Chapter 29 ARIA
ARIA’S POV
The cottage breathes.
That’s the first thing I notice once Lucian’s car disappears down the narrow dirt road and silence settles in thick, living silence, the kind that presses close and listens back.
I linger by the front window, fingers curled into the soft knit of Lucian’s hoodie, the one he draped over my shoulders before leaving like a promise he wasn’t ready to voice yet. It smells like him clean soap, pine, something deeper beneath it all. Something unmistakably alpha.
My body reacts before my mind can intervene.
Nyra stirs, a low hum beneath my thoughts. Easy, she murmurs. We’re safe.
Safe.
The word lands oddly in my chest, too large for the quiet room. The cottage is warm and lived-in, nothing like the cold stone pack housing of my childhood. Wooden floors. Soft rugs. Lamps already lit. Firewood stacked neatly by the hearth. The bed made with crisp white sheets.
Prepared.
For me.
The realization tightens my throat.
I step away from the window, legs suddenly unsteady. Heat simmers just beneath my skin, not overwhelming yet, but present. A warning flare. Every sound feels sharper, every movement heavier, like my body is already rewriting its rules without consulting me.
I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and sit beside it, palms flat against my thighs. My heartbeat feels… wrong. Faster. Deeper. Each breath pulls through me slowly, like my lungs are learning a new rhythm.
Nyra shifts again, restless now.
It’s starting, she says not afraid, but not calm either. Slow. But real.
“I know,” I whisper, the sound too small in the wide room.
I should unpack. Do something normal. Ground myself.
Instead, I lie back on the bed and stare up at the exposed beams, letting the quiet wash over me. My phone buzzes on the nightstand probably Nina but I don’t reach for it. I can already hear her voice in my head, unapologetically graphic, deeply unhelpful.
Heat.
I’d spent years pretending it didn’t exist. Years swallowing pills that dulled my instincts, flattened my edges, made me feel like a ghost in my own body. It had been safer that way. Controlled.
Until Lucian.
Until my body remembered what it was meant for.
My fingers curl into the sheets as warmth blooms low in my stomach, spreading outward, downward. I inhale sharply and squeeze my eyes shut.
Not yet. Please, not yet.
Nyra presses closer, steady and watchful. It will come in waves, she assures me gently. We can manage this.
I sit up abruptly and head for the bathroom, needing movement, needing cold water. The mirror startles me when I flick on the light. My eyes look darker, pupils blown wide. My cheeks are flushed, skin faintly luminous, like I’ve stood too close to a fire.
I splash water on my face and grip the sink, grounding myself in the chill.
Lucian will be back soon.
The thought steadies me and unravels me at the same time.
Because even alone, my body reacts to the idea of him. His hands. His voice. The way he’d looked at me earlier, all restraint and quiet hunger, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
And he had.
For me.
I exhale slowly and step into the shower, letting the steam curl around my skin, loosening something tight in my chest. The water beats against my shoulders, my spine, my lower back.
The heat answers.
Sharper now. A pulse that makes my knees weaken. I brace myself against the tile, breath catching, teeth sinking into my lower lip to hold back a sound that feels too intimate for empty walls.
Nyra hums softly. You’re reacting to safety, she says. To him.
“That’s worse,” I whisper hoarsely.
Because safety is dangerous when you’ve been starving.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel, my hands are trembling. I dress slowly, soft clothes, loose fabric, nothing restrictive and return to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed until the shaking subsides.
The clock ticks.
Minutes stretch.
Then, relief.
I don’t plan it.
That’s the scariest part.
One moment I’m pacing the living room, Lucian’s scent clinging to everything he touched, his hoodie on my shoulders, the faint imprint of his hands on the counter and the next, the door opens.
And something inside me snaps.
Lucian barely gets a foot over the threshold before the heat surges like it’s been waiting for permission.
His scent hits me first.
Wild honeysuckle twists with his alpha presence, sharp and grounding and mine, and my vision blurs at the edges. Nyra lunges forward so fast it steals my breath.
There.
I move before thought catches up.
“Lucian,” I breathe, already closing the distance, already pressing myself into him like gravity has finally decided where I belong.
He stiffens just for a heartbeat before instinct answers instinct. His hands come up, not touching at first, like he’s trying to remember rules that no longer apply.
“Aria…”
I don’t let him finish.
My fingers fist in his shirt, my body molding to his without permission or apology. Every nerve ending lights up, screaming for contact, for closeness, for him. I can feel his restraint like a live wire beneath my palms.
Nyra purrs, loud and pleased.
I chant his name without realizing it, each syllable spilling out of me like a plea I don’t fully understand. My mouth finds his, hungry and clumsy and desperate, all the careful control I’ve practiced for years evaporating under the weight of need.
He tastes like restraint and warning and something dangerously close to devotion.
Lucian groans low, torn and the sound alone makes my knees weak.
I press closer, seeking friction, grounding, anything, and my body hums in response, heat coiling tighter, sharper, turning every thought into sensation. The world narrows until there’s only his breathing, his warmth, the way he’s bracing himself like I’m a storm he’s choosing to stand in.
“Aria,” he says again, strained now. “Listen to me.”
I can’t.
The heat doesn’t care about words.
I tug him with me, backing him into the door, driven by something older than shame, older than fear. Nyra is all instinct now, all urgency, and I ride the wave blindly, unaware of how little control I actually have.
I don’t remember the moment my thoughts slip.
Just the feeling of being overwhelmed by sensation, his presence, his scent, the certainty of him, and then…
Nothing.
When awareness returns, it’s slow and humiliating.
I’m on the floor.
My legs are folded beneath me, muscles trembling, heat still humming faintly but no longer screaming. My head feels heavy, cotton-soft, like I’ve woken from a dream I don’t quite remember but deeply regret.
Lucian is in front of me.
Breathing hard.
Hands braced against the door behind him like he needs it to stay upright.
I blink.
Once. Twice.
Oh.
Oh no.
Nyra stretches lazily, utterly unrepentant. That was all you, she purrs.
I gasp and scramble upright, mortification crashing down harder than the heat ever did.
“I–I’m so sorry,” I blurt, my face burning. “I didn’t mean to–I mean, I know I did, but I wasn’t– I wasn’t thinking–”
Lucian straightens slowly, eyes dark but steady now, control reclaimed with visible effort. He looks at me like I’m something fragile and precious and dangerously tempting all at once.
“Aria,” he says quietly. “Stop.”
I freeze.
He crouches in front of me instead of towering, bringing us eye-level, his voice low and grounding. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I ambushed you,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes. “I practically attacked you.”
A corner of his mouth twitches, not mocking, not amused. Fond. Soft.
“You’re in heat,” he says simply. “Your body reacted to safety. To me.”
That somehow makes it worse.
“I’m embarrassed,” I admit miserably. “I don’t even remember all of it.”
His expression gentles. “That’s normal. The first surge can be… overwhelming.”
I nod, clutching his hoodie tighter around myself like armor.
“I’ll try harder,” I promise quickly. “I won’t–I won’t do that again.”
Lucian exhales, slow and careful. “We’ll handle it together,” he says. “You don’t have to be perfect.”
Nyra hums, smug and satisfied.
I groan softly and cover my face. “I can’t believe I did that.”
Lucian chuckles under his breath, brief and warm. “You’re allowed to be human,” he says. “Even when you’re not entirely in control.”
The heat recedes another inch, leaving behind exhaustion, embarrassment, and a quiet, aching awareness of just how much worse it’s going to get.
I peek at him through my fingers.
“This was just the beginning, wasn’t it?”
His gaze darkens, not with hunger this time, but resolve.
“Yes,” he says gently. “It was.”