Chapter 96

Chapter 96

The morning sun bleeds faint gold through the high, arched windows of the castle.

My lips still tingle from last night’s marks as I press them to each of my mates. Griffin grips my jaw, his mouth brushing mine with a low, possessive murmur—don’t take long. Aemon brushes a kiss to my temple, his damn dimples flashing when I mutter that I can handle a morning without them.

The cold morning air doesn’t snap against my cheeks like before as I step out. The marks on my neck still sting—but it’s a good kind of sting. A tether, a claim. My body aches in all the right places, every nerve humming with the memory of their hands, their mouths. Aemon kissed me like he’d never stop. Griffin fucked me like he dared the world to interfere.

And then they both made me theirs.

But now I need to see her.

I step into the hallway, roll my shoulders, and glance both ways. Then, bracing, I try it. My vampire speed. My new body.

Everything blurs.

Good Goddess!

It’s clumsy as hell.

I shoot off down the corridor like a drunk cannonball, barely dodging a werewolf carrying a barrel. Wind tears at my hair. I overshoot the hallway that leads to Arya’s quarters and skid to a stop, boots screeching against the stone.

“Holy shit,” I pant, laughing breathlessly. “That was amazing.”

It takes another awkward dash to actually make it to her door.

I don’t knock.

The door opens, and there she is. Arya.

Shoulders tenser. She looks me up and down, her face going still. Her mouth opens. She takes one step toward me.

Then stops.

Tears fill her chestnut eyes.

But she doesn’t hug me.

I don’t move either.

I can smell the salt of her tears. The pulse behind her throat. I clench my jaw. My fangs don’t drop—thank the Goddess—but the temptation hums under my skin. Hunger curled with grief.

Arya breathes out hard, voice shaking. “Goddess, Blake... your eyes. They look even more like Dad’s now.”

Hazel eyes. The only part of him I look like. I’m the only one of my siblings that took after our father’s eyes.

I say nothing.

A beat of silence stretches. Her lip trembles.

Then Arya crosses her arms, pressing her fists against her ribs, avoiding my gaze. “I thought you were gone,” she whispers. “For real this time. Dead-dead.”

“Yeah. Surprise.”

Arya uncrosses her arms and looks down at her hands, clenched fists trembling at her sides. “I… I was jealous of you.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I was,” my sister repeats, eyes flaring with sudden defiance. “All this time. Because you never bowed your head. Not to vampires. Not to anyone. Even though you weren’t special. And when I saw you up there on that stage in front of all those vampires—Goddess, Blake. You still didn’t flinch.”

I stare at her. I don’t move.

She doesn’t either.

“I’ve been scared since the day I left the pack,” she says, her voice lower now. “Since I took Darby’s place to be offered. And you—” She swallows, frowning. “You kept standing.”

“Yet, you kept pushing me away,” I say quietly. “Even here.”

“I didn’t know how to be near you anymore,” she mutters. “Still don’t.”

“I’m not human anymore, Ari.”

She winces. “I know.” Arya’s chin trembles.

“If you can’t handle that—if you can’t deal with what I’ve become—then maybe we can’t be sisters after all.”

Her eyes widen. She takes a single breath. “I’ll try.”

“No half-assed promises,” I say firmly.

Her mouth flattens.

I continue, my voice flat. “So decide.”

She steps back, looking like I slapped her.

I wait.

Then her voice drops. “It’s hard. But I’ll try. I mean it, Blake.”

“You literally said it’s in your instinct to hate vampires.”

“Because it is!” Arya explodes. “It’s… it’s animal. It’s not logical. You wouldn’t get it—you’ve always been human. And I’ve always had to fight every base urge in me not to snap or run or submit.”

I narrow my eyes. “So what changed then?”

She hesitates. Looks away. And then—blushes.

My nose twitches.

“You’re aroused.”

“Oh my Goddess, Blake!”

“You’re blushing. And your scent—”

She covers her face. “Fuck. Fuck. Don’t say it again.”

“What is it?”

“I swear I’ll kill you.”

I smirk. “Ahh. Let me guess. Seth?”

“…Maybe.”

Her hands drop. She gives me a look. The kind that says yes but I hate that I like it.

I burst out laughing. “Arya. You mouthy, sarcastic, swearing mess. You are falling for a vampire. Look at that.”

“I didn’t fall,” she growls. “I tripped. And landed face-first in Seth’s cocky grin and too-tight pants.”

I laugh; the sound sounds odd... I don’t recall the last time we laughed.

She groans. “And don’t get me started on his mouth.”

“Didn’t plan to.” I grin. “But now that you mention it—”

“I hate you.”

“You missed me.”

Arya exhales. “Yeah.”

A silence settles.

Then she speaks again, her voice low. “After Aemon turned you into… uh, I ran. Seth helped me. I left the castle and ran back to the pack.”

I tense. “Arya—”

“I went to Ezra. Thought maybe I could fix things. Bring you home. I don’t know, I felt so hopeless. But…” Her shoulders sag. “Dad slammed the pack gates in my face. Said I was already dead to him the moment I mated with a vampire. That there’s no place left for either of us.” She looks at me.

My stomach clenches.

Arya’s voice drops to a whisper. “He never asked if you were okay. Just said I was weak for not rejecting my fated mate. For not hating you.”

I feel a lump in my throat.

I nod slowly. “Sounds just like him.”

“Ezra wants the pack for himself. You knew that, right?”

“I figured.”

“I don’t know what Ezra’s plans are, but he didn’t want me involved. Just told me to leave.”

I clench my fists.

Arya confesses, “I worry Ezra will be an Alpha just like Dad.”

A beat.

Arya sighs.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” she adds, hesitating. “About Aemon and Griffin. About you being just a… blood bag for them.”

I glance at her.

“I didn’t get it. Still don’t, not really,” she admits. “But I’m a werewolf. I know what a mate bond is. I know what it feels like to crave someone so badly it hurts to breathe. And I see the way they look at you. Like you’re sacred. I can see it now. Even if Aemon and Griffin scare the shit out of me.”

I snort. “They scare everyone.”

She steps forward, carefully. Still wary. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

A warmth curls in my chest.

I try to let that apology settle.

“I’m happy for you, Blake,” Arya says. “Really.”

My throat tightens.

We don’t hug.

But I nod.

She nods, too.

And in the quiet that follows, I feel it—the beginning of something not broken. Something cracked, maybe. But not shattered.

When I leave her room, I don’t stumble with my speed.

This time, I swear, I almost fly.