The horn’s echo faded, but Aria’s heart kept hammering long after silence reclaimed the hall. Rogues. Always rogues. The word itself had become a shadow trailing her every step, a curse whispered at her back.

Damian’s posture remained unyielding, his gaze fixed on the far doors as though he could see through the stone to the forest beyond.

“You’ll be escorted to the inner wing,” he said at last, voice clipped. “It’s the most protected part of the keep. No one gets in without my word.”

Her jaw tightened. “So now I’m a prisoner.”

His eyes cut to hers, molten gold. “You’re alive.”

Aria opened her mouth, then shut it. Because the truth was plain—if not for him, she’d be dead. The memory of blood on his fur, of fangs snapping inches from her throat, made her shiver.

He noticed. She hated that he noticed.

“Come,” he said, softer now.

He led her down narrower halls, where the torches burned brighter, casting amber light across rough stone. At last they reached a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron. Damian pushed it open, revealing a chamber larger than her entire cottage. A fire blazed in the hearth, the warmth sinking into her chilled skin. A bed, draped in furs, stood against the far wall.

Aria stepped inside slowly, her breath catching. The room felt too intimate, too personal.

“Yours,” Damian said.

Her head whipped around. “This is your room.”

His silence confirmed it.

“I’m not—” she began.

“You’ll be safer here than anywhere else.” His voice was low, final. “No wolf will cross this threshold while I stand.”

Her protest died in her throat. He was too close, his presence a wall of heat and command. She could still smell rain on his skin, iron in his blood, something wilder beneath it all.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why risk yourself for me?”

For the first time, his mask cracked. His golden eyes burned, but softer now, rimmed with something almost human. “Because I can’t not.”

The words struck like a blow, stealing her breath. The mark on her chest flared, answering his confession. Her pulse raced, heat rushing through her veins.

Damian stiffened, as if he felt it too. He cursed under his breath and turned away, fists clenching. “This is the curse,” he growled. “This pull between us—it’s not choice, Aria. It’s fate. A bond that destroys as much as it binds.”

Her throat tightened. “Then why does it feel—” She cut herself off, cheeks burning.

He turned sharply, his gaze locking on her, raw and fierce. “Tell me.”

Her lips parted, but the words caught. She couldn’t admit it—that it felt like fire, like truth, like home. That it terrified her more than death.

Instead, she whispered, “Why are you fighting it?”

The question hung heavy.

Damian crossed the space between them in two strides. She froze as his hand lifted, stopping just short of her cheek. His breath brushed her skin, warm, ragged, as if he too was battling something inside.

“Because if I touch you,” he said roughly, “I won’t stop.”

Aria’s chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm. Her skin ached for the touch he denied, her mark blazing like a living flame. And though every warning told her to step back, she whispered, “Then don’t stop.”

Silence. Fire crackled. The world held its breath.

Damian’s jaw worked, golden eyes darkening. Then—slowly, as if surrendering to something greater than himself—he let his fingertips graze her cheek.

The bond ignited.

Heat shot through her veins, a current that made her gasp. His touch was fire and lightning, searing and tender all at once. Her eyes fluttered shut, the world dissolving into sensation.

Damian’s breath shuddered. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. For a moment, nothing else existed. No rogues. No curses. Just the unbearable truth of them.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, raw and broken. “And I hate it.”

Aria’s heart splintered, but her body leaned into his, craving more. The bond sang between them, wild and dangerous, impossible to deny.

Then—abruptly—he tore himself away, shoving back as though burned. His chest heaved, his fists clenched.

“Get some rest,” he said hoarsely. “Before I forget why I shouldn’t.”

And he was gone, leaving her trembling by the fire, the taste of his touch still blazing on her skin.

Aria sank onto the bed, her fingers pressed to the mark that pulsed in time with her racing heart.

Whatever this was—curse, bond, fate—she knew one thing with devastating clarity.

There was no turning back.