Chapter 43: SHE'S GONE

Aria had learned to move like the wind—silent, fleeting, leaving no trace but the faint rustle of leaves.

She could sense danger from thirty meters away from her, but she couldn’t tell who or what exactly it was.

Every night and day, she shifted from one part of the forest to another, never staying long enough for her presence to be rooted.

She didn’t want to be seen or hurt anyone, even though they were a threat to her. Something kept telling her not to hurt anyone.

Moreover, she had been in way more challenging situations than being chased by some incompetent fellows.

“They should let me rest,” she sighed in frustration.

She didn’t know what was going on outside the forest, and she never cared to know, but she felt like they should give her some break.

It was frustrating that these people were diligently looking for her every day and night.

But it never occurred to her that they may be different people looking for her.

“Why can’t they let me be? What do I have that I am being chased?” she whispered.

The forest became a labyrinth she alone understood, every tree a marker, every cave a temporary refuge.

She dared not stay in a cave for too long; her skin was slowly fading, which was a good thing.

But danger pressed from all sides.

Despite the fact that Elira warned Damien, he refused to listen to her. He sent his men to search everywhere discreetly for Aria.

But the truth is that Elira hadn’t seen Aria yet, but she knew Aria returned from the other world.

She also wanted to keep Aria to herself. She wanted power, and only Aria had that kind of power—not even the biggest sorcerer of the Blackthorn pack.

Damien’s men were scattered across the territory, wolves in their human forms and wolf-forms alike, searching tirelessly.

They moved with discipline, sniffing out trails, studying broken branches, kneeling to touch the earth as though the soil itself would whisper her whereabouts. Unlike the council, they were not hunting to kill.

Their every step felt like a call—a call for her to return, to come back to Damien.

News got to her that Damien was searching for her, but she dared not meet him. She felt heartbroken that she couldn’t see the one she loved, but she had to stay hidden.

Aria’s heart ached at the thought. She longed to answer, to let herself be found. She missed the way Damien’s presence filled the emptiness inside her, missed the steadiness of his voice, the quiet warmth of his eyes.

But the thought of standing before him now, of having his gaze pierce through her and see the blood-drenched truth of what she had become, made her tremble.

She wasn’t ready for his questions. She wasn’t ready for his touch. She wasn’t ready for his judgment.

So she stayed hidden.

And then, there was Dominic.

After confronting Elira about Aria’s whereabouts but getting no valid response, he decided to go in search of her.

For a moment, he kept regretting his actions—why he rejected Aria. He listened to wrong counsels, and now he was in search of the same person.

He felt that these things wouldn’t have happened if he did not reject her. “Oh, that unfortunate being,” he cursed.

He made sure to curse at Damien any time he had the chance to. Even Caleb’s system couldn’t help them.

Unlike Damien’s men, Dominic limited himself to searching the city.

He believed Aria would be somewhere around the city, because she didn’t know anywhere or anyone.

His hunt spread wider, spilling into the city itself. Streets that once bustled with trade and laughter now carried the tension of his patrols. His wolves combed the alleys and marketplaces, questioning strangers, sniffing out rumors, spreading whispers of Aria’s name.

Dominic’s obsession burned heavier, darker. He didn’t want to rescue her—he wanted to claim her, to bind her before the truth escaped her lips. To Dominic, Aria was not a soul to be protected; she was a weapon to be owned.

Two forces pulled her from opposite ends, and she was caught in the middle, tethered by bonds she could neither break nor embrace.

One night, she sat at the edge of a cliff deep within the woods, her knees drawn to her chest. Her hands rested on her cheek, her eyes focused on the moon above her.

Her breath steady and calm, her eyes sharp that they could pierce through the soul.

The moonlight bathed her skin in silver, and for a fleeting moment, she felt calm. The wind sang through the trees, cool and sharp, brushing strands of her hair across her face. She tried to breathe it in, to trick herself into believing she could still belong to this world.

But calmness was a cruel illusion—something she could never feel, from the day she stepped her foot in the other world.

Calmness and peace deviated from her.

Her sharpened senses never allowed peace. Every sound carried too much weight—the scurry of a rabbit, the crack of a branch, the distant howl of a wolf. Her body thrummed with tension, her veins alive with hunger, and her thoughts spiraled like storms. Every feeling cut too deep, and every memory of Damien pierced her heart like a blade.

She wanted him, needed him. She at least wanted to see him once more, even a glance.

But she could not bear for him to see her like this. The Aria he knew was gone. She wasn’t the soft and meek Aria anymore. That Aria was buried beneath bloodlust and shadows. If she returned to him now, she feared she would shatter everything they had.

So she ran again, deeper into the forest. Each step was a choice between love and survival, between the desire to be seen and the fear of being known.

And above it all, unseen in the shadows, the storm she carried within continued to grow.

\---