The scent arrived before the knock.
Earthy. Clean. A hint of something wild beneath.
Aria had just finished folding the last of Calla’s laundry when the wind shifted through the open window, bringing with it a scent she didn’t recognize — yet didn’t fear. She paused mid-fold, the small tunic dangling from her fingers, and turned toward the door.
No knock came. Just presence.
She stepped outside barefoot, the cool stone of the front step grounding her as the afternoon sun filtered through the trees. The clearing around her cottage was quiet, too quiet. Even the birds held their breath.
Then he stepped out from between two towering pines — tall, solid, yet unassuming. His shoulders bore no armor. His neck, no Alpha mark. But there was strength in the stillness of his stance, and something like caution behind his pale blue eyes.
Lucan of Greenwood.
Not a stranger. Not quite familiar. But remembered.
He’d helped mediate the last round of council disputes. Aria remembered him then: quiet, calculated, observant. Never once raising his voice. Never once diminishing hers.
Now he stood at the edge of her space, not daring to cross the threshold without invitation. That alone made her heartbeat shift.
“I thought you returned to Greenwood,” she said, arms crossed, not from defense — but uncertainty.
“I did. And then I didn’t.” His lips twitched in a shadow of a smile. “Your name keeps making its way into conversations that shouldn’t include you.”
“Because I’m not part of their game anymore.”
“Exactly.” He took one slow step forward. “Which makes you dangerous.”
Aria raised a brow.
“To them,” he added, gently. “Not to me.”
She should have told him to leave.
Should have reminded herself that men — especially powerful ones — only ever showed up with expectations and eventual disappointment.
But Lucan didn’t ask to come in.
Instead, he removed his gloves and sat on the low stone wall near the herb garden, as if they were simply neighbors catching up.
“I hear you refused the new High Council seat,” he said.
“I didn’t refuse,” she answered. “I ignored the letter.”
“That’s refusal with extra flair.”
Aria didn’t smile, but something inside her eased.
“I’m not here as a suitor, or a threat,” Lucan said plainly. “But I am here because I can’t seem to forget what you did. What you survived. What you became.”
“And that makes you curious?”
“No,” he said, voice softer now. “That makes me drawn.”
Calla’s cry broke the moment. Aria turned without hesitation, disappearing inside the house. Lucan didn’t follow. He remained seated, hands resting loosely on his knees.
Minutes later, she returned, Calla at her hip. The toddler eyed the man in the garden with a strange, quiet intensity that was too mature for her age. Then she pressed her face into her mother’s neck.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Aria said.
“She’s smart,” Lucan replied.
Aria waited, expecting him to push, to ask for trust not yet earned. But he merely nodded and said, “Then I’ll go.”
He stood, brushing dirt from his palms.
“I came to offer a treaty. Greenwood will remain neutral if war breaks between the Highlands and StoneRidge. But if you call… we’ll stand with you.”
“I didn’t ask for loyalty.”
“No. But you deserve it.”
He turned to go.
“Lucan.”
He paused.
“You could stay. For tea.”
He looked back, surprised. “Tea?”
“Just tea,” she confirmed. “And only because Calla hasn’t screamed bloody murder. Which, believe me, is her usual greeting.”
He gave a short laugh. “Then I’m honored.”
Inside, the house was warm. Not luxurious, but lived-in. The scent of chamomile and lavender wafted from a pot on the stove.
Lucan sat at the small table while Aria moved about the kitchen. Calla wandered the room, her toy wolf clutched in hand.
They didn’t speak of politics or bonds. They didn’t speak of Kael. For the first time in a long time, Aria spoke about the quiet things — her garden, the trouble with wild mushrooms, the way Calla insisted on howling before bedtime.
And Lucan listened. Not like a man waiting for his turn to talk — but like someone who simply wanted to know her.
“Most wolves fear silence,” Aria said eventually. “They fill it with dominance, bravado, claims.”
“And you?” he asked.
“I used to fear it too.” She stirred her tea. “But now I think silence is where truth lives. When no one’s watching… that’s who we really are.”
Lucan nodded, gaze steady. “Then I’m glad I met you in your silence.”
As the sun dipped beyond the hills and the sky bruised with twilight, Lucan stood once more.
“I won’t ask for more,” he said.
“I wouldn’t give it,” she replied.
He smiled — not wounded, but respectful. “Good.”
Then he hesitated. Just long enough for her to notice.
“But if someday,” he added, “you want someone who doesn’t try to tame you… I’ll be exactly where I am now. At the edge of the clearing. Waiting for your word.”
She didn’t answer. Not with words. But her eyes met his with a fierce clarity.
Not a maybe.
Not a no.
Just not yet.
And for the first time in her life, that was an answer that felt like power.
He left without asking for touch or promises.
And when Aria tucked Calla into bed later that night, the house felt different. Not fuller. Not emptier.
Just… open.
And Aria lay awake long after, staring at the ceiling, whispering into the dark:
“I don’t know if I can love again.”
And somewhere in the woods beyond her window, a wolf who wasn’t Kael… listened.
Not demanding.
Not hoping.
Just listening.
And that, too, felt like a beginning.
