Chapter 38 LUCIAN
LUCIAN’S POV
The cottage has a rhythm at night.
It breathes.
I notice it now in a way I didn’t earlier—the way the floorboards settle, the quiet pulse of the woods beyond the windows, the soft ticking of the old clock mounted above the fireplace. Everything feels slower here, deliberately so, as though the land itself understands what we’re trying to do.
Protect. Endure. Wait.
Aria sleeps on the couch, curled on her side beneath the blanket, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her lashes rest dark against flushed skin, her lips slightly parted as she breathes.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful, considering what I know is happening inside her.
Varos stirs restlessly in my chest.
She smells stronger, he murmurs. Even asleep.
“I know,” I answer silently.
Her scent has shifted since earlier—still honeysuckle and wild bloom, but warmer now, deeper. Less airy. More… grounded. It wraps around my senses in slow, curling waves that make it hard to think straight.
I force myself to stay where I am.
The armchair creaks softly as I lean back, rubbing a hand over my face. I haven’t slept. I doubt I will tonight. Not with every instinct in me tuned to her breathing, her heartbeat, the slightest shift of her body.
This is what Orion warned me about.
Not the physical temptation.
The vigilance.
The fear of failing her.
I stand quietly and move to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water I don’t really need. My reflection in the window startles me—eyes darker than usual, jaw tight, shoulders tense.
Adrian used to look like this before hard decisions.
The thought cuts deeper than I expect.
I grip the counter, grounding myself as memories try to surface—the council room, Malrik’s voice, the way doubt slithered into every word spoken today.
I’d gone into that meeting already exhausted.
Malrik hadn’t wasted time.
“You’ve been gone too long,” he’d said smoothly, fingers steepled on the polished table. “Some of the elders are concerned you don’t understand the current needs of the pack.”
Concerned.
A polite word for questioning my right to lead.
I’d kept my voice even. “I understand them just fine.”
Others had joined in—not aggressively, but enough. Questions about patrol rotations. About trade agreements. About why Darius, not Malrik, had been placed closer to operational command.
Then Darius had dropped his report.
The rogue encounter.
The missing trail.
The way Malrik had conveniently vanished from the perimeter just before it happened.
I hadn’t missed the way Malrik’s expression barely changed.
I’d instructed Darius quietly, firmly: keep watching him.
That meeting had drained me more than I’d expected.
I’d come back to the house wanting only one thing—to sit with my mate. To feel normal for five minutes.
Instead, I’d found her burning with confusion and need she didn’t understand yet.
And I’d almost lost control.
My jaw tightens at the memory.
Not because she crossed a line—but because I’d wanted to follow her there.
I return to the living room.
She stirs slightly, murmuring something incoherent, brow creasing faintly. I’m at her side instantly, kneeling beside the couch without thinking.
“Aria,” I whisper.
Her eyes flutter but don’t open. Her breathing steadies again.
Varos exhales slowly. She trusts us.
That knowledge is heavier than any crown.
I sit on the floor beside her, back against the couch, deliberately close but not touching. If she reaches out, I’ll respond. If she doesn’t, I’ll stay right here.
Minutes pass.
Maybe an hour.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls at me too. Not sleep—just the dull ache of holding myself together.
I think about Orion’s words.
After this, we need to talk. About your brother.
The implication hadn’t escaped me.
Dots connecting. Threads tightening.
Malrik. Rogues. Timing.
But that can wait.
Tonight is about her.
Aria shifts again, this time more fully, eyes blinking open. She looks disoriented for a moment before focusing on me.
“You’re still here,” she murmurs.
“I told you I would be.”
She studies my face, then nods, satisfied. “Good.”
That single word settles something restless inside me.
“How do you feel?” I ask gently.
She considers it. “Warm. Tired. Embarrassed.”
I huff a quiet breath. “You can cross that last one off.”
She gives a faint smile. “You say that now.”
“I’ll say it tomorrow too.”
She watches me for a moment, then shifts to sit up, pulling the blanket around herself.
“Lucian?”
“Yes.”
“If I get… difficult,” she says slowly, carefully, “promise you won’t disappear on me.”
Something tightens behind my ribs.
“I won’t,” I say immediately. “I promise.”
Her shoulders relax slightly.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Silence stretches again—but it’s different now. Softer.
She leans back, eyes drifting shut once more, trusting me to keep watch.
And I do.
I stay awake through the night, listening to the woods, to her breathing, to my own heart steadying itself with every passing minute.
This is not the battle I expected.
But it’s one I intend to win—without breaking her, without losing myself, and without letting anyone else touch what is mine to protect.