Chapter 150

Chapter 150
ARIA

The road to the monastery coils through the ravine like a held breath.

Stone walls rise on either side of us, damp and dark, swallowing sound. The night presses close, heavy with pine and wet earth, and every sense in my body is stretched to its breaking point. I can hear the engines of our vehicles even when they idle low; I can hear Austin’s heartbeat when he leans closer to speak; I can hear my own pulse, loud and relentless, counting down seconds I can’t afford to lose.

Matteo and Leon are somewhere ahead of us.

That thought is a blade I carry under my ribs. It keeps me upright. It keeps me moving.

I sit between Adam and Austin in the back seat, gloved hands clenched in my lap. The windows are darkened, but I don’t need to see outside to feel the terrain changing. The ground slopes; the air cools; the magic thickens. Rosalie warned us about that—the way old places announce themselves before you see them, like the echo of a bell rung centuries ago.

“We’re close,” Fares murmurs from the front, eyes flicking to the mirrors, to the narrow path ahead. His voice is calm, professional, but I can feel the tension threaded through him like wire.

Adam reaches for the map again, the same one he’s studied a hundred times already. He traces a route with his finger, stopping short of the structure marked in heavy ink. “We don’t go straight in,” he says, low. “Not yet.”

“I know,” I reply, more sharply than I mean to. I inhale, force myself to soften my tone. “I know.”

Austin’s hand covers mine, grounding, warm through leather. “We’re doing this your way,” he says quietly. “We get them back.”

Alive, I think. Unhurt. I don’t say it aloud. Saying it feels like tempting fate.

The plan is there—solid, layered, incomplete by design. Adam has shared just enough for us to move together without giving the shape away. Fares knows his angles and his timing. Rosalie and the witches will be working the perimeter, peeling back wards like careful surgeons. Austin and I… we have our moment. I know that much. I can feel it humming in my bones, the place where restraint ends.

I am not afraid for myself.

That realization settles over me with a strange calm. Fear exists—sharp and constant—but it isn’t aimed inward. My body is expendable. I accepted that the moment I saw the empty cribs. If my blood buys their safety, if my life buys their future, I will pay without hesitation.

Adam doesn’t like that part of me.

He senses it anyway. He always does.

“Aria,” he says softly, not looking at me. “When we reach the inner wall, you wait for the signal.”

I turn my head to face him. His expression is controlled, but I know the lines of him well enough now to see the strain beneath. “And if I don’t?”

He finally meets my eyes. “Then I trust you to make the right call.”

It’s the closest he’ll come to admitting he knows I won’t wait if waiting means risking them.

Austin squeezes my hand once. “We move fast and quiet,” he adds. “No heroics.”

I almost smile at that. Almost.

The vehicles slow. Gravel crunches under tires, too loud in the silence. Ahead, the ravine opens just enough for the monastery to emerge from the darkness.

It’s older than I expected.

The structure rises out of the rock like it grew there—stone walls weathered and pitted, arched windows dark and watchful, a bell tower leaning slightly, as if listening. Ivy crawls up its sides, thick and ancient, and magic coils around it in slow, patient spirals.

This place has been waiting.

I feel it in my chest, a pressure that isn’t pain but recognition. Alaric chose this place for a reason. Power gathers where belief once lived. Fear clings to old prayers.

The engines cut.

We step out into the cold, boots sinking slightly into damp earth. The night is too quiet—no birds, no insects, just the low rush of water far below and the whisper of wind through broken stone.

Fares motions for the deltas to fan out, silent shadows slipping into position. Rosalie and the witches peel away, murmuring under their breath, hands already tracing sigils that leave faint, pale echoes in the air before fading.

Adam stays close to me. Austin does too. We form a tight triangle, instinctive, practiced.

“First layer of wards,” Rosalie whispers through the comms. “Old blood magic. Vampiric. Anchored to the bell tower.”

Of course it is.

Alaric’s presence presses against my mind like fingers testing a bruise. He’s close. Not close enough to touch—but near enough to feel.

My sons stir through the bond, restless. Fear bleeds through, thin but unmistakable. It spikes my heart rate, sharpens my vision until the world narrows to edges and movement.

“I can feel them,” I whisper.

Austin’s jaw tightens. “So can I.”

Adam closes his eyes briefly, recalibrating. “That means they’re still here,” he says. “That’s good.”

For now, I think.

We advance in stages, hugging the rock face, using the shadows the monastery throws like sheltering arms. The air grows colder with every step. My breath fogs, then steadies as my body adapts, the hybrid strength humming under my skin like a second heartbeat.

A flicker of movement near one of the upper windows catches my eye.

“Adam,” I murmur.

“I see it,” he replies instantly.

We freeze.

Nothing moves.

Seconds pass. Then the tension eases, just a fraction.

“It wants us uncertain,” Austin says quietly. “Watching ourselves doubt.”

I swallow hard. “He wants me inside.”

“Yes,” Adam agrees. “But not yet.”

The outer doors loom ahead—heavy wood reinforced with iron bands, carved with symbols worn almost smooth by time. The magic here is stronger, denser. Rosalie’s voice tightens in my ear as she works.

“Give me a minute,” she says. “These wards are layered. He’s thorough.”

My fingers curl into fists. Patience has never been my strength.

I breathe. In. Out. Count the seconds by Matteo’s heartbeat. By Leon’s.

Fares raises a hand—halt.

A presence shifts inside the monastery. Not footsteps. Something subtler. Like attention turning.

My skin prickles.

Adam leans in close, his voice barely a whisper. “Whatever happens,” he says, “we stay together until the break.”

I nod.

Austin’s voice drops to a growl. “And if he makes a move—”

“I go,” I finish. “No hesitation.”

They don’t argue. There’s no time.

The wards flicker once, twice—then unravel with a sound like glass breaking underwater.

Rosalie exhales sharply. “You’re clear. For now.”

The doors stand before us.

The monastery looms, silent and waiting, its darkness swallowing the path ahead.

I take one step forward, heart pounding, every instinct screaming now.

Somewhere inside, Alaric knows we’re here.

And somewhere inside, my children are waiting.

I cross the threshold.