Chapter 7

Aria had spent so long fighting, so long running, so long clawing her way through every moment of her existence, that she had forgotten what it felt like to be held. Not captured. Not bound in chains, nor forced into submission. But simply… held.

Darius’s arms around her were strong, unyielding, a force that did not demand but merely was—a steady, immovable presence that surrounded her, engulfed her in something that should have felt like a trap, but instead felt dangerously, terribly steady.

Her breath hitched, the shuddering exhale slipping from her lips before she could stop it. She was weak—too weak. She hated that, hated the way her body trembled against him, hated the way exhaustion turned her limbs into dead weight, hated that she was leaning into him when she should have been pushing away.

But her body did not care for what she hated.

Her body only cared for the warmth he provided, the steadiness he offered, the way he did not falter, did not shift beneath her weight, did not mock her for this moment of surrender. He simply stood.

And waited.

The wind howled through the trees, a low, eerie sound that sent a shiver down Aria’s spine. The night air was cold, sharper now that her adrenaline had faded, numbing the exposed skin of her arms and legs. The forest was vast, stretching endlessly in all directions, the darkness thick, the world silent except for the distant rustling of leaves and the faraway cries of unseen creatures.

She had tried to run.

Had tried to escape.

Had tried to outrun fate.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor, didn’t it?

Her fingers curled slightly, the fabric of Darius’s shirt rough beneath her fingertips, the scent of him everywhere. He smelled like the woods, like the earth after a storm, like something wild and uncontained, something untouchable.

And yet, here he was.

Holding her.

Not speaking.

Not forcing her to do anything.

Not commanding.

Just being.

The realization sent something sharp twisting through her chest, something painful, something foreign. How long had it been since someone had simply existed beside her without expectation? Without cruelty? Without demand?

She could not remember.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.

Darius shifted slightly, the movement slow, controlled, as if he knew that any sudden action might shatter whatever fragile moment this was. His grip was not suffocating, not constricting, but anchoring. A tether to reality, a reminder that she was still here, that she had not yet faded, had not yet been erased by the world that had tried so hard to crush her.

Aria inhaled sharply, the sound too loud in the stillness between them, and she forced herself to move, to do something.

Her hands pressed against his chest, fingers trembling, pushing weakly against the solid wall of muscle beneath her touch. It wasn’t much—barely a movement at all—but it was enough.

Enough for Darius to understand.

His grip loosened. Just slightly. Just enough to give her space.

Just enough to give her the choice.

And gods, wasn’t that the strangest thing of all?

She had spent so long having choices ripped away, having her freedom strangled out of her lungs, having her body, her mind, her very existence dictated by others. Killian had taken. The Silvercrest Pack had taken. The world had taken.

But Darius…

He was giving.

A silent offering.

One that she did not know how to accept.

Aria swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a step back, her legs shaking beneath her, her vision swimming. The moment her body left his, the cold rushed back in, biting at her skin, stealing the warmth that had momentarily made her feel whole.

She hated it.

But she did not move closer again.

Darius studied her, his golden eyes unreadable in the dim moonlight, his expression impossible to decipher. His presence was still overwhelming, still too much, still a force that made the air itself feel charged, but he did not press forward. He did not close the space she had created.

He only watched.

Waited.

Like he always did.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Aria’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to speak. “Why?” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the question cut through the silence like a blade.

Darius did not answer right away.

Instead, he took his time, tilting his head slightly, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Why what?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk, as deep and rich as the night itself.

Aria’s throat tightened. She hated that he was making her say it. Hated that he was forcing her to admit it.

“Why did you let me go?” she bit out, her voice sharper now, her anger—her fear—rising to the surface. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Darius exhaled slowly, his golden eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite name. “Would it have mattered?”

Aria’s breath caught in her throat.

Would it have mattered?

Would it have changed anything?

She wanted to say yes.

Wanted to say that if he had tried to stop her, she would have fought, would have clawed and screamed and never given in.

But deep down, in the parts of her that she had tried to bury, she knew the truth.

She had already been caught long before she had started running.

Darius Thorn had never needed to chase her.

Because she was already his.

The thought sent a violent shudder through her body, and she clenched her jaw, shaking her head, trying—desperately trying—to deny it.

“I am not yours,” she whispered.

A lie.

One they both knew was a lie.

Darius’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smirk, something darker, deeper, something that sent heat pooling low in her stomach despite every ounce of logic screaming at her to run.

“No,” he murmured, stepping forward, just barely.

Not enough to close the distance.

Not enough to take.

Just enough to remind.

“Not yet.”

Aria’s breath came in short, uneven bursts, her body betraying her, her skin tingling with the aftershock of something she could not escape.

Darius’s golden eyes never left hers, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, steady, unshakable.

“But you will be.”

The words hung between them, settling into the silence like a prophecy, like a truth she was not ready to face.

Because deep in her bones, in the places she refused to acknowledge, she knew—

He was right.

Aria didn’t realize she had stopped breathing until her chest burned with the need for air. The words Darius had spoken—soft, certain, absolute—wrapped around her like chains, binding her in a way that no physical restraint ever could.

But you will be.

A declaration. A truth. A promise.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to look away, to break free from the invisible hold he had on her. It felt like fighting against an ocean, like standing in the middle of a storm with nothing to cling to, nothing to anchor herself against the waves threatening to pull her under.

She hated it.

Hated him.

Hated the way his presence wrapped around her, seeping into her very bones, into the spaces between her ribs where something fragile and aching used to live.

Hated the way some part of her—some traitorous, broken part of her—wanted to believe him.

Her breath hitched. She took a shaky step backward, her boots crunching against the dry leaves scattered across the forest floor. The night stretched around them, endless and consuming, the moon casting silver light through the swaying branches above.

Darius didn’t move.

Didn’t push.

Didn’t force.

He simply watched.

Like he already knew.

Like he had already won.

The thought sent a violent shudder through her body, and she clenched her jaw, pushing back against the pull of his presence with everything she had left.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, barely more than a dying ember in the space between them.

Darius tilted his head, his golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight, unreadable and unshaken. “No?” he echoed, his voice a low, quiet hum.

Aria swallowed hard, her throat tight, her chest aching. “I will never be yours.”

A lie.

One they both knew was a lie.

She saw it in the way his lips curled, not quite a smirk, not quite anything at all—just knowing. Just certainty.

He exhaled softly, shifting his weight slightly, and even that tiny movement sent a ripple through the air between them, like a shift in gravity, like the entire world had just adjusted to him.

“You’re fighting against something you don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice smooth, rich, like the darkness itself had shaped it just for him. “Something you were never meant to fight.”

Aria’s nails bit deeper into her palms. “I am not yours,” she said again, forcing the words past the knot in her throat.

Darius didn’t flinch. Didn’t falter. He only studied her, his golden gaze burning into her skin, into the fragile parts of her she had spent so long trying to protect.

And then—

“Come here, Aria.”

The command wasn’t loud. It wasn’t forceful.

But it was.

It was a weight in the air, thick and inescapable, wrapping around her like an unseen force, something deep and primal stirring beneath her skin, something older than words, older than reason.

Her breath stilled.

Her body betrayed her.

A single step forward.

Barely a movement at all. Barely anything.

But he saw it.

And so did she.

Her stomach twisted violently, horror clawing at her ribs, and she shoved herself backward, breathing hard, shaking, terrified.

Darius’s lips parted slightly, his golden gaze darkening, something dangerous flickering behind his calm, controlled exterior.

Aria shook her head frantically. “No,” she rasped, her voice shaking. “No, no, no.”

She turned.

And she ran.

Branches tore at her arms, her legs, the wind slicing against her skin as she pushed herself forward, deeper into the forest, deeper into the night, deeper into anywhere that wasn’t near him.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, her muscles screaming, but she didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Because she had felt it.

Felt the way his voice had curled around her, felt the way her own body had responded, felt the way something inside her had recognized him—had wanted him.

And that was something she could not accept.

Could not survive.

The trees blurred past her, her vision swimming, her mind a chaotic mess of fear and fury and something worse.

Something she refused to name.

The forest stretched on, endless and unforgiving, but she did not slow.

Not until—

A shadow.

A presence.

And then—

Heat.

A sharp gasp ripped from her throat as she collided with something solid, unmovable, something alive.

Strong hands caught her shoulders, gripping her tight, steadying her even as she fought, even as she thrashed, her mind screaming at her to run, run, run—

“Shhh,” a low voice murmured, and everything stopped.

Aria’s body went rigid.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Because it was him.

Again.

Always.

Darius.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears, her entire world shrinking down to the space between them, to the way his fingers burned against her skin, to the way his presence wrapped around her like an inescapable storm.

Her lungs heaved, her body trembling violently, her mind desperately searching for a way out, a way to escape, a way to—

“You can keep running,” Darius murmured, his voice soft, patient, dangerous. “But we both know how this ends.”

Her vision blurred with fury, with desperation, with something she refused to name.

“I hate you,” she whispered, the words raw, sharp, fragile.

Darius’s golden eyes darkened, something shifting in their depths, something unreadable, something unshaken.

“No, you don’t,” he said simply.

And then, before she could react, before she could think—

His fingers curled beneath her chin.

And he kissed her.

Not softly.

Not gently.

Not like a whisper or a promise or a careful, hesitant thing.

But like a war.

A battle.

A fight neither of them could win.

Heat erupted through her veins, fire racing beneath her skin, a violent, earth-shattering collision that stole every breath, every thought, every ounce of control she had left.

Her hands flew to his chest, gripping his shirt, her mind screaming at her to push him away, to fight, to resist—

But her body—

Her body betrayed her.

Betrayed her in the way her fingers curled into his shirt instead of shoving him back.

Betrayed her in the way her lips moved against his.

Betrayed her in the way her pulse pounded in time with his, the space between them collapsing, disappearing, ceasing to exist.

And in that moment—

She knew.

She was already lost.