~Aria's POV

I didn’t cry. Not again. He didn’t deserve me, or any tear that fell out of me, that was my conclusion. My tears had dried up somewhere between his words and when it had streamed down my eyes. Instead, I stood. Not with the grace of a Luna, but I stood, my legs shaky, my hands wrapped around the loose fabric of my nightdress, the same one Elias used to call pretty, back when he thought I was, too.

Now it was just there. The dress and…memories without Elias. My mouth tasted like ash. My heart squeezed with the knowledge Maris might be in his room. Alone with him.

The moon had just risen by the time I packed a small bag. I didn’t take much. I took just enough to feel like I wasn’t running, even though I was. I slipped out through the servant’s exit, past the sleeping guards who didn’t care enough to stop me. Not anymore. I wasn’t the Luna now. I was just the ghost of one. A bitter bubble of laugh left my throat.

I walked out, standing for a few seconds to stare at the pack buildings for the last time. The night air was cold and sharp. It bit at my arms and legs, but it couldn’t bite deeper than Elias had.

I walked away.

Then I kept walking and stopped when I saw the dim flicker of neon lights in the distance. It was a bar sign swaying lazily in the wind like it didn’t care who stumbled into it. I followed the light and found myself there in a few minutes.

When I stepped inside, it was loud.

Music pulsed like a heartbeat. The tables were lined up with half drunk wolves and rough laughter. The kind of place I never would’ve dared step foot into when I was Luna.

Now, it was perfect, because I was no longer Luna, and because I needed to clear my head. I needed to get Elias and his pack away from my head. I wanted to feel anything apart from the guilt of the knowledge that I was barren and couldn’t bear him children. My eyes stung with an effort of holding back, but I did. I held back. I didn’t come here to cry. I came here to not think of them.

I slid onto a stool at the edge of the counter, ignoring the stares of some people on here, and tapped my fingers twice on the wooden bar.

The bartender was an old man with already greying hair and tired eyes. He stared at me and raised a brow. "Rough night?"

I didn’t answer. He nodded like he understood my silence and poured me a drink. Something amber and strong.

I downed it in one go. The burn made my chest warm. I liked that. I liked the way it erased Elias’s voice from the back of my mind for just a second.

"Give me another glass,” I said.

When I took the third glass, I felt that lingering pain in my chest dissipate. When I took the fourth, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry or scream. But then I felt something. I felt eyes on me from across the room. It was a man.

He didn’t look away when I met his gaze. I swallowed at how his eyes on me pricked my skin. He was tall, broad shouldered. He was leaning against a pillar like he belonged in the dark. In the shadows. His hair was a dark black and it fell around his shoulders. His features were sharp. Cold. Mean.

His eyes were like dark, bottomless pits. He watched me as if he already knew what I needed. What I was here for. I should’ve looked away.

I didn’t. I just couldn't.

He moved toward me with slow, confident steps. The kind that made silence follow behind him. He reached the bar and stopped just a few feets away.

"You don’t belong here," he said.

His voice was deep, smooth, and dangerous.

"Neither do you," I shot back, not flinching. I didn’t know what made me retort. Maybe I was just too tired to deal with people. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Either ways, i just knew my inhibitions were lowered.

He smiled. But it wasn’t kind.

"That’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?"

I turned away from him and nestled my drink, taking a sip waiting for him to leave. He didn’t leave.

"What’s your name?" he asked, his dark eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

I shook my head. "Not tonight."

He nodded, like that was exactly what he expected. He leaned in, close enough that I could smell him. He smelled like smoke and cedarwood.

"Then don’t ask for mine." He whispered.

I didn’t.

“Why don't we get a room. I can help you forget whatever it is that is bothering you,” his lips brushed against my ears, sending a jolt through me.

I wanted to forget and he seemed like the perfect opportunity to use. I followed him out of the bar, down an alley lit only by the moon. Then to a place that smelled like pine and sin. It was probably a room above the bar. I didn’t care, because his hands were on me now, and they weren’t gentle.

They were desperate and hungry, like mine.

His mouth crashed onto mine, and I let it. I kissed him back with months of pain, with every bit of grief I had buried in that cursed pack house. He tasted like whiskey and anger. I drank it in.

He tore at my clothes, ripping the buttons off of them. My dress fell to the floor like the rag it was now. He took me to the bed with urgency, kissing my neck, only giving me a break when he took off his shirt and belt, wrapping it around my arms.

I felt his eyes trail down my bruised body. I felt the degrees in the room drop at his gaze. He didn’t ask questions. His fingers brushed against. Them. Each and every one.

He just pressed his forehead against mine and whispered, "Tell me to stop."

I didn’t.

"Don’t you dare,” I said sharply.

He smirked and lifted me up, his hands strong and rough. My legs wrapped around his waist as he lowered himself to me, kissing me like I was air and he needed me to breathe. I clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in my crumbling world. The bed groaned, but neither of us cared. His hands were on my hips, my back, my hair. Everywhere. I arched into him, needing him. Needing something that wasn’t pain.

His lips moved down my neck, to my collarbone, my breasts.

He teased my entrance with his cock, making me let out a breathless moan.

“Please,” I whispered, raising my hips up to get some friction.

“Beg prettier,” he grabbed my chin, “Beg me like you mean it.”

“Please, I need you inside me,” I panted. His eyes glinted with satisfaction and then he gave me a light slap on the face, pushing into me in one thrust. J gasped and grasped at his shoulders to anchor myself from the sharp pain that coursed through me. He didn’t wait for me to adjust to his size. He moved roughly and fast, gripping and biting me so hard I was sure they were going to be marks. He continued to thrust, capturing my mouth in his, muffling my cries.

I lost myself in him, and for the first time in so long, I didn’t feel weak. I felt powerful, wanted and alive.

When it was over, we lay in silence. Our chests rising and falling. His hand brushed my hair from my face. I looked at him in the dim light, but still, I didn’t ask his name.

He didn’t ask mine.

It was better that way.

I sat up slowly, dragging the sheet around me. My body ached, but it was a sweet ache. A reminder.

I stood and began to rummage through my bag I had brought along with me for clothes. He didn’t stop me. Just watched, his eyes darker now. Maybe curious. Maybe empty.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Just before I left, I looked over my shoulder.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“Stay,” he muttered, his voice cold as ice.