CHAPTER 3 — A Rogue’s Warning
1330 Words
Morning came slowly, as though the world itself hesitated to wake.
Aria lay still on the narrow bed, listening to the unfamiliar sounds around her—the crackle of a low fire, the creak of wood settling, the distant call of a bird she did not recognize. Her body ached in places she had never known could ache, a deep soreness that settled into her bones. When she tried to move, pain answered immediately, sharp and insistent.
She let out a quiet breath and stared at the ceiling.
It took only a heartbeat for memory to return.
The forest.
The gates closing.
Kaden’s voice, steady and merciless, declaring her a coward.
Her chest tightened, the familiar burn flaring again beneath her ribs. She curled slightly on her side, pressing her arm against herself as if that might dull the ache. The bond pain was different this morning—not as sharp, but heavier, like an old bruise pressed too often.
“You’re awake.”
Myra’s voice came from the hearth. Aria turned her head slowly. The rogue healer stood with her back half-turned, grinding dried leaves with a stone pestle. In the light of morning, Myra looked older than Aria had first thought, her dark hair threaded with silver, her expression lined by years of things best left unspoken.
“How do you feel?” Myra asked without looking up.
“Like I was trampled and left in the dirt,” Aria replied hoarsely.
Myra snorted softly. “Then you’re improving.”
She crossed the room and handed Aria a small cup filled with dark liquid. The scent was bitter and earthy, sharp enough to make Aria’s nose wrinkle.
“Drink.”
“What is it?” Aria asked warily.
“Something to keep your heart from tearing itself apart,” Myra said bluntly. “It won’t fix the bond. Nothing will. But it will quiet the worst of the rejection pain.”
Aria hesitated, then drank. The taste was awful, but warmth spread through her chest almost immediately, dulling the sharp edge of agony to something bearable. She exhaled shakily.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Myra studied her for a long moment, gaze sharp and unsettling. “You were lucky,” she said finally. “Luckier than you understand.”
Aria frowned. “Lucky doesn’t feel like the right word.”
“You should be dead,” Myra replied. “Most would be.”
The words sent a chill through Aria despite the fire’s warmth. “Because of the attack?”
“Because of what answered it,” Myra corrected.
She pulled a stool closer and sat, resting her elbows on her knees. “Your blood reacted to the moon last night. I felt it the moment you crossed my wards.”
Aria’s heart skipped. “Reacted how?”
Myra’s mouth tightened. “Like something ancient waking from a very long sleep.”
Aria shook her head immediately. “That’s not possible. I’m an omega. I don’t have—” She faltered, the words suddenly feeling thin. “I don’t have power like that.”
“That’s what makes it dangerous,” Myra said quietly. “And rare.”
She reached out and took Aria’s wrist, turning it slightly. For a brief second, faint silver light shimmered beneath Aria’s skin, then vanished.
Aria yanked her hand back, panic surging. “What was that?”
“Your bloodline,” Myra said. “Or what’s left of it.”
Aria stared at her in horror. “I’m not special. I never have been. This—this has to be some mistake.”
Myra’s gaze softened, but her voice did not. “Special is a dangerous word. Powerful is worse. And neither cares what you believe.”
Aria swung her legs over the side of the bed, dizziness washing over her. “I need to go back,” she said suddenly. “To Silvercrest. They must think I’m—”
“Dead?” Myra cut in. “Or worse?”
Aria flinched.
“You can’t return,” Myra continued firmly. “Not yet.”
“Kaden wouldn’t—” The words caught painfully in Aria’s throat. “The pack wouldn’t hunt me.”
Myra laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The traitor who opened your gates already tried to kill you once. You surviving makes you a loose end.”
Aria stared at her, disbelief warring with a growing, sick dread. “A pack member wouldn’t do that.”
“They already did.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Aria’s hands trembled in her lap. “Who?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Myra admitted. “But I know intent when I smell it. Someone wanted you removed quietly. Not captured. Not questioned. Gone.”
The cottage seemed suddenly too small.
“I don’t understand,” Aria said. “I’ve never been important. I don’t hold rank. I don’t—”
“You carry something,” Myra interrupted. “Something older than pack law and stronger than bonds meant to cage it. And last night, it stirred.”
Aria shook her head again, more desperately this time. “No. I don’t want this.”
Myra’s expression softened. “No one ever does.”
She stood and crossed the room, retrieving a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “These herbs will help keep the pain manageable. Take them before sleep. And don’t dream near open moonlight if you can help it.”
“Dream?” Aria echoed faintly.
Myra hesitated. “Did you see anything last night?”
Aria swallowed. “A white wolf. Chained.”
Myra went very still.
“That’s… not good,” she said quietly.
Fear settled cold and deep in Aria’s stomach. “What does it mean?”
“It means your blood remembers things you don’t,” Myra replied. “And it may start showing them to you.”
That night, sleep claimed Aria whether she wanted it or not.
The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the walls. She drifted somewhere between waking and dreaming, her body heavy and unresponsive.
Then the vision came.
She stood at the edge of a village she did not recognize. Flames devoured the buildings, smoke rolling thick and black into the sky. The air smelled of ash and fear.
A figure moved through the destruction with unhurried steps.
Kaden.
He stood amid the burning ruins, firelight reflecting in his eyes—but there was no shock in his expression. No horror. Only cold calculation.
Aria tried to call out to him. Her voice failed.
He turned, gaze lifting slowly until it met hers.
And he smiled.
Aria woke with a sharp cry, bolting upright as pain flared through her chest. Her heart pounded violently, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Myra was beside her instantly, steadying her shoulders. “Easy. Breathe.”
“That wasn’t a dream,” Aria whispered, shaking. “It felt… real.”
Myra’s face was grim. “Bloodline visions rarely lie.”
“Is it the future?” Aria asked, terror flooding her voice. “Or just my fear?”
“Sometimes those are the same thing,” Myra said gently.
Aria pressed her hands against her chest, the bond pulsing weakly beneath her palms. The image of Kaden’s cold eyes burned behind her lids.
If the vision was truth—if even part of it was—then the bond she had mourned was already rotten at its core.
She drew in a slow, steadying breath.
“I need answers,” she said quietly.
Myra studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Be careful what you uncover.”
Aria’s gaze hardened, something new settling behind her fear.
“I will,” she said. “Even if it destroys what’s left of the bond I never asked for.”
And for the first time since she woke in the forest, Aria did not feel entirely powerless.
- Writer
