Chapter Six — The Wound Beneath the Skin
1184 Words
Aria
By morning, the storm has drained the valley clean.
The air smells of wet earth and ash — a reminder of what last night took and what it gave back. Wolves move through the training grounds in silence, the rhythm of their drills sharp and precise. Everything feels normal. Ordinary.
Except me.
The mark on my hand still hums beneath the surface, too steady, too alive. It’s not visible now, but I can feel it — a pulse beneath my skin that doesn’t belong to me. When I touch my chest, I swear I can feel his heartbeat echoing faintly, like a ghost trapped under my ribs.
Rhea finds me before breakfast.
She’s dressed in her sparring clothes, hair slicked back, expression unreadable. “Father wants us in the yard,” she says, voice clipped. “He thinks you’ve been neglecting your training.”
I almost laugh. If only he knew the truth — that training won’t prepare me for what’s inside me now.
We face each other in the circle of packed earth, eyes locked, blades glinting under the morning light. The pack gathers to watch. It’s supposed to be a show of discipline — the Alpha’s daughters demonstrating unity and strength.
Instead, it feels like a war.
Rhea moves first — always does. Quick, brutal, efficient. I dodge the first few strikes, but she’s faster today, sharper. I can taste her anger in every swing.
“What’s wrong, sister?” she taunts, voice low enough only I can hear. “Didn’t sleep well?”
I twist away from her next strike. “You shouldn’t assume I’m the one who’s tired.”
Our blades clash — steel screaming against steel. The sound echoes through the yard, ringing in my bones. Every movement between us is a language we’ve spoken since childhood: competition, resentment, the endless need to prove who deserves the moon’s favor.
But today something changes.
When her blade catches mine, the mark on my palm flares — hot, blinding. A flash of light bursts between us, throwing Rhea backward into the dust. Gasps ripple through the watching wolves.
Rhea’s eyes widen. “What was that?”
My hand burns like fire. I hide it behind me, heart pounding. “Static,” I lie. “The storm’s still—”
“Liar,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “I felt that.”
The pack murmurs. I can feel their eyes, their unease. I want to run, but I force myself to stand tall. “If you felt anything,” I say quietly, “it’s because you pushed too hard.”
Rhea steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Careful, Aria. You’re starting to sound like Father.”
Her words hit too close. My temper spikes, and the mark answers — another sharp pulse, like a heartbeat slamming against its cage.
Not here, I tell myself. Not now.
The crowd disperses uneasily. Rhea lingers, watching me like a wolf testing for weakness. “Whatever you’re hiding,” she says softly, “it’s going to eat you alive.”
When she’s gone, I collapse to my knees, hand pressed to the dirt. My skin still glows faintly beneath the surface — silver threads spidering across my palm.
Kael.
I close my eyes, reaching for calm, but the bond answers before I can breathe. It rushes through me like a tide — heat, power, and something heartbreakingly human. His pain. His restraint. His hunger.
I see flashes again: a dark room, firelight flickering, his hands braced against a wall, breath ragged.
And for the first time, I realize he’s trying to resist it too.
Kael
The curse is louder now.
It’s not the usual low hum that lives beneath my skin — it’s a roar, constant, demanding. Every nerve feels raw, stretched thin between need and control.
Cassian found me in the armory this morning, blade in hand, trying to dull the restlessness by sheer will. He took one look and said nothing. Smart man.
When he finally speaks, it’s quiet. “The wards flared again.”
“I know.”
“You felt it?”
“She bled.”
Cassian freezes. “You’re sure?”
“I felt it through the bond.” I drag a hand through my hair, the motion jerky, unsteady. “Her fear. Her anger. Everything.”
He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “Then you need to end this before it kills you.”
I almost laugh, but it comes out hollow. “You think I haven’t tried?”
“You didn’t kill her when you had the chance.”
My head snaps up. “I will never kill her.”
His gaze softens, but his voice stays hard. “Then what happens when she becomes the weapon the goddess wants her to be?”
I don’t answer. The fire behind my ribs is already rising.
The bond flares again, unbidden. This time it doesn’t hurt — not in the way pain is supposed to. It feels like heat and gravity, pulling, demanding. I can see her through it — kneeling in the dirt, sweat on her skin, the silver in her blood catching the light.
Her emotions wash through me — confusion, fear, and beneath it all, something dangerously close to longing.
My wolf goes still.
“Kael.” Cassian’s voice cuts through the haze. “You’re burning.”
I glance down. My hands are glowing faintly, veins threaded with light. The same color as hers.
The curse has changed shape. It’s no longer trying to devour me. It’s trying to connect.
I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs. “I won’t hurt her.”
“Maybe not,” Cassian says, “but you might destroy everything else.”
The words hang between us like smoke.
When he leaves, I sink to my knees before the dying fire. My body feels too small for what’s inside me — the wolf pacing, restless, waiting for her.
I press a hand against the floorboards, whispering to the dark.
“Hold.”
The word used to anchor me. Now it feels like a prayer.
And somewhere beyond the mountains, she answers.
Aria
By the time the moon rises, the bond is unbearable.
I try everything — meditation, training, even drowning myself in cold water. Nothing helps. It hums through my bones, constant and alive.
When I close my eyes, I see him again. Not just his face — the way his energy fills a room, the ache behind his calm. The monster the stories warned me about doesn’t feel like a monster at all.
He feels like gravity.
And the more I fight it, the closer it pulls.
I open my window, staring toward the Thorn mountains. Lightning dances far off in the clouds — faint, pulsing. My hand glows in answer, the light soft and steady.
I whisper into the night. “I won’t run.”
The wind carries the scent of rain back to me, like a reply.
And far away, in a keep built on stone and secrets, I know he feels it.
- Writer
