha Efrain stepped forward, voice rolling easily through the space.
“Silvercrest. Tonight we welcome home my son. Your future Alpha.”
The great doors swung open.
He walked in like the night followed.
Aiden had been handsome before. The male who entered now was… sharpened. Broad‑shouldered in a dark jacket, black hair a little longer, jaw shadowed. His grey eyes swept the hall, cool and assessing, then warmed at his father’s smile.
Aria’s wolf froze.
There he is.
He moved toward the dais. Every step seemed to pull the air around him. Jace leaned in. “You’re staring.”
“Everyone is,” she murmured.
“Not like you.” His voice dropped. “You smell like lightning.”
She didn’t have breath to answer.
Aiden embraced his parents, exchanged a few words Aria couldn’t hear. The hall erupted in cheers. Then he turned to face the pack.
His gaze found hers.
It shouldn’t have. She was half‑hidden near a pillar, tray still in hand, dozens of faces between them. For a heartbeat the hall shrank to just two points: his eyes and hers.
Something slammed into her chest.
Heat shot down her spine, her lungs forgot how to work. Her wolf drove against her ribs, howling one word that wasn’t a word at all, just raw recognition.
Mate.
Aiden’s fingers tightened on the railing. His smile slipped; his throat worked like he’d swallowed glass. Alpha Efrain’s hand landed on his shoulder, mistaking the stillness for nerves.
“Say something,” his mother whispered.
Aiden tore his gaze from Aria as if it hurt. “It’s good to be home,” he managed, voice rough.
The hall burst into sound again. Aria sucked in a ragged breath. The blinding flash of the… whatever‑this‑was settled into a hot, steady thrum beneath her skin, like a second pulse.
“You felt that,” Jace whispered. Not a question.
“Shut up,” she breathed, fingers white on the tray.
Announcements blurred. Applause, toasts, jokes about the Academy. Every time she risked a glance, she found Aiden’s eyes dragged back to her, like a compass that kept snapping toward north.
By the time the music started and couples claimed the floor, Aria’s nerves were shot. She slipped through a side door onto the narrow balcony, cool night air hitting her face.
Five minutes. Just five minutes to—
“Aria.”
His voice stopped her.
She turned.
Aiden stood in the archway, the hall’s glow behind him, moonlight outlining his shoulders. Up close, the change in him was worse. Better. Dangerous. A faint scar cut through one brow; his eyes seemed brighter in the dim.
“Aiden,” she said. “Welcome home.”
He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
He stepped closer. His scent hit her—smoke, pine, sweat and something purely him. Her wolf rolled over inside her, baring her throat.
“Maybe,” he said quietly, “you could tell me if you felt it too.”
Her heart stumbled. “If I say no?”
“Then I’m going straight to the healer for something to fix my hallucinations.”
Despite everything, a rough little laugh escaped her.
“Yes,” Aria whispered. “I felt it.”
Relief flashed across his face, raw and unguarded.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I haven’t been able to breathe right since you walked into my line of sight.”
“I was just carrying a tray.”
“You were walking into my life.”
Too fast. Too much. They’d barely spoken in years. Before tonight she’d been another wolf in the crowd. But the bond didn’t care.
“Come with me,” Aiden said suddenly.
“Where?”
“Somewhere we can talk without half the pack listening.” He nodded toward the noise behind him. “If one more person tells me how much I’ve grown, I’ll bite someone.”
“That would look great on your first night back.”
“My father will cope. Will you?”
His fingers brushed hers, the lightest touch.
The bond roared to life.
Heat flooded her veins, dropped low in her belly. She sucked in a breath; his chest rose sharply too, as if they shared one set of lungs.
“Please, Aria,” he said, her name rough in his mouth.
Her common sense screamed. Her wolf pushed.
She set the tray on the ledge with shaking hands. “All right,” she said. “Just for a moment.”
He smiled then, slow and disbelieving. “Trust me. A moment won’t be enough.”
As she stepped past him into the shadows, the bond thrummed, wild and full of promise.
For the first time in her life, Aria let herself think that maybe, just maybe, the moon had finally chosen her.
She had no idea how cruel it could be.
