Waiting

8.

Arie’s POV

It had been about two hours since I first found out about my destined mate, and I still hadn’t come up with anything beyond “hello.” Just hello.Introduce myself. Don’t be strange. Don’t terrify her. Don’t accidentally stare too long and make it weird. I was hoping—ridiculously—that she was the kind of person who liked meeting new people, because at this point, that was all I had going for me.

I could feel how pure her heart was, how genuine her intentions were. She thought the best of people. She trusted easily. Which only made this worse. I didn’t want to be the one to disappoint her. Or scare her. Or say the wrong thing and ruin everything before it even began.

Why was I like this?

Damn it, Arie. You’ve existed for millennia. You have walked battlefields soaked in the blood of gods. You have stared down monsters that made entire civilizations beg for mercy. You are Death. You are Judgment. You decide when stars go dark and when souls move on.

And yet the idea of walking into that waiting room and speaking to one girl had my chest tight and my thoughts spiraling like a nervous teenager about to meet his first crush.

What if I sounded stupid?

What if she didn’t like me?

What if I tried too hard—or worse, not hard enough?

Get it together.

Stop being a little b***h. Breathe. Act normal—whatever normal is supposed to be.

Okay. This is it.

I was going to walk into that waiting room, find her, and casually—casually—start a conversation.

After all, I was Arie—Ariel, the Evening Light, Angel of Death. I had judged souls and ended lifetimes without hesitation…and somehow, nothing had ever frightened me quite like walking up to her.

Okay. Get it together. Here I go.

As I rounded the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. The image in front of me had my blood boiling, and a gritty feeling of dread and envy washed over me. That was new. I had not anticipated this reaction, nor the sharp twist it caused in my chest.

My precious Summer had her arms around a golden, blond-haired, muscular, tattooed little pup.

Already? My jaw tightened. I had assumed—foolishly—that I would be able to walk straight up to her, uninterrupted, unchallenged. That the moment would be simple. Clean.

It wasn’t.

Mm. He’s a werewolf. An Alpha at that. Very interesting—and deeply irritating. A new, unfamiliar feeling washed through me like monstrous waves. The way his hands rested on her, the ease of it, the familiarity—it sparked something dark and possessive inside me. She was far too comfortable with him. With all of them.

My gaze sharpened, instincts flaring as I assessed him. He held himself with confidence—no, with entitlement. His hands rested on her as if he felt she belonged there, as if touching her was the most natural thing in the world.

My chest tightened at the sight.

Someone spoke, and she let go—only to leap into the arms of another male, equally confident, equally at ease with her. My chest tightened even more.

She knew them.

She adored them.

The ease in her movements unsettled me. Not because she was wrong—she wasn’t—but because I had never considered this possibility. In my mind, I would simply walk in and speak to her. I had not imagined… competition. Not rivalry. Just their presence. Other males who already existed in her space. Who she trusted. Who she touched without hesitation.

It wasn’t anger I felt.

It was something far more unfamiliar.

Awareness.

And perhaps, a small, uncomfortable flicker of jealousy.

I forced my eyes away from her and scanned the rest of the room.

The other two males with Summer and her mother were also wolves.

One was younger—close in age to the Alpha who couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. His aura was strong. Disciplined. Controlled. Not quite as overwhelming as the Alpha’s, but close enough that it brushed against it without fear.

He held rank.

High rank.

A Beta, perhaps.

The last wolf was older, his presence solid and immovable. His aura carried weight—not sharp dominance, but authority earned through years of leadership and restraint. His skin was olive-toned, his hair the color of toasted cocoa. That’s when I saw it—the shape of his nose, the familiar lines of his features. The same as hers. Protective energy radiated from him, wrapping around Summer like a shield. He had to be her father, no doubt.

The realization settled heavily in my chest.

She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t unguarded. She was standing right in front of her father—being held by that little Alpha—and her father seemed none the wiser.

Was this normal for them?

Had her father already agreed to their relationship?

The pain in my chest sharpened, twisting into something raw and unfamiliar. How could I possibly compete with that if her parents already considered him part of her life? Was that why he was so comfortable letting his hands linger on her? Why she didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him?

My thoughts began to spiral.

What if I was too late?

What if fate had finally granted me a mate… only for her heart to already belong to someone else?

I had faced extinction-level beasts without hesitation. I had judged kings and tyrants without remorse. But this—this fragile, terrifying possibility of rejection—made my stomach churn.

What if she looked at me and saw nothing?

What if she chose him?

The idea hollowed me out from the inside. I could feel it—an instinct to retreat, to disappear before I ever had to hear her say no. Before I ever had to see indifference in those honeydew eyes.

Maybe I should walk away.

Maybe it would hurt less if I never tried at all.

I looked back at the pup who had hugged my mate with immense adoration, and I could tell by the interaction of their souls that they knew each other well. There was history there. A bond already formed.

For a moment, jealousy clawed at my chest again, but as I forced the unfamiliar feeling down, I watched more closely, and something shifted.

Though his soul reacted to her like that of a lover—possessive, protective, edged with passion—hers did not mirror it. Her aura responded to him the way a sister’s soul responds to a brother: full of affection, trust, and easy companionship.

Curiously, even though she interacted with him with full joy and happiness, she did not feel what he felt.

The realization steadied me, and new hope—sharp and bright—cut through the spiral of doubt that had threatened to consume me.

I still did not like that she allowed him to touch her so freely. That part of me remained unsettled. But now I understood something vital.

She was not his.

And my plan—however uncertain, however terrifying—could remain in place.

I could still approach her.

I could still try.

When she let go of the younger wolf, my attention shifted to the little Alpha. He masked it well—but not well enough. His jaw tightened, just slightly, as he watched her step away.

She didn’t return to his side.

Better—she didn’t return to his arms.

Instead, she stood between them, just as content beside one as the other.

The Alpha’s hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them still.

Friends.

They were all friends.

That was a good sign.

As I continued observing, I slipped quietly into the waiting room, keeping my head lowered, as if I did not belong to this moment. I chose a seat in the far corner—close enough to see, far enough not to be noticed.

From there, I watched.

Quietly. Carefully.

And I took mental notes of every interaction between them.

The golden pup’s name was Damien. His aura burned bright yellow and white—typical of an Alpha. Controlled dominance. Territorial instinct wrapped in confidence.

The other pup, Simon, carried himself differently. His aura was steady, disciplined. A Beta.

And the older man…

Solid. Grounded. Experienced. His presence carried authority without display.

Their Gamma.

It did not take long to confirm what I had already suspected.

Their pack’s Gamma was Summer’s father.

Her mother, Maria, stood beside him as Gamma female—even without a wolf. Yet her aura told its own story. There was power there. Not predatory.

Healing.

Celestial.

Abilities she had no doubt inherited from Orion.

The realization struck me with force.

Summer was a half-werewolf, half-celestial hybrid.

But what unsettled me more than her lineage was something else entirely.

She did not react to their ranks.

Where her parents addressed the Alpha and Beta by title—formally, respectfully—Summer did not. She spoke to them casually. Freely. As if she had no awareness of the weight those words carried.

As if she did not understand the world she stood inside.

Did she truly know nothing of her being?

Or had they done an exceptional job of keeping her in the dark?

I watched her laugh softly at something Simon said. Watched her mother brush hair from her face. Watched her father remain vigilant without hovering.

From the looks of it, these people were her entire world.

And they cherished her.

Perhaps she was dormant—her powers waiting for maturity. Was this something wolves did? Shelter their young until the moment of awakening? Keep them naïve until they could survive the truth?

Werewolves were fascinating creatures, but I did not fully understand the internal workings of their packs—how their young were raised, how hierarchy shaped them beyond the knowledge that ranked members bore the responsibility for the entire collective. If those ranked were strong and just, loyalty ran deep.

And this pack…

Felt loyal.

Protective.

Suddenly, Orion’s words returned to me.

Rhiannon Selene wanted her born of the supernatural world. Wanted her to be one of her children. A daughter of the moon.

Summer would hold power in this universe.

Power to match my own.

My lips curved before I could stop them.

Queen of the night.

A shining light in the dark—a light I had needed for eons without ever knowing it.

And it made sense.

She would be my aurora borealis.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard my mate yell.

Wait.

What was happening?

I was on my feet before I realized I had moved, instinct taking over—but I forced myself to remain where I was. I could not insert myself into a moment that did not belong to me.

“No,” she said, her voice sharp with resolve. “I’m not leaving without seeing him. I need to say goodbye. I can’t leave him yet.”

The desperation in her voice pierced straight through me.

And then—

I watched as the little pup stepped forward.

“Maria,” he said gently, “Simon and I can grab food and bring it back. Perhaps Esteban can speak with a nurse and see if arrangements can be made for you all to have a moment.”

He spoke calmly. Confidently.

As if it were his place to be there for her.

“Oh, yes—please, Mami,” she said, then turned to him with visible relief. “Damien… you really don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he told her, adoration in his eyes. “I’ll handle it.”

At that moment, he was her solution.

Her answer.

She looked at him with gratitude. With softness. With trust.

And something in my chest twisted violently.

The dread came first.

Then envy.

Heavy. Crushing. Like standing beneath a waterfall and trying to breathe.

What if this is how it begins?

What if this is how he wins her?

By being present. By being useful. By being there when she is hurting.

I felt it then—the smallest, most dangerous fear—

That I had already arrived too late.