Chapter Two: Mark Beneath The Skin
1304 Words
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The howl echoed through the trees like a war cry—long, low, and primal. Aria felt it in her bones before she heard it in her ears.
She shot toward the window, heart slamming against her ribs, scanning the darkness beyond the trees. Nothing moved. No eyes glinted back. No beast prowled the edge of her garden.
But it was out there.
She could feel it.
Behind her, Dorian’s voice was low. Controlled. “Close the curtains.”
She turned, eyes narrowing. “Why? Is it what clawed you?”
He didn’t answer, but his jaw flexed.
Aria grabbed the heavy velvet drapes and yanked them shut. The firelight flickered gold against the cottage walls, throwing his shadow across her shelves of dried herbs and jars of tinctures.
“That howl didn’t sound normal,” she murmured.
“It wasn’t.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or do I have to start reading tarot cards and making wild guesses?”
His lips quirked. “You wouldn’t be far off.”
Aria stepped closer to the couch, drawn in despite herself. “Start talking. What attacked you?”
He met her eyes. “A rogue.”
“Rogue what?”
“Werewolf.”
She stared at him.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
“Oh,” she said flatly. “That’s the story we’re going with?”
“You asked for the truth.”
“I asked for the truth, not a bedtime story.”
Dorian sat up straighter, ignoring the tug of his stitches. “You live in Ravenshollow, Aria. This town breathes myth. The forest you walk in daily is older than written history. You deal in roots and herbs, rituals passed down through bloodlines. And you know there’s more to this place than meets the eye.”
“I know people like to believe in things they can’t explain.”
“You don’t believe. But you feel.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Don’t you?”
She opened her mouth to argue—and stopped.
Because yes. She had felt something. For months now. Ever since she’d moved into her grandmother’s cottage. A kind of… buzz. Under the skin. Like her veins hummed with something not entirely natural. Her dreams had grown strange too—full of forests and red moons and voices whispering her name in a language she didn’t understand.
She’d written it off as stress. Isolation. Too much chamomile and not enough company.
But Dorian’s gaze held hers like he could see through her.
“You’re not just anyone,” he said. “Your blood carries power. Old power. That’s why I found you.”
“You found me because you were dying.”
“I found you because I wasn’t supposed to.” His eyes darkened. “Fate doesn’t play fair, Aria. But it always plays true.”
She paced, tension coiling tighter in her gut. “You sound insane.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m right.”
She ran a hand through her hair and stopped in front of the hearth. “Say I believed you. Say werewolves are real, and one of them attacked you. Why would it do that? What does it want?”
“Territory. Power. Blood. Take your pick.” Dorian stood slowly, pain etched in the corners of his eyes. “There are rules in our world—rules enforced by my family’s bloodline for centuries. But rogues don’t follow rules. They tear them apart.”
“And you… what? You’re some kind of wolf cop?”
He gave a humorless smile. “I’m the alpha.”
That word hit harder than it should have. Alpha. Dominant. Commanding. It fit him too well.
She crossed her arms. “So you’re the billionaire recluse and the leader of a secret pack of mythical wolves. That’s rich.”
“I never said I was normal.”
She eyed him. “And you think I’m… what? Your fated mate or something?”
He didn’t speak. Just watched her.
The silence said enough.
Aria’s breath caught.
“No. No, that’s not… That’s not how real life works.”
“It’s how our lives work,” he said quietly. “The blood moon calls to the oldest magic. Tonight, it brings fates together—or tears them apart.”
Her spine tingled.
“I felt you days ago,” Dorian continued. “Something pulled me here. I didn’t know who or what you were until I saw you. But when I did…”
His voice dipped into something deeper. Hungrier.
“I knew.”
She should have laughed. Should have told him to leave. But her body betrayed her—heat blooming in her chest, her thighs, her lips. Her heart beat like a war drum.
“What does that mean for me?” she whispered.
“It means,” he said, stepping closer, “that whether you believe or not, whether you want this or not… your life just changed.”
He stopped in front of her. Too close. She could smell the wild forest on him—cedar, ash, and something darker. Something male.
“Let me see your arm,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
He gently took her wrist. His thumb swept across the inner flesh, and then he pulled her sleeve back to reveal a pale mark—barely visible, like a faint burn in the shape of a crescent moon.
She sucked in a breath.
“How long have you had this?” he asked.
“I—I don’t know. A week, maybe? It itched at first.”
“It’s a bond mark,” he said, voice husky. “The beginning of the connection.”
Her skin tingled where he touched it, like fire and ice all at once.
“What does it do?” she asked.
“When the eclipse reaches its peak, it will either complete itself—or fade forever.”
“And if it completes?”
He looked at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. “Then you become mine. And I become yours.”
The heat between them was unbearable. Her breath came faster. She should step away. She didn’t.
Instead, she whispered, “And if I don’t want that?”
“You always had a choice. But you can’t run from what you are, Aria. You feel it. I know you do.”
She closed her eyes.
God help her, she did.
Something inside her stirred when he touched her—an ancient part of her soul that knew his. Her grandmother had spoken of “the old blood,” of bonds stronger than logic. Aria had chalked it up to folklore.
But this felt real.
Too real.
And terrifying.
“You should rest,” she said, stepping back, breaking the spell. “You’re still healing.”
Dorian’s eyes lingered on her a beat longer, then nodded. “For now.”
She led him to the guest room at the end of the hall and helped him into bed. He didn’t protest. Just watched her the whole time, silent and unreadable.
As she turned to leave, he said, “Thank you, Aria.”
She hesitated. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not sure what I’ve invited into my home.”
“Neither am I,” he said softly. “But whatever it is… it started long before tonight.”
She closed the door behind her, heart pounding, the mark on her wrist burning faintly like a secret brand.
Outside, the blood moon rose higher—red as hunger, heavy with fate.
And deep in the woods, another howl split the air.
This time, it was closer.
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- Writer
