Chapter 26 What I Want
ARYA
I clutched the journal to my chest, tears streaming down my face.
Aeliana. My real name was Aeliana.
And my grandmother knew everything. She planned everything. Had sacrificed everything to keep me alive.
‘Did you know?’ I asked Lean. ‘Did she really tell you things?’
‘She sang to us,’ Lean confirmed, her voice soft with memory. ‘Every night while you slept. She told us stories of who we were, who we’d become. She said one day we’d be free, and we’d make her proud.’
‘We will,’ I promised. ‘We’ll make her proud.’
A soft knock on the door startled me. I wiped my tears quickly.
“Come in.”
Luca entered, his expression immediately concerned. “You’ve been crying.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He crossed the room, crouching in front of my chair. “What happened?”
I showed him the journal. “My grandmother. She left this for me.”
He took it carefully, reading the first page. His expression shifted from surprise to understanding, then something that looked like wonder.
“Aeliana,” he said softly. “Your true name.”
“Apparently.”
“It suits you better than Arya.” He handed the journal back. “May I call you that? Privately?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still getting used to it.”
“Take your time.” He stood but didn’t leave. “For what it’s worth, your grandmother was brilliant. Hiding you, suppressing your nature. It kept you alive when nothing else would have.”
“At what cost though? Twenty-three years without my wolf. Without knowing who I really was.”
“But you’re here. Alive. Strong enough now to handle the truth.” His hand touched my cheek gently. Shooting warmth through my bloodstream. “That was her gift to you. Survival long enough to become who you were meant to be.”
I leaned into the touch before I could stop myself. The mate bond hummed with satisfaction.
“This is dangerous,” I whispered.
“What is?”
“This. You. Us.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know how to trust this bond. How to know if what I’m feeling is real or just–.”
“Then we take it slow. We learn each other. We build trust.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “I’ve waited eight hundred years. I told you, I can wait a little longer.”
“And if at the end of three months, I still can’t accept it?”
Pain flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “Then I’ll let you go. I’ll find a way to live with the bond unfulfilled. Because forcing you would destroy us both.”
“You’d really do that?”
“I’d rather have you in my life by choice than lose you to coercion.” He pulled back, putting distance between us. “Now, dinner in an hour. I believe the cook has prepared something special.”
He left, and I sat there in the growing darkness, my grandmother’s journal in my lap and a Lycan King’s promise echoing in my mind.
Only love freely given will bring lasting peace.
I had three months to figure out if I could freely give my heart to a man I barely knew. Three months to decide if I was brave enough to trust again. Three months to determine not just my future, but potentially the future of all supernatural beings.
No pressure at all.
‘We can do this.’ Lean said confidently.
At least one of us felt good about this.
‘Can we?’
‘We’re Moonborne. We can do anything.’
I hoped she was right.
Because the alternative was failing, not just myself but an entire prophecy, it was too terrifying to contemplate.
I stood, setting the journal carefully on the nightstand.
Time to get ready for dinner with the Lycan King. And try to ignore how much I was looking forward to it.
The dinner Luca had promised turned out to be more intimate than I’d expected.
No formal dining room. No servants hovering. Just the two of us in a smaller room off the kitchen, with a table set for two and candles that cast flickering shadows across his face.
He’d changed into something more casual. Dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the powerful body underneath. His hair was loose, falling past his shoulders, and those golden eyes tracked my every movement as I entered.
I’d borrowed a dress from the closet. Simple, deep green, fitted enough to make me feel feminine without being overtly seductive.
The way his eyes darkened when he saw me suggested it was seductive enough.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“Thank you.” I tried to sound casual, but my pulse quickened.
He pulled out my chair, and when I sat, his hands lingered on the back for just a moment. Not fully touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
The mate bond hummed between us, a constant pull that made it hard to think straight.
“Wine?” He was already pouring, moving with a grace that spoke of centuries of practice.
“Please.”
Our fingers brushed as he handed me the glass. The contact sent electricity racing up my arm, and from the way his jaw tightened, he felt it too.
“So,” I cleared my throat awkwardly, trying to break the tension. “Eight hundred years. That’s a long time to be alive.”
“It is.” He settled into his chair, those predatory eyes never leaving my face. “Long enough to know what I want when I see it.”
The way he said it—the implication that what he wanted was sitting across from him—made the heat that pooled low in my belly burn hotter.
“And what do you want?” I asked, then immediately regretted how breathless I sounded.
“Right now?” His smile was slow, devastating. “To know everything about you. Your favorite color, what makes you laugh, what you dream about when you sleep.”
“That’s unexpectedly… sweet.” My voice sounded even more breathless.
“I can be sweet.” He leaned forward slightly. “I can also be many other things. But we have three months for you to discover that.”
The promise in those words made my skin flush.