InkHeartThe scent of roast chicken made my stomach clench. I eyed the plate Milla set on my desk, waiting for the trick. Camille’s campaign of petty cruelties had been relentless, and last time someone brought me food, the bread was filled with mud.
“It’s not poisoned,” Milla said, reading my thoughts. She sat on the edge of my bed. “You can’t hide in here, Aria. It only makes them hungrier.”
“It’s safer,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on a crack in the stone wall.
“No, it’s not,” she said, her voice dropping. “The First Moon Party is tonight. If you don’t show your face, you’re telling everyone Camille has already broken you. You have to go.”
A harsh laugh escaped me. “A party? In the woods with them? Absolutely not.”
“I’ll be with you,” she insisted. “We just need to be seen. Show them you’re not scared, then we can leave. It’s about survival.”
I looked at her, at the weary pragmatism in her eyes. She was the only one who hadn’t treated me like a target. “Why are you helping me?”
A sad smile touched her lips. “Because I know this game. Now, are you coming?”
I let out a slow breath. She was right. Hiding was an invitation. “Fine. But we leave the second it gets weird.”
“It’s always weird,” she said with a grimace. “So we can leave whenever we want.”
The party was a raw display of power. A bonfire roared in a clearing, throwing shadows that twisted the trees into skeletal claws. The air was thick with the scent of charred meat, spilled liquor, and the earthy musk of dozens of wolves. A drum-heavy beat pulsed from somewhere in the dark, a rhythm that vibrated in my teeth.
“Act like you belong here,” Milla murmured, pressing a cup of something dark and bitter into my hand. It burned down my throat but did nothing for the cold knot of fear in my stomach. I stuck so close to her our shoulders brushed with every step.
“See the brutes by the kegs?” she nodded discreetly. “Council enforcers. They’re all alphas from minor packs, here to kiss the ring. Don’t even look at them.” She guided me through the throng. “And there’s Camille, of course. Holding court.”
Camille was laughing, her hand resting possessively on the arm of the man beside her. Prince Ronin.
He looked less like a student and more like a warlord out here, dressed in black, the firelight carving sharp planes across his face. His eyes swept over the crowd with a detached arrogance, a king surveying an unruly peasantry. I flinched and looked away.
“Okay, I’ve been seen,” I whispered urgently. “Can we go?”
“Not yet. An hour,” Milla said, her jaw tight. “Anything less is running.”
An hour felt like a lifetime. Every laugh sounded like a threat, every shadow seemed to move. Then came a new sensation. It wasn't the feeling of being watched, but of being known. A sudden, sharp awareness drilled into the back of my skull, a predator’s focus that had nothing to do with sight. I fought it, but the pressure was immense, forcing my head to turn, my eyes to scan the crowd.
They found him.
Ronin was no longer watching the party. His conversation with Camille had ceased. He was staring directly at me.
The moment our eyes met, a shock went through me, raw and electric. The noise of the party, the heat of the fire, it all vanished. There was only the sudden, violent clarity of his gaze. It wasn't a thought, but a brutal, instinctual certainty that slammed into my soul.
*Mate.*
The word was an invasion, foreign and absolute. The breath left my lungs, and the ground seemed to shift. I saw the recognition hit him, too. The bored arrogance in his posture snapped taut. For a single heartbeat, his mask of indifference fell, revealing a flicker of raw, unguarded shock.
Then his expression curdled. The disinterest returned, colder now, sharpened with a disgust so profound it was a physical blow. His lip curled, a silent snarl of utter revulsion. He looked at me, and I was no longer a person. I was a flaw, a stain on his world that he desperately wanted to erase.