Chapter 346 Third Person’s POV
The Eastern Pack manor had grown quieter since the night Lucien had carried Aria-Riley-back from the West. The air within its stone walls was thick with healing herbs, whispered prayers, and the restless pacing of a mate who refused to leave her side.
Day after day, Lucien remained near her bed. When she drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, he read softly from old tomes, or told her stories of battles fought and nights when the moon shone silver on their land. His voice was roughened by sorrow, but beneath it, a pulse of love ran steady as a heartbeat.
Professor Maeryn came often, her hands tracing ancient sigils in the air, her spells weaving calm into Aria’s dreams. She used roots and crystals, water drawn beneath a waxing moon, and words only the oldest wolves remembered. When shadows of torment rose to twist Aria’s sleep, Maeryn’s magic smoothed them, easing her mind back into light.
But Lucien was not the only one who kept vigil.
Matriarch Duskgrave brought her strength, sitting like a sentinel in the corner, whispering blessings from the Goddess as she watched over the sleeping woman. Mrs. Beck often came with warm broths and gentle humming, her presence motherly, grounding. Mia arrived with flowers from the garden, always arranging them so that the room smelled faintly of spring. And Carmen-wild, fierce Carmen-would slip in quietly, her eyes burning bright, whispering to the unconscious Aria as if she could hear: Don’t leave me again, sister. You promised to show me how to be strong.
Together, they formed a circle of devotion around the woman who had once been Riley, who was now Aria, who was both and neither.
And slowly, the miracle began.
Her breathing steadied. Her restless tossing eased. She began to respond to Lucien’s voice, a twitch of fingers, a faint furrow of brow. Until, one morning, when dawn painted the window with gold, her eyes opened.
Lucien was there, as always. He froze, hardly daring to breathe as he met the clear, uncertain gaze of his
mate.
“Aria,” he whispered. “Or… Riley.”
Her lips parted, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Lucien.”
The sound of his name on her tongue nearly broke him. His wolf howled inside, claws digging into his heart. He reached for her hand, and this time she held on.
Memories came in fragments at first, scattered like shards of glass. She remembered his hand on hers, guiding her through a forest long ago. His voice raised in argument, but always protective. The warmth of his embrace under moonlight, the way he had whispered promises no war could take from them.
She did not remember everything-her life as Riley, the years stolen from her-but she remembered him. And she remembered enough to understand.
“I was meant for peace,” she murmured one night, when the others had left them alone. Her eyes glowed
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faintly in the dim light, wolf aura stirring around her. “Not endless battles. Not chains of another Pack. The Goddess kept me alive for this.”
Lucien pressed his forehead to hers, trembling. “Then we will fight for peace together. No matter who stands in the way.”
News of her awakening spread quickly through the manor, through the Eastern Pack, until it reached even the ears of their enemies.
In the West, Alpha Aedric Stormbane stood on his balcony, staring out at the mountains. When the messenger finished speaking, silence held the air heavy between them.
“She remembers?” Aedric asked at last, his voice rough.
“Not all, Alpha,” the messenger replied. “But enough. Enough to stand with Lucien again. Enough to remember her purpose.”
Aedric’s jaw clenched. He dismissed the wolf with a wave of his hand and stood alone beneath the open sky. His wolf shifted inside him, restless, aching. He had wanted her loyalty. Had wanted her strength. Had believed he could bind her fate to his Pack’s future.
But in truth, he had wanted her.
And now she was awake, with another. Awake, and her heart was not his.
For a long time, Aedric’s fury churned like a storm. He imagined armies clashing, territories bleeding. He could already hear his council’s voices urging him to strike before the East grew stronger.
But then he remembered her eyes-clear, full of something he had never been able to give her. Not chains. Not a throne built on conquest. But peace.
Aedric exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the night air.
“War will not bring her back,” he whispered to the mountains. “War will only destroy what little of her I once held.”
When dawn came, he rode to the Eastern border with only a handful of trusted wolves at his back. There, he met the sentries of the East, their hackles rising, their growls warning. But Aedric did not come with weapons drawn.
“Tell your Alpha,” he said, his voice carrying across the wind, “that Aedric Stormbane seeks no more blood Tell him I will stand at the table of peace.”
The message was carried swiftly back to Lucien.
When Lucien heard it, standing at Aria’s side, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. But when Aria placed her hand over his, her wolf aura brushing against his with a warmth he had thought lost, his doubts softened.
“Let him come,” she said softly. “If the Goddess gave us this second chance, it is not only for us. It is for all
our Packs.”
Lucien kissed her knuckles, fierce and reverent. His wolf surged with hope for the first time in years.
Perhaps, at last, the blood-soaked path of the past could give way to a future where their children would
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not inherit only war.
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