Chapter 262
The moon was high again. Full, bright, and watching.
I couldn’t sleep. Not after last night. Not after the dragons.
Their voices still haunted me, calling me Mother, pulling at something deep and ancient inside of me I didn’t even know existed. I didn’t tell anyone. How could I? I was still trying to convince myself I hadn’t imagined it.
I found myself outside again, drawn to the cold air and quiet shadows. The garden was empty tonight, colder than before, the wind biting softly at my skin like it wanted to remind me I was alive.
I stood still for a while, staring up at the stars like they might give me a sign. I didn’t hear him at first. I just felt him.
That shift in the air. That heaviness in the space around me.
I turned, and he was there.
Leaning against the stone archway like he had been watching me. Like he had always known exactly where I would be.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Neither did I.
His gaze held mine in that calm, unreadable way he always did. His dark hair looked almost black in the moonlight, his expression carved from shadow and fire.
“I figured you’d come out here again,” he said finally. His voice was deep, low, steady. Like it belonged to the forest and the moon itself.
I looked back at the sky. “And yet you didn’t stop me.”
“I don’t stop people from doing what they need to do,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward me. “But I do make sure they’re not alone when they do it.”
There was no softness in his voice, no sweet edge. Just truth. Just presence.
He stopped beside me, arms crossed, the heat of him brushing against my skin even without touching. His scent—earth, pine, storm—settled around me.
“You’ve changed,” he said after a moment, his eyes on me now. “I can feel it. Like something inside you woke up.”
“It did,” I answered, quietly. “The dragons. I saw them. I heard them. And they saw me.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t act surprised. That made it worse somehow—like he’d been expecting it.
“They called me Mother,” I added. My voice cracked.
He was quiet for a long beat.
Then: “That’s because you are.”
I turned to him sharply. “You knew.”
“I suspected,” he said calmly. “The moment I met you, I felt it. Power recognizes power. But this... this is more than I thought.”
I stepped back a little, needing space but not wanting distance. “So what does that make me now? A queen? A myth? A threat?”
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unwavering. “It makes you someone who doesn’t get to pretend she’s normal anymore.”
The truth hit me like cold water. And yet it didn’t sting. It settled.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I muttered, voice shaking slightly.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice hardening just a fraction. “You have it.”
I hated that he was right. Hated it because I wanted to argue, scream, cry—but none of that would change what I’d seen. What I’d felt.
“You’re handling it,” he added after a beat. “Better than most would.”
Something in his tone shifted there—not praise. Acknowledgement. Respect.
My eyes found his again, and I didn’t look away this time. “Why are you really here?”
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until there was barely any space left between us. “Because no matter how far you run, I’m going to feel it. You can close every door in this palace, disappear for days, and I’ll still know when something in you fractures.”
His voice dropped lower, rougher.
“You think I didn’t feel you break last night?”
My breath hitched. I didn’t know what to say.
“I came out here to be alone,” I said, but it came out softer than I intended.
“You don’t need to be alone,” he said. “Not with me.”
He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t offering. He was stating.
He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just looked at me in that quiet, unshakeable way of his—like he was reading everything I wasn’t saying.
And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.
“I don’t even know what I am anymore,” I whispered.
“You’re mine,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”
Those words burned. Not like fire. Like truth.
I turned my face away, suddenly feeling too bare under his stare.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for what’s coming,” I said. “For the dragons. For the bond. For you.”
“You don’t have to be ready,” he said simply. “You just have to stop lying to yourself.”
Then he reached out—slow, sure—and took my chin between his fingers, turning my face back to his. His touch was firm. Not rough. Not tender. Just right.
“Say it,” he said.
“Say what?” I breathed.
“That you feel it too.”
I looked at him. At the Alpha who had never begged for my attention. Who hadn’t chased me down or tried to charm his way into my good graces. He just stood there, steady as stone, waiting until I was strong enough to stand beside him.
“I feel it,” I said finally.
The fire in his eyes flared. His fingers slid down to my neck, his thumb brushing the pulse at my throat. “Then stop running from it.”
And then he kissed me.
Not gentle.
Not sweet.
It was firm, unyielding, like the rest of him—grounded and sure and completely in control. Like he’d waited long enough and wasn’t asking anymore.
And I let him.
Because he was right.
I’d spent so long trying to push it down, push him away—when all this time, I’d known he was mine as much as I was his.
When we finally pulled apart, he stayed close, his forehead resting lightly against mine.
“I’m not here to play games,” he said. “I’m here to protect what’s mine. That includes you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” I whispered.
“I never said you did,” he replied. “But I’ll be here either way.”
I nodded slightly, heart still racing. “You should go.”
His mouth curved just a little—not a smile, exactly. A smirk full of promise.
“I’ll see you soon, Aria.”
And then he turned, walking away with that quiet confidence that didn’t need to be loud to shake the ground.
I watched him disappear into the night, the air still charged with his presence.
For the first time in days, the voices in my head fell silent.
And I didn’t feel alone.
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