Chapter 8: Eight
Aria’s POV
He didn’t come to me for three days.
Three days of silence that stretched like punishment.
I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself I was relieved. But every time footsteps echoed down the hall, I found myself holding my breath. Every creak of the mansion sounded like his approach, every whisper of wind like his voice.
The housekeeper said he was busy. The guards said he was away. But I knew better. He was hiding, from me, from what happened between us, from whatever it was that made his eyes glow when he lost control.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment. The way he’d touched me as if fighting against himself. The way he’d said, You don’t understand what I become.
I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
When I finally saw him again, it was by accident. I’d gone down to the library, pretending to look for something to read when what I really wanted was distraction.
He was already there.
Standing near the tall windows, shirt sleeves rolled, eyes shadowed. He didn’t look at me right away, but his voice came low and rough.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You said that before,” I murmured.
He turned, and I felt it again, the way the air changed around him, sharp and magnetic. His gaze swept over me once, and I hated how my pulse reacted, how my body remembered the warmth of his hands.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
He didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, the same stubborn silence I’d grown used to. I moved closer until I could see the faint scars on his forearms. Old, white lines, too clean to be accidents.
“You keep talking like I’m in danger,” I said.“But you never tell me why.”
He laughed softly, no humor in it.“Because knowing would make you want to save me. And you can’t.”
“Maybe I already am.”
His eyes flashed.“Don’t.”
The word was sharp enough to make me flinch. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly as if dragging the anger back inside.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said finally.
“Then stop acting like you already have.”
That made him look at me again, really look. His voice dropped.“You think this is easy for me? Keeping you here, knowing what I am? You think I don’t wake up every hour wondering when the next shift will happen? When the next mistake will cost me your life?”
My heart twisted.“Then tell me what you are.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
He didn’t deny it.
The silence stretched until I couldn’t bear it. I reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away, but I felt the tremor running through him, the war he was fighting just beneath the surface.
“Kael,” I whispered,“whatever it is, it doesn’t change who you are to me.”
He looked down at our joined hands, fingers trembling.“You don’t even know who I am to you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t,” he said again, softer now, almost breaking.“If I speak it, it becomes real. And once it’s real, I can’t keep it from taking you.”
Something inside me cracked at the sound of his voice. I moved closer, close enough to feel his breath on my skin.“You’re not something that happens to me, Kael. I chose to be here.”
His hand lifted to my face, hesitant, reverent. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, and I leaned into the touch before I could stop myself.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured.
“Then stop looking back.”
For a moment, I thought he would. Instead, he leaned in, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath, the hesitation that held more meaning than a thousand words.
“I could destroy you,” he whispered.
“Then destroy me gently.”
He froze, breath catching. I saw it then, the flicker of something wild in his eyes, something that wasn’t entirely human but wasn’t monstrous either.
He kissed me.
It wasn’t a claim or a command. It was a surrender.
His lips were rough, tasting of restraint and regret, but the moment they touched mine, everything I’d been afraid of dissolved. My hands found his chest, felt the steady thud of his heart, the tremor that ran through him as he fought himself.
He broke the kiss first, breathing hard.“This shouldn’t happen.”
“It already did.”
He rested his forehead against mine.“You don’t know what this means.”
“Then tell me.”
He shook his head, the ghost of a smile breaking through.“You ask too much.”
“Maybe you give too little.”
That pulled a quiet laugh from him, the kind that made my chest ache.“You’re not afraid of me.”
“I am,” I admitted.“But not enough to stop.”
He exhaled, the sound almost a growl.“You make me forget what I am.”
“Maybe that’s the point.”
He stepped back then, forcing distance between us though his hand lingered at my wrist, like he couldn’t decide whether to let go.“You shouldn’t love a man who loses himself to the moon.”
“I don’t love the moon,” I said softly.“I love what it touches.”
He stared at me like he was trying to memorize every word. Then his voice dropped lower.“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe. But at least it’ll be mine.”
He closed his eyes, head bowed, the fight still in him.“You don’t understand. The bond, it’s not gentle. It’s not safe. Once it takes hold, it burns through everything.”
“Then let it burn.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to feel.
He reached for me again, slow this time, almost uncertain. His fingers traced the back of my neck, down my spine, a touch that made every breath hurt and heal at once.
When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.“You should have never signed that contract.”
“Maybe that contract was never mine to begin with,” I said.“Maybe it was fate’s.”
His jaw tensed.“Fate’s cruel.”
“So are you,” I said.“But I’m still here.”
That broke him. Not in anger , in surrender. He pulled me into his arms, holding me like he’d finally stopped running. There was no urgency, no demand. Just warmth and the sound of our breathing, steady and real.
He whispered against my hair,“If you stay close to me when the next moon rises, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I said.
His hands tightened slightly, as if he didn’t believe me, as if every word between us was both promise and warning.
“I’m not safe, Aria.”
“You already said that,” I breathed.
“I mean it.”
“Then let me decide what danger I’m willing to face.”
He didn’t answer, but I felt the sigh that left him, the tremor in his chest that betrayed the truth he’d never speak aloud.
The beast inside him wasn’t the one I feared anymore. It was the silence that came after , the distance he tried to rebuild when he thought I wasn’t looking.
When he finally let go, I felt the emptiness where his warmth had been.
He walked to the door, hesitated, then said,“You won’t see me for a while.”
“Why?”
“The moon’s changing soon.”
“And you’re afraid.”
“I’m afraid I won’t come back the same.”
I took a step toward him.“Then I’ll be here when you do.”
He looked at me like he wanted to believe it. Then he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.
I stood there long after, my lips still tasting of the truth we couldn’t say out loud.
Whatever bound us wasn’t ordinary. It wasn’t safe.
But it was real.
And real was more dangerous than any curse.