Page 85 of Moonlit Fate

“Love is not a weakness,” I said. “It is strength. Atticus is my strength.”

“Strength is maintaining order, ensuring survival.”

“Survival without love is mere existence,” I shot back, my conviction bolstering with each word. “I refuse to merely exist. I intend to live.”

Ragnar sighed, the sound echoing through the room like the final note of a somber melody. We were at an impasse, two alphas with visions irreconcilably divergent.

“Then live. But live knowing the consequences of your choices are yours to bear.” His gaze finally met mine again, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between us.

I left his study with shoulders squared and head held high, even as my heart threatened to crumble within my chest. The bracelet glinted in the fading light, mocking the divide between my father’s wishes and my own desires.

I opened the door to my room and stepped inside to find Seren hunched over the chessboard, her focus unwavering as she moved a knight across the checkered battlefield. Opposite her, the translucent figure of a young girl—her eyes hollow with death but alight with the thrill of the game—leaned forward eagerly.

“Check,” Seren murmured, almost apologetically.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for support. The sight before me should have been disconcerting—Seren playing chess with a ghost—but the familiarity of the room, the comfort of being in my personal space, wrapped around me.

“Embracing your gift?” I asked softly, not wanting to startle them. “You’re getting stronger. I can see her.” I gestured to the girl in the chair opposite.

Seren glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s easier here with her in the quiet of your room.” She nodded toward the ghostly girl, who shied away from my gaze.

“Stay as long as you need to,” I said, moving closer to run a finger along the chessboard. “This is a sanctuary for both of us.”

Seren’s smile faltered as she studied my face, reading the turmoil etched into my features. “What’s happened?”

I sighed, sinking onto my bed. “Ragnar doesn’t approve of Atticus. He can’t see past his own biases, or the idea that I should be with someone within the pack for the sake of tradition and unity.”

“Ah, the old ways.” Her gaze returned to the board, her fingers hesitating above her opponent’s pawn. She glanced up at the spirit, who nodded and spoke, though I couldn’t hear her. Seren moved the pawn for her to what I assumed had been the specified placement, then turned back to me. “I would’ve told you to follow those rules once, to play it safe. But life doesn’t care for our plans, does it? This gift I have, speaking to the dead, hearing their stories and regrets, it has taught me something, Aria. You get one shot at this world. One chance to make it count.”

Her words, simple yet profound, hit me hard. The dead girl’s spectral form shifted, flickering like a candle flame caught in a draft as if even she understood the gravity of Seren’s advice.

“Make it count by living in a way that matters,” Seren added, locking eyes with me. “In a way that makes you happy.”

Happiness—a concept so often overshadowed by duty and expectation. I pondered Seren’s counsel, my heart aching with the desire to forge a path with Atticus, my rogue, the very air I breathed. Yet, there was a strangeness in seeking wisdom from a friend whose opponent was no longer among the living.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”

Seren merely nodded, returning her attention to the game as the ghostly girl pointed out her next move, her hand passing through the pieces.

The door to my sanctuary burst open with such force that it shattered the fragile peace like glass beneath a boot. Larkin stormed in, his presence a dark cloud of fury. His eyes, usuallyso calculating and cold, now blazed with a livid fire that set my pulse racing. Not with desire, but with dread.

“Fuck!” he spat at me, the words venomous. “You’ve really thrown a wrench in my plans. We’re having to move to plan B because of your little escapade.”

I stood from the bed. My skin prickled under his gaze, but I refused to cower. “Get the fuck out of my room, and stay the fuck away from me, Larkin,” I growled, my voice steady despite the tempest raging inside me.

His sneer twisted his face, and the room seemed to writhe in response to his anger. “This is all on you,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “You should have kept your mouth shut. Aligning yourself with those damned rogues and Atticus? You’ve sealed your fate.”

“Leave,” I commanded. “Or you will regret it. And just so we’re clear, my father knows what a treacherous piece of shit you are.”

His laughter was a sound devoid of any humor, hollow and haunting. “Oh, I’m well-aware that Ragnar has turned against me and rescinded our agreement,” he replied, each word measured and deliberate. “But don’t think for a second that it changes anything. You’re still mine.”

Fury bubbled up within me. “I belong to no one,” I hissed. “Especially not to someone who can’t even fathom the meaning of loyalty or love.”

The moment stretched on, and then Larkin’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around Seren’s slender wrist. Her scream pierced the stillness, a call of terror that drilled into my very soul. With preternatural speed, fast even for a shifter, he pulled her against him, one arm wrapping around her as he effortlessly lifted her off the ground, muffling her cries with his other hand.

“Let her go!” I roared, my voice guttural with a fury that shook my core. The plush carpet absorbed the sound of my pounding feet as I ran at him.

Larkin’s laughter mocked me as he dragged Seren down the hallway of the manor. Her cries for help were muffled against his hand, her struggles futile against his unnatural strength.