The forest was always Aria's sanctuary.
But tonight.
Tonight, even the trees appeared to be watching her—silent, threatening witnesses to something she didn't receive.
Her hands trembled as she knelt by the stream, trying to cool the fire that raged beneath her skin. She didn't know why she was burning inside. All she was sure of was that the full moon had passed, and again, she had failed.
She hadn't shifted.
Again.
There had been more than whispers this time.
She could still hear the laughter echoing in her ears, the venom in the pack's voices.
"Eighteen and still no wolf? Pathetic."
"The Moon Goddess must've forgotten her."
"Maybe she's not even a real wolf."
She'd attempted to ignore it, pretend as if it didn't get to her, that she didn't even notice. But the fact was, it shattered her. And it always had.
Aria still recalled the very first moment she realized what being an omega truly felt.
She was nine. Small. Shy. She'd fetched water from the well by the packhouse as always, her arms aching to balance the heavy bucket. She'd lost her balance and slipped into the mire. The bucket tipped. The water spilled.
And the warriors had mocked.
"Clumsy little rat."
"Because of that, her parents are dead—Moon Goddess made an error."
She'd cried herself to bed in the servants' quarters, her tiny bunk soaked with silent tears. No one comforted her. No one ever did.
She never forgot that lesson: weakness is a sin, and omegas are born to suffer it.
The memory stuck to her like mist as she knelt by the stream.
She didn't belong here.
She didn't belong anywhere.
Then the air shifted.
The forest was silent as if holding its breath.
And she felt him.
Before she'd ever seen him, before he'd ever spoken, she'd known he existed.
Damien.
Her heart stumbling with anguish.
She tensed and turned to find him on the edge of the clearing—his position rigid, golden eyes blurring with moonlight—it was like the world had been yanked from beneath her feet.
She tensed further, body rigid, throat constricting. "Alpha."
His silence was oppressive. The weight of it pressed down on her harder than any insult ever had.
He was staring at her like she'd done something unspeakable.
"I was just—clearing my head," she stammered. "I'll go."
"No," he said.
One word, low and rasped.
She froze.
"I could smell you," he ground out. "Out here. It's been happening for days."
Her eyes widened. "I—I didn't mean—"
"You don't get to mean anything," he snapped.
His voice whipped through the air.
"You didn't shift. You're nothing. You have no right to crawl under my skin."
Agony stabbed her chest.
"I don't know why this is happening," she whispered. "I never asked for—"
"I have a mate," he growled, moving forward. "Talia is everything. Perfect. And now this—you—whatever this is. It's wrong."
She tried to move back, but he was already there, in front of her, his hand on her arm, pinning her up against the tree. The bark pressed into the small of her back. Her breath froze.
"Alpha, please—"
"Do you feel it too?" he snarled. "This heat between us? The pull?"
Her lips trembled. "I—I don't know what I feel. I'm just—scared."
His eyes darted into hers and then darkened. He bent his head.
Something broke inside of her. "What are you—"
She never finished.
Pain exploded down the side of her neck as his teeth bit into the skin.
A raw, feral scream ripped from her throat.
It wasn't pain—more a claiming. She felt it in her soul, deep and absolute, burning bright chain that bound her to him. Her nerves shrieked. Her knees gave out, but he held her there, breath hard, jaw clenched.
When he pulled back, her blood on his mouth, the bite throbbing with unholy flame.
She dropped to the floor.
Shivering.
Bleeding.
Changed.
"What—what did you do…" she struggled to say, vision blurring.
"I made you mine," he said callously. "Unofficially. No one will ever lay hands on you again."
"You branded me," she breathed.
"You're mine," he snarled, as though he was sickened by it.
She was on fire all over. Not with passion, but with something lower. A transformation. A war in her veins.
Why?" she cried. "Why do this?"
His lips curved into something bitter. "Because I won't let fate control me. If I have to suffer this curse, so do you."
And then he departed.
Not a glance over his shoulder.
She stayed there long after he was away, curled up in on herself, clutching the wound, her blood spreading into the moss and earth.
And she remembered again.
She was thirteen. She'd made a small birthday present for the Alpha's birthday—one simple, carved wood and covered in cloth. She'd left it outside the hall.
The following morning, it was smashed on her doorstep.
The message had been clear: stay in your place.
And yet, fate had drawn her into their midst despite that.
Now, her place was at his feet.
Bound.
Claimed.
Alone.
The wind fanned the canopy over her, but Aria did not wake.
Every breath was a struggle.
Her neck pounded with the bite, a vicious beat that resonated in her bones. Not just pain—it was something beyond that. Pressure. Wrongness.
She coiled tighter, arms wrapped around her knees. Her skin blazed, her insides roiled. Her head reeled in a haze of nausea and heat.
Her stomach churned again. She spat bile onto the ground.
What had he done to her?
Alpha Damien, Damien, had bitten her.
Claimed her.
Silently.
Against her will.
She touched the wound, wincing. Her fingers were sticky with blood. It didn't compute. Any of it. She wasn't even meant to have a mate. Omegas didn't make waves. They weren't claimed. Particularly not by Alphas such as him.
But it wasn't so much the act that broke her.
It was the way he'd done it.
As though she were something to be eradicated.
As if stamping her had been a punishment.
Her heart pounded, one-sided and furious. Her skin crawled as a surge of scalding blood coursed through her chest. She wheezed, clawing at her ribs.
Then—
A flutter.
Not a noise. Not really.
Just the sense.
Of something in the back of her head. A flutter of something that was not hers. Slender. Distant. Gone before she could grasp.
She stilled.
Was that.?
No.
It was just her head losing it. Just stress. Just the trauma of tonight.
She buried her face against her knees and rocked, trying to push the quiver out of her arms and legs.
Whatever was happening, she didn't understand. But she knew it—the feeling inside her. The agony in her lower belly. The invisible pull, the burning cord to someone who despised her.
And through it all, the bite throbbed with a relentless truth: she had been taken.
But not loved.
Not even accepted.
Just taken.
And worst of all, part of her—no matter how small—responded to it.