Sunlight crept through the tall windows of the Silverfang estate, filtering past heavy velvet curtains and spilling in golden patches across the floor. Morning had arrived, quiet and golden—but it carried the weight of a night that could never be erased.
Aria awoke slowly, her limbs entangled in soft silk sheets that carried the scent of smoke, pine, and him.
Kain.
The moment her brain pieced together the fragments—his mouth, his hands, the heat, the way he'd touched her like she belonged to no one else but him—her breath hitched. She pressed a palm to her lips, as if to contain the echo of moans still lingering there.
She sat up slowly, the sheet pooling at her waist. Her body ached in places she never knew could ache, the aftermath of raw, untamed passion—of surrender. She had crossed a line. No, she had torn it to pieces and danced over it.
And yet, she couldn't find regret.
Just confusion.
Just fire.
She scanned the room—his room—and found it empty. The side of the bed where Kain had lain was still rumpled, warm. He hadn't left long ago. Her fingers brushed the spot, and a jolt of longing rushed through her like a traitor.
What the hell did I do?
Guilt slithered in, cold and sharp. She was supposed to hate him. Distrust him. She'd promised herself not to be weak, not to fall for the first alpha who looked at her like she was something precious.
But Kain hadn't looked at her like she was precious.
He'd looked at her like she was his.
The door creaked open, and she startled, clutching the sheet to her chest. Kain entered, shirtless, damp hair curling at his temples, a towel slung over his shoulder. When his eyes locked onto her, a slow, satisfied smirk curved his lips.
"You're awake."
His voice was gravel wrapped in silk. She hated how her body reacted instantly—how her thighs clenched and her nipples peaked under the sheet like they remembered everything.
"I should go," she muttered, standing and dragging the sheet with her like armor.
"You could," he said, not moving. "But you won't."
She turned sharply, glaring. "Don't act like you know me."
Kain stepped closer, his movements deliberate. "I know your scent when you're aching. I know the sound of your moan when you're about to fall apart. I know how your claws dig into my back when you're coming."
Her knees almost gave out.
"You're not leaving because you don't want to. You're scared," he added, voice lower. "Scared that what happened wasn't just heat. It meant something."
"It didn't," she snapped, even though her pulse said otherwise.
"It did. And it will again." He was inches from her now, towering over her, and she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
She shook her head. "This was a mistake. We were... drunk on the moment. This doesn't mean anything."
"Then say it," Kain challenged. "Look me in the eye and tell me you felt nothing."
Her lips parted. No words came.
"Thought so." He stepped back, but not before brushing his fingers along her bare arm—just enough to leave her trembling.
"Don't make this more than what it is," she whispered.
"But what if it already is more?" he murmured, then turned away, leaving her with silence and a thousand screaming thoughts.
---
Aria avoided him the rest of the day. She couldn't risk being near him. Not when one look from those silver eyes made her crave things she shouldn't. She'd barely gotten through training, barely managed to focus during her patrol, and now, as the moon rose high, she found herself on the edge of the pack grounds, needing space to breathe.
But even here, she wasn't alone.
"You're running."
She stiffened.
Kain stepped out from the shadows, dressed in black, like a part of the night itself.
"You always follow women who regret sleeping with you?"
"You don't regret it. You regret liking it."
He was right. And that pissed her off.
"Why do you keep pushing this?" she asked, voice strained.
"Because I see you. Not just the fury. Not just the walls. I see the heat you hide. The way your eyes beg for someone to touch you like you matter."
Her chest tightened.
"You wanted me," he continued, softer now. "And last night proved it."
She turned her back to him. "Wanting doesn't mean belonging."
"No," he agreed, coming up behind her. "But it means there's something here worth breaking for."
She spun, shoving at his chest. "I'm not your obsession, Kain."
His hands caught hers, pulling her flush against him. "No, you're worse. You're my weakness."
He kissed her—brutal and desperate, as if he could sink his truth into her mouth.
And she kissed him back.
Because no matter how much she denied it, a part of her wanted to be his ruin.
But that night, when she finally slipped back into her bed, alone, the sheets felt cold.
And her heart... even colder.