Page 46 of Moonlit Fate

With a sigh that sounded like it was releasing more than just breath, Aria glanced down at the book she carried. “We should return soon. There’s more here that we need to understand.”

I nodded, clutching the book I’d taken. Its cover was warm from my touch, and I knew I would find the knowledge that could shape our destiny in its pages.

“We’ll return,” I vowed. “And next time, perhaps you’ll save me from doing something stupid.”

She laughed softly, her eyes glinting in a way that made my pulse race.

Whatever mystical force had brought us to the shack now had us standing at the border of the Silver Claw territory. I hesitated as the first few raindrops fell, amplifying the growing gloom. Though hidden by the squall, the sun had long since risen and cut its path across the sky to the horizon. Time had slippedaway from us, the pressing matters of our separate lives calling us back to reality.

The cabin faded into the distance, and the fog of forgetfulness lifted, reminding me exactly where Aria was meant to be. “Your dinner,” I said urgently, the words tasting bittersweet. Duty beckoned, pulling Aria away to be with a man I despised.

“Fuck.” She glanced toward the darkening sky. Her pack needed her, yet the pull to keep her by my side was tangible, almost visible in the charged air.

“Go,” I said, even as everything in me demanded that I pull her into my arms and shield her from the world. But I couldn’t.

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly, “we’ll start planning the ritual.”

We both knew what had to be done. With one last look at the shack—a hidden sanctuary that held the key to our future—we stepped into the open, allowing the rain to cascade over us.

“See you tomorrow,” Aria called over the rising wind as she ran off.

“Tomorrow,” I echoed.

12

ARIA

Panic gripped me as I sprinted through the dense forest toward the palace. The menacing clouds that had gathered in the sky had ruptured, pouring their wrath down on me as if they knew the turmoil that churned within my soul. Raindrops, heavy as stones and cold as ice, assaulted my skin, each one a stinging reminder of the urgency driving my feet.

My breath came in short, sharp bursts, misting the air before the downpour swallowed it. I ran at full speed, my drenched shirt clinging to my skin, though I couldn’t determine if it was from the rain or sweat. Adrenaline and desperation coursed through my veins, granting me a supernatural agility. I vaulted over fallen logs, my heart a wild drumbeat echoing the weather’s fury, drowning out reason and caution. It was as though nature itself conspired to keep me from reaching the sanctuary of my house, to prolong my suspense and agony.

The wet underbrush whipped against my bare legs, leaving thin red welts in their wake. I barely registered the pain, consumed with the need to get back, to confront what awaited me at home. My father’s disappointment and Larkin’sinfuriating smugness were the relentless forces propelling me forward.

My foot caught on a protruding root, making me stumble, but reflexes honed from years of training kicked in, preventing me from hitting the ground. I held on to the book and stopped it from hitting the muddy ground. I made a futile gesture to shield it from the rain, attempting to secure it beneath my cloak. I couldn’t afford to drop it or have it get damaged.

By removing it from the shack, I assumed the role of its guardian. I was certain that it held the key to unlocking the ritual the seer had mentioned. When I’d touched it, I’d established an inexplicable connection with it. It was that connection that urged me to explore its contents, but our time had been limited, and I needed to study it more to fully grasp the intricacies of the triskele and the accompanying ritual.

I was absolutely sure of one thing, however. If the shack hadn’t wanted me to take the book, it wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.

Mud sucked at my boots, trying to slow my escape. The thick vegetation grasped at my legs, hindering my progress and reducing my speed. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, the thunder overhead drowning out the sound. Of course, the forest would attempt to ensnare me. It was familiar with my tendencies and knew I often acted on impulse.

I urged my legs to push harder, faster, driven by determination and desperation. My hair was plastered to my face, a wet veil that obscured my vision. I swiped the strands away with my free hand, squinting through the deluge, searching for the outline of my home. Across the sky, a bolt of lightning streaked, providing a brief but radiant guide to lead me forward.

With every stride, the relentless downpour drenched me to the core, as if each raindrop had a personal vendetta against me. As I realized how much time Atticus and I had spent together inthe cozy warmth of the shack, the storm seemed to intensify, as if nature itself were scolding me for my tardiness. I fought the pull of what lay ahead. The confrontation, the accusations, the decisions that would shape my future.

That should have slowed me down, made me consider my words to my father carefully. But fear gave wings to my feet, causing me to sprint towards the imminent clash, acutely aware of the urgency and the futility of wasting time on dressing, even though I knew it would only escalate the conflict further.

Finally, the manor’s familiar silhouette appeared through the sheets of rain. The sight fueled my determination to keep moving forward. Resolve settled through me, overpowering any doubts, unyielding to any words spoken tonight. Regardless of the outcome, I would not allow anyone to dictate my future. Not my father, not Larkin, and certainly not some prophecy that sought to chain me to a destiny I never asked for.

With a final burst of energy, I cleared the forest, the open expanse of the training yard and gardens offering no shelter. My pace didn’t falter as my boots struggled to find traction on the wet grass.

The damned rain had miraculously transformed into a mere drizzle by the time I shouldered open the back door, slipping through with ungraceful haste. Water cascaded from my hair, matting it against my cheeks. My heavy, uneven breath fought against the chill that clung to my skin. A shudder racked my body, not just from the cold, but also from the dread of what awaited me.

I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. I had the power to manipulate water. After looking all around to make doubly sure I was alone, I drew the water off myself, my clothing, and the book. It floated in front of me for a moment, and I sent it out the front door to splash on the porch.

Stepping into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering sauces engulfed me. This realm was one my father seldom frequented, preferring to leave it under the watchful eyes of the staff. It was a place I, however, was familiar with.

I exchanged a brief nod with the chef, who looked suitably horrified by my appearance. Drying myself hadn’t exactly neatened me up. Before continuing on to the dining room, I made a detour into a storage closet adjacent to the kitchen. I hastily grabbed a tablecloth from the pile of linens on a table and wrapped it around the book before pushing it deep into a dusty cupboard filled with various pieces of outdated equipment and crockery. Bracing myself for what awaited me, I forced my feet to take me to the dining room.

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