Page 211 of Moonlit Fate

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ATTICUS

Iwatched Aria sleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest calming the whirlwind brewing inside me. Aria’s face was peaceful, untouched by the world’s harshness that awaited beyond the walls of my den. Her luminescent silver eyes were hidden beneath delicate lids. I took in the way her hair spilled across the pillow, catching the first hints of dawn, her breath whispering softly, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and committed it all to memory.

“I could stay like this forever,” I murmured.

Right now, it was just Aria and me, and the quiet before the mayhem. This here, this peace, was all I needed. Today wasn’t about what I wanted. Standing between Aria and me was my father, Valora, and this fucking mating ceremony.

I took one last look at her crescent moon birthmark, identical to my own in all but placement, a sign of our destined greatness. The day would bring a battle, not of fists and claws, but of wills and destinies. I leaned down, breathing in her scent—something wild and soothing all at once—and pressed my lips to the marked skin on her collarbone.

“I’m sorry, my love,” I whispered, easing my arm from under her. She stirred, curling into the warmth I left behind on the sheets. I stood and moved to where my belongings lay scattered.

As I bent down to retrieve my boot, I knocked over a picture that had been placed on the shelves along the wall. I quickly reached out to catch it before it hit the floor. It turned out to be a photograph of Liza, Joren, Hale, and Mia.My chosen family. When I returned it to the shelf, my hand brushed over the artifact I’d dug up in the old pack lands, its surface a cold contrast to the warmth of Aria’s skin still lingering on my fingertips. This small piece of history seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and some deep instinct within urged me to tuck it into my pocket.

“Could be useful,” I muttered, knowing it was more hope than reason guiding my hand.

The den, my refuge, felt smaller as I prepared to leave it, and her, behind. I glanced down at Aria, still lost in dreams. She didn’t know how the world would pull us in different directions yet. For now, she slept on, and I brushed my lips over her forehead, the urge to wake her up wrestling with the need to protect her from what was to come. I chose to leave her in peace.

Stepping into the living area, the sight of my family hit me like a punch straight to the heart. A dire mood hung over the room like a storm cloud. No words needed saying; their readiness to fight alongside me spoke volumes.

Hale rose, his frame solid as an oak. “I’m coming with you,” he declared.

Liza and Joren nodded. “Maybe if we all go, we can take him down together,” Joren added, looking around at the others, their nods fueling his proposal.

Mia sat with her herbs, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she also nodded. “You aren’t alone, Atticus.”

My chest tightened. Their loyalty was enough to stagger any man. “No,” I said urgently. “You can’t. He’ll kill you all because you matter to me.”

Their faces flamed with outrage, but I pressed on. “You have to trust me. Let me do this alone.”

A hushed silence descended on us, the shared understanding silently reminding us that some battles must be fought alone.

With no rush to return to my father, I strolled away from the den. The morning sun’s rays caressed the vibrant foliage, casting a gentle glow on the small blue flowers that carpeted the forest floor.

The closer I got to Crimson Fang territory, the more the pressure of the upcoming mating ceremony intensified, looming over me like a thundercloud on the horizon. This wasn’t right. It shouldn’t feel like attending a funeral. But then I wasn’t mating a woman I loved. I was being matched for breeding purposes to ensure favorable genetic traits.

My mood had taken a downward turn, and I didn’t want to have to make nice with pack mates who followed Caius. So when I reached the border, I pulled the shadows around me and stepped into the Crimson Fang manor. My room awaited, grand and oppressive, with its high ceilings and antique furniture echoing my isolation. I stood before the mirror in the entryway. Atticus Sebastian Thorne stared back, a warrior’s image, but his eyes revealed the inner struggle.

“Get it together,” I muttered to my reflection. The man in the glass had a hollow look, as if he had been drained of all hope and purpose, trapped in a game of thrones he never sought to be a part of.

I paced the chamber, each footstep a silent drumbeat in my private war. Ideas moved in and out of existence—defiance, escape. Each tempting as a siren’s call, each snuffedout by reality’s cruel hand. My father’s shadow overwhelmed everything, his authority absolute.

I couldn’t confront him. Sabotage was too risky. Plans formed and fell apart in my mind, the potential repercussions paralyzing. With every discarded strategy, the walls closed in on me. Duty, that unremitting jailer, held me fast.

“Fuck,” I growled, feeling my lineage and the expectations that came with it.

There was no escaping the path laid before me. I had to walk it, whether it led to salvation or ruin.

I needed a damn drink. As I lifted the decanter off the drink cart, the rich, amber liquid inside swirled. With steady hands, I poured, concealing the storm inside me. The drink was a crutch, but I poured it anyway, needing the brief escape it promised.

“Here’s to choices,” I murmured, the irony not lost on me.

The first sip burned all the way down, a fleeting comfort against the chill of duty and expectation. The warmth spread through my chest, a shield against the dread of what was to come.

“Fortify or forget?” I whispered to the empty room, already knowing there was no forgetting.

I set the glass down harder than I intended, shaking the bottles and glasses on the cart. My reflection caught my eye one last time in the mirror. There was a ghost of defiance in my face, battling the resignation.

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