Arya: His Softest Sin

Chapter 3

Arya.

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We woke before sunrise, when the world was still suspended between night and morning.

The forest was a charcoal blur around us, the sky barely hinting at light.

Our boots pressed into damp earth, leaves crackling sharply underfoot.

The cold clung to my skin, slid down the back of my neck, and settled into my bones like an unwelcome guest.

“I hope you still remember how to shoot,” Father said over his shoulder. His voice carried that familiar edge—dry, skeptical, almost daring me to disappoint him.

I tightened my grip on the hunting rifle.

Why give me a loaded gun before asking that?

“A little rusty, maybe. But yes,” I replied evenly.

Rusty was an understatement. It had been a while. Still, I’d been hunting since I was twelve. Father believed in early training—discipline, precision, patience.

According to him, those were the pillars of character.

According to me, they were simply expectations I had learned not to question.

Whether I would actually hit anything today was another matter.

He gave a single nod and turned back toward the trail. The Rycroft hunting tradition had started long before I was born—camping trips meant to “bond the family,” as Father put it.

Every generation kept it alive. And my father, with his iron spine and unyielding pride, would rather shatter than let that tradition die.

“Sunshine,” Kaden’s voice came from behind me.

“It’s Arya,” I corrected without looking back.

He gave a low chuckle. “Okay. Arya. I missed you. These past few months have been hell for me. I thought I’d get over you, but I guess it’s not that simple.”

The corner of my lip twitched in irritation.

Get over what, exactly?

The gifts I never accepted?

The dates I never agreed to?

The feelings I never returned?

The relationship that never existed?

I swallowed the retort forming on my tongue.

Silence was safer. Cleaner. Kaden seemed to take the hint because he didn’t press further.

But my mind didn’t quiet so easily.

Had he woken up yet?

He’d still been unconscious when we left at dawn.

And Allison—she had miraculously developed severe stomach pain right before departure. Too severe to join the hunt. Convenient.

Before we left, she’d leaned close and whispered: don’t worry. I won’t make him fall in love with me… yet.

I could only hope we’d make a quick, clean hunt and return to the cabin before she turned curiosity into catastrophe.

The forest changed when the sun finally rose. Gold light filtered through the branches, illuminating drifting breath and frost-kissed leaves. The world softened.

And then—

A deer.

It stepped cautiously into view, elegant and unaware.

Everything else faded.

Father’s breathing.

Kaden shifting behind me.

The wind.

I exhaled slowly. Steady hands. Steady aim.

The rifle kicked against my shoulder.

The deer dropped.

Silence rushed in, thick and absolute.

Then Father laughed.

“One shot!” he repeated, pride unmistakable in his voice. “Just one!”

He clapped my shoulder, and I felt something rare and fragile unfold inside my chest.

Approval.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much. But it did.

“Mom! Mom!”

Ryan burst toward the house like he’d witnessed a miracle.

My mother rushed out, alarm flashing across her face. “What happened? Is Arya okay?”

“She shot a big-ass deer! You have to see!”

He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her down the porch steps. She laughed, relief dissolving her fear, and glanced at me with a look that said she understood exactly what this meant.

Father was still smiling when the deer was loaded. That alone felt like an achievement.

"Psst. Arya.”

Allison appeared in the doorway.

Right.

The situation.

“What?” I asked, lowering my voice. “Is he awake?”

“He was for a little while,” she said.

“Did you talk to him? Please tell me you didn’t do anything reckless.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you trust me that little? I just asked if he needed food. He said no. But he asked for whiskey.”

My stomach dropped. “You didn’t give it to him.”

She hesitated.

“You did.”

“I told him he shouldn’t mix it with medication,” she rushed. “But he just looked at me—you know, that scary look—and I panicked.”

I groaned. “Allison…”

“At least Mom didn’t see,” she muttered.

“What’s he doing now?”

“Sleeping again. I think his name is Nik.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“He borrowed my phone to call someone. I heard him say it.”

Nik.

A name made him feel more real. Less abstract. More dangerous.

“What are you two whispering about?” Mom’s voice cut through the tension.

“Nothing!” we answered in perfect, suspicious unison.

She raised an eyebrow but smiled. “Come help me finish the sandwiches.”

“Let me wash up first,” I said quickly.

“I’ll come too,” Allison added.

“No, you won’t,” Mom replied firmly. “You’ve been upstairs half the day. Stay and help.”

Allison pouted. I didn’t rescue her.

My heart picked up speed as I climbed the stairs.

When I stepped into the bedroom, I froze.

He was awake.

Sitting upright against the headboard, staring out the window as though the trees held secrets only he understood.

“Hello,” I said carefully. “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t answer at first. Then his gaze shifted to me.

It was unsettling—not loud, not dramatic. Just cold. Assessing.

“I’m going to wash up and then change your bandages,” I continued, filling the silence.

No nod. No acknowledgment.

I retreated to the bathroom longer than necessary, gripping the edge of the sink until my breathing steadied.

When I returned, he’d moved to the couch.

The room felt smaller somehow.

I gathered the supplies and sat across from him. My hands trembled, and I told myself it was because of Father. Because if Father found out I’d brought a stranger into the cabin, injured and secretive, there would be consequences.

I dabbed antiseptic onto smaller cuts. He didn’t react.

When I reached the split on his lip, I hesitated. I’d treated injuries before—worse than this. So why did this feel different?

Because this wasn’t clinical. It wasn’t detached.

It was personal.

I pressed the cotton gently. He inhaled sharply.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

Up close, his features were striking in a way that was almost inconvenient. Focus, Arya.

“I’ll change the main bandage now,” I said. “I don’t have much equipment, but I'll manage.”

As I unwrapped the stained gauze, I forced myself to focus only on the wound. Not the tension in his posture. Not the silent watchfulness in his eyes.

His arms are pointing upward and for a second, I stared way too hard at how the position flexed his abs and muscles.

I clear my throat. "It's not looking that bad."

The wound. Not the abs.

“It’s healing,” I said quickly. “That’s good.”

I finished rewrapping it and snapped the medical box closed.

“You need to eat,” I added. “The medication—”

The words dissolved as his hand closed around my arm.

The movement was swift. Controlled. Intentional.

I was pressed back against the wall, breath caught in my throat. Not violently—but firmly enough to make the message clear.

His face was inches from mine.

“Have you told anyone I’m here?” he asked quietly.

The softness of his tone made it worse.

“No,” I managed.

His gaze searched mine, sharp and unrelenting. “If you’re lying…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

“I’m not,” I whispered. “Let go.”

For a suspended moment, neither of us moved.

Then he released me abruptly.

I stumbled forward, dragging in air like I’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Asshole,” I snapped, anger covering the fear curling in my stomach.

His eyes darkened—but before anything else could happen, the door swung open.

“Arya? Mom is—” Allison stopped short. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said immediately.

I couldn’t tell her. She’d panic. She’d tell Dad. And then—

Everything would collapse.

She rushed toward me anyway, gripping my arm. “You look pale.”

“I said I’m fine.”

And just like that, she forgot about me entirely.

“Oh! You’re awake again,” she beamed at Nik. “I’m Allison Rycroft. But you can call me Ally. Or sweetheart. Or whatever you want.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

Please stop.

“Ally,” I said firmly, grabbing her hand. “We’re leaving.”

“I’ll be right back, ” she promised him.

“No,” I replied. “You won’t. You’re sleeping by the fireplace tonight.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I didn’t look back at Nik as I pulled her out of the room.

But I could feel his gaze lingering.

Heavy.

Calculating.