CHAPTER 34
ARIA
The first thing I felt was warmth. Not the dappled kind that came from sunlight filtering through the trees—but something steadier, closer. A body.
His.
My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I didn’t move.
I didn’t even breathe.
His arm was slung around my waist, pulling me against the broad plane of his chest. His breath stirred the loose strands of my hair, slow and steady, like he had no reason to fear the world around us. As if, in this moment, I belonged there—in his arms.
And God help me, it felt like I did.
It should’ve felt strange.
Unfamiliar.
Maybe even wrong.
But it didn’t.
It felt like safety. Like belonging.
I shifted slightly, trying not to wake him, but his grip only tightened. Not in a possessive way—at least not entirely—but like his body knew mine was there, and it didn’t want to let go.
Then it hit me.
The memory of the night before.
The blood.
The bullet wounds.
The way his body had collapsed, I’d been certain he wouldn’t make it through the night.
My hand moved instinctively, skimming his side.
I braced myself for the tacky feel of dried blood, for the jagged edges of torn flesh, for the feverish heat of skin still locked in battle with pain.
But there was nothing.
My brows knit together as a wave of confusion began to pierce through the fading fog of sleep. I blinked, slowly at first, then faster, trying to focus, trying to make sense of what I was feeling.
I pulled back slightly, heart thudding as my eyes drifted to the place where the wounds should have been.
My fingers hesitated in the air, then brushed lightly over the spot I was sure—absolutely sure—had been torn wide open just hours ago.
But now?
My breath caught.
Smooth skin met my touch. Warm. Solid. Intact.
No blood.
No swelling.
No dark bruises or jagged edges.
No crusted-over wounds or signs of stitching.
Nothing.
It didn’t make sense.
My chest tightened, disbelief curling in my gut. I stared, not trusting what my eyes were telling me.
I had felt the wounds with my own hands—hot, slick, and gaping.
I had pressed down to stop the bleeding while my fingers shook with panic.
I had removed the bullets myself—with my mouth, for God’s sake.
But now it was like none of it had ever happened.
Not even a scar.
My fingers hovered uncertainly, trailing again over the unmarked skin like maybe I’d just gotten the spot wrong.
But I hadn’t.
I knew exactly where the gash had been. I remembered the feel of it—hot and raw beneath my palms.
It was gone.
All of it.
Completely gone.
I’d been sure he was going to die.
But now he was here. Breathing. Whole. Sleeping like it was just another morning.
A knot twisted deep in my chest.
There was no infection, no pain in his expression, no sluggish movements. He didn’t wince when I touched him. He was… fine. Just fine.
My heart beat faster.
“It's impossible …” I whispered, not even realising I’d said it out loud.
He healed.
Fast.
Too fast.
There was no way a human could’ve recovered like that.
Not in hours.
Not even days. I’d seen him—torn and bleeding—and now he looked like nothing had touched him.
I swallowed hard and sat back slightly, trying to steady my thoughts.
He wasn’t human—not really.
He had wings, for god’s sake.
He could fly.
He was strong in ways that defied logic, fast in ways that blurred the line between man and myth.
And healing overnight from wounds that should’ve left him in critical condition?
No human could do that.
Even with everything I’d seen, it shook me.
Whatever he was, it was something ancient. Powerful. Beyond anything I understood.
And suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I should feel awe…
Or fear.
If he wasn’t human…
Then what the hell was he?
What are you, Lean?
He stirred beside me, a faint murmur slipping past his lips.
His hand moved, brushing the edge of my arm, and then trailed up to my shoulder with a sort of clumsy gentleness that made my throat tighten.
His fingers caught on the strap of my shirt, adjusting it softly—almost instinctively.
“Hi,” he whispered, voice still thick with sleep but full of quiet care.
I turned to face him, just enough to see his eyes. There was something in them—something that made my breath stutter.
He looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he hadn’t just survived death, like his first thought upon waking was me.
"Are you okay?" He murmured.
“You’re healed,” I whispered. “Completely.”
He looked down at where my hand hovered just above his side and shrugged, like it was no big deal.
“Normal people don’t just… heal overnight.”
“I’m not a normal person.”
My heart twisted.
I sat up, brushing pine needles from my clothes and suddenly very aware of the distance—or lack thereof—between us.
“You’re not,” I agreed quietly.
He followed my movement, propping himself on one elbow.
His gaze swept over me, pausing at my shoulder. I looked down, confused—only to see the thin strap of my top slipping halfway down my arm.
Without a word, his hand moved to adjust it.
Gentle. Careful.
But it was the way he looked at me—like he’d never seen anything so fragile, so human—that made my breath hitch.
I could’ve stayed there forever.
Pretending time didn’t exist, that the world beyond this clearing wasn’t waiting to swallow me whole.
But it was.
And we both knew it.
"I have to go," I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
"Back to the city. To... people, where I belong."
His expression didn’t shift right away, but I felt the change in him. A subtle stillness. A pull in his eyes.
“To my life,” I added. “My world.”
He stayed silent, and that silence scraped at something raw inside me.
“I’m human, Lean,” I said quietly, searching his eyes.
“I have… bills to pay. A landlord is probably pounding down my door by now. And my job—” I let out a shaky breath.
“Well, I’m not entirely sure I still have a job… You know, considering I may have committed a felony or two helping you bust out of that place.” I gave him a lopsided smile.
“Pretty sure that’s frowned upon in most HR policies.”
I tried to smile, to ease the weight of my words with a bit of humour. But it fell flat.
He didn’t smile back.
And honestly, neither did I.
Then came the part I didn’t want to say. The part that sat like a stone in my chest.
I reached up, gently cupping his face, my thumb brushing along the curve of his cheek.
"And I have to go alone," I said softly, meeting his eyes.
"Because you don’t belong there, Lean. Not really."
His eyes darkened, just slightly. I pressed on, gently.
“You’re not like us. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I mean… you’d stand out. People would notice. People would fear you. You don’t know what it’s like out there—how quick we are to label something dangerous just because we don’t understand it. How fast we try to tear it apart.”
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, wishing this were easier. Wishing the world made room for beings like him.
“You’d be hunted,” I whispered. “Not because of who you are, but because of what they’d think you are.”
His jaw flexed, barely.
I hated saying it. Hated the way the words felt like tiny knives leaving my mouth. But it was the truth, and he deserved that much.
I stood up, brushing the dirt from my pants, trying to steady the tremble in my voice.
“Because there are people out there looking for you, Lean. People who want to shove you back in a cage and treat you like some kind of experiment.”
His eyes darkened, not with anger—but something deeper. Hurt.
“They already did that,” he said quietly, his voice rough with memory.
“They locked me up. Chained me like an animal. Poked and prodded like I was something less than alive. I don’t want to hide anymore.”
He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine.
“But you didn’t. You saw me. You touched me like I was human. You talked to me like I mattered.”
He stepped closer, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.
“And now you’re telling me to go back into hiding? Away from you?”
His hand hovered at my cheek, not quite touching.
“Please don’t ask me to walk away from you. Not after everything. Not now.”
The sincerity in his voice hit me like a punch. I didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t understand how things work there," I said.
"You can’t just—walk around with wings, or super strength, or healing powers. People will notice. People will panic."
He frowned. “Then I’ll hide it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is for me.”
I closed my eyes.
God, I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that love—or whatever this strange, magnetic pull between us was—could make this work.
But he was... something else. Not made for sidewalks, stoplights, and small talk over coffee.
“I can’t ask you to pretend to be something you’re not,” I said.
“I’ll do it anyway.”
My heart cracked. I turned away before he could see it in my face.
“No! Don’t follow me. Just… stay here okay. You’ll be safer that way.”
I started walking.
Each step felt heavier than the last. My body moved forward, but something deep inside me begged to turn around.
The forest thinned, the distant outline of buildings rising like a promise—or a threat.
Civilization. Normalcy. Everything I knew before him.
And then, just as I reached the treeline, I felt it.
The wind came first, brushing hard against my back like a warning. Before I could turn, arms wrapped around me—solid, unyielding, and achingly familiar.
“Lean?” I gasped, breath stolen from my lungs.
“I’m not letting you walk away from me,” he whispered, his breath brushing the shell of my ear.
Before I could speak, I felt the shift.
The sound of air moving. A sudden rush of warmth.
His wings.
Massive and breathtaking, they unfurled with a low whoosh, casting a shadow over both of us. I gasped as he lifted us effortlessly into the air.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Hold on to me,” he said.
I barely had time to refuse.
One powerful beat of his wings—and we were airborne.
The earth dropped away beneath us. The trees shrank. The sky opened. I clung to him, arms tight around his neck, face pressed into the crook of his shoulder as the wind howled around us.
My hair snapped wildly, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes—not from fear, but from the sheer, impossible wonder of it.
We were flying.
And I wasn’t afraid.
All I could feel was him—his arms locked around me, his heartbeat pounding like war drums against my cheek. I could feel the raw power in him, yes—but more than that, I felt the choice.
“I told you I would try,” he murmured against my hair.
“I’ll go wherever you go.”
He chose to come after me.
And I realised, with startling clarity, that maybe I wasn’t running from something impossible.
Maybe I was flying straight toward it.
And god help me, I didn’t want to land.