Page 52 of Moonlit Fate

“More,” she said, echoing the desire that had taken root in me.

I pulled her body flush against mine. Our kisses grew fervent, an unspoken conversation growing louder with urgency. There was no holding back the tide of yearning that surged between us. Neither of us wanted that, anyway. In the shelter of darkness and sporadic light, where the ethereal glow of the meteors cast an otherworldly radiance on us, we found a hunger that could only be sated by each other’s touch.

We pulled apart, both of us gasping for air. The taste of her remained on my lips as I fought to steady myself. The heat radiating off Aria would not be tamed, so I clasped her hand in mine, the softness of her skin feeling so right against the roughness of my own, and led her to my den.

I lookedaround at my chosen brethren, who lounged in the dimly lit space of our common area. “Aria will be staying with us tonight,” I stated.

Their nods came silently. They knew better than to question my decision. I ushered her to my room.

Aria looked up at me hesitantly. “Could I... may I take a bath? I need to wash the day away.”

“Of course,” I said as I gestured toward the bath area.

Carved from the mountain itself, the bath was a wonder of nature’s artistry, time and intention having shaped its curves and hollows. It wasn’t fashioned in grandeur or adorned with jewels, but water trickled from an overhead crevice in a soothing melody, filling the basin below.

“Take your time,” I murmured, stepping back to give her the privacy she craved.

As she stepped behind the waterfall curtain, I turned from the sanctuary of my room and strode through the dimly lit corridors to the common area.

Joren shot me a smirk that irked me more than it should. “Found yourself a lost little bird?”

I gave a low growl. “Aria had a rough night with her father. She’s staying here.” My tone left no room for argument, though their jesting didn’t cease. It was the way of our kind, rough-and-tumble affection wrapped in barbed words.

As they continued to chuckle and tease, I busied myself putting together a meal. It was a hodgepodge of leftover game meat and salad. I snatched a bottle of bourbon from the shelf, the amber liquid sloshing gently against the glass. It should do the job of easing some of the rawness of tonight’s revelations.

The laughter and chatter died down to murmurs as I padded softly back to my room, balancing the tray in one hand, the bourbon cradled in the other.

The sight that greeted me sent a sharp jolt of lust into my belly. Aria stood there, water droplets glistening on her skin, clad only in a towel that clung to every curve. My name on her lips was a plea, innocent yet laden with an undercurrent of something else.

“Hey, Atticus,” she said. “Could I borrow a shirt?”

“Of course.” I pulled a shirt from the shelves and handed it over, along with a pair of boxers. The mundane objects were suddenly charged, heavy with unspoken meaning.

The towel fell away, and she dressed in my clothes. A flush crept up my neck as her actions seemed to strip me bare as well. She was engulfed in my clothing, in me. My scent enveloped her in an intimate hold that sent shockwaves through my system.

“Thank you,” she said.

I nodded, swallowing her hard. Aria, with her impulsive spirit, drew me in, keening to the feral part of my soul. As she moved about the room, the air pulsed with the subtle hint of her scent, and I breathed it in deeply.

“Feels like home,” she said, and the words struck deep. Home. The concept was both foreign and achingly familiar, a longing intricately entwined with fate and choice.

“Does it?” I asked.

“More than you know,” she said, a smile touching her lips as she met my gaze. In that moment, I knew. This was right. Everything that led us here—the pain, the beauty, the prophecy—was meant to be. Aria belonged here, with me, in my den, in my arms.

I set the tray down on the table and poured us each a glass of bourbon before I settled on my bed. Aria navigated the space with a newfound curiosity. She lightly touched the books stacked haphazardly on my shelf, fingers tracing the spines as she perused the titles.

“Have you always been into mythology?” she asked, pulling out a book of ancient legends and thumbing through it.

“Since I was a kid.” I took another sip of the bourbon, its amber fire warming my chest. “Stories of heroes and monsters always felt like echoes of our own world.” The words tumbled out with more ease than I expected, the alcohol loosening me.

“Maybe because they are,” she said, her laughter mingling with the lingering steam from her bath.

“Perhaps.” I offered her the glass, watching as she hesitated before accepting it. “You might need this tonight.”

“Thanks.” Aria took the glass and brought it to her lips. “Tonight’s been...” She trailed off.

“Rough,” I finished for her.

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