Zara had always been a quiet storm—silent, watchful, deadly when provoked.
But now, standing on the edge of the SilverCrest training field, she radiated raw defiance. Arms crossed, boots planted wide, sharp eyes tracking every movement like a sentinel.
Three young warriors had circled Aria during sparring practice, laughing just a little too loud, shifting just a little too close. One had made a comment about “weak-blooded heirs,” and another had asked whether Draven’s child would come out cold like its father.
That was all it took.
Zara was across the field in a blink.
She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t growl or bare teeth.
She just looked at them.
And they backed off like she carried fire in her bones.
“You’ve got a mouth,” she told the tallest one, who had dared the insult. “Keep using it, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you taste with.”
He sneered. “You’re not even pack.”
“Correct.” Zara stepped closer, eye to eye. “Which means your laws don’t protect you from me.”
A beat passed.
The warrior paled, then muttered something under his breath and stalked away.
Zara turned back to Aria with a shrug. “That’s the problem with children raised by cowards—they think their bark matters.”
Aria exhaled and leaned against the fence. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did,” Zara said simply. “You’re not safe here.”
“They’re my old pack.”
“They’re wolves. And wolves turn on blood when they smell weakness.”
Aria didn’t argue. She was too tired to lie.
She had wanted to believe returning to SilverCrest would give her peace. Sanctuary. But instead, it had given her silence at meals, side-eyes in the corridors, and whispers wherever she walked.
Even here, she was a story before she was a person.
Zara took a seat on the fence beside her. “They fear what you carry.”
“Because it’s Kael’s?”
“No,” Zara said. “Because it’s yours.”
Aria blinked.
“Kael is a known force. Predictable. But you?” Zara said, glancing down at Aria’s stomach. “You were Luna. You were severed. And you survived. You carry the legacy they lost control of. That terrifies them.”
Aria didn’t speak for a moment.
Then: “Why do you stay?”
Zara smiled without warmth. “Because you once told me I was more than a weapon. You looked at me like I was human. And I’d burn down kingdoms for the people who do that.”
Later that evening, the two of them shared dinner in the west cabin—half-burnt meat, stale bread, and the last of the wild honey Aria had bartered for.
There was no fire. No warmth from the rest of the pack. But inside their little haven, there was something steadier.
Loyalty.
Zara cleaned her blade by lamplight, always watching, always alert. Aria sat at the table with one hand on her belly, reading from a tattered book about psychic bonds during pregnancy.
She paused on a line that made her breath hitch.
“A child conceived within a fated bond may carry residual psychic threads, even after the bond is broken.”
She reread it. Again.
Residual threads.
That would explain the strange dreams. The flickers of Kael’s emotions that she sometimes felt like a whisper at the edge of sleep. Rage. Regret. Want.
She touched her stomach. “Are you feeling him, too?”
Zara looked up. “What?”
“Nothing,” Aria muttered, closing the book. “Just reading nonsense.”
Zara watched her for a long moment, then said, “You’re still tethered.”
“I thought the witch cut it.”
“She cloaked your scent. Shielded your aura. But the baby…” Zara tapped her temple. “The baby’s still a beacon.”
Aria stood abruptly and moved to the window, staring out into the dark forest beyond. “He’s going to find me, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Zara said calmly.
Aria pressed a hand to the cold glass. “What do I do when he does?”
Zara set her blade down and crossed the room. Her voice was softer now, but no less sure. “You stand taller than you’ve ever stood before. You hold your ground. And if he dares lay claim to what he abandoned…”
Aria turned to her, eyes sharp.
Zara smiled grimly. “You remind him why wolves should never chase storms.”
At midnight, a knock startled them both.
Zara was up instantly, knife in hand.
Aria moved slower, heart racing.
The door creaked open.
Milo stood in the doorway, fidgeting.
He avoided Zara’s glare and looked only at Aria.
“There’s going to be a vote.”
Aria stiffened. “What kind of vote?”
“Whether you’re allowed to stay through the birth,” he said quietly. “Some of the elders think you’ll bring war to SilverCrest.”
“I bring a child.”
“You bring Draven’s child,” he corrected, eyes softening. “Look, I don’t agree with them. But they’re scared.”
“Good,” Zara said flatly.
Milo looked between them. “I’m just warning you. Be ready.”
He disappeared into the night.
Zara shut the door behind him and bolted it. “Let them vote. Let them reveal their teeth.”
Aria didn’t answer. She moved to the fireless hearth and stared into the cold ash.
This was her home.
This was her fight.
And she wouldn’t let them take either away.
Not again.
