Carlisle stood up. "You've heard the man, let's give him a moment alone with her."
The room got quieter and quieter.
Just before Carlisle left the house, he placed a hand on Derek's shoulder, "You have 10 minutes, do what's needed."
Derek nodded silently, his gaze never leaving Aria's pale face. The room emptied, leaving the two alone in a heavy quiet.
He leaned closer to her, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent—memorizing the way it was now, just in case it changed forever. A tear rolled down his cheek, staining the fabric of her shirt. He lifted his head to brush a kiss across her forehead.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words ragged. "I almost killed you." He traced the line of her cheek with trembling fingertips. "I promised to keep you safe… and I failed."
Derek knew what has to be done, the only thing that could change her is the bite of an Alpha, and he Derek Hale is an Alpha. But he's afraid to bite her, and fear if he do it might be too deep.
The seconds ticked by—each one louder than the last.
Derek stared at Aria's still face, her breath shallow, her skin cold. The truth clawed through him like thorns: if he didn't do this now… there would be no later. His hands trembled—not from weakness, but from fear. Not of the act. But of losing her in the process.
He's an Alpha. Born to power. Born to lead. Born with fangs that never needed sharpening—because they were meant for moments just like this: life or death, love or loss. But no one ever told him it would hurt this much to use them.
"Aria…" he choked out, pressing his lips to her ear, voice breaking. "You have to come back to me… please…"
A beat.
Then—With a sob caught between his teeth—he pulled back just enough…and looked down at the soft curve of her neck—the pulse beneath so faint it was barely there.
And then—He bared his fangs.
A low whine escaped him—half pain, half prayer—as he leaned in slowly… gently… placing a kiss where skin met vein before whispering: "I love you."
He bit.
Derek bite just deep enough to pierce the skin. Deep enough to drew blood, but not deep enough to scar her perfect body.
It feels like an eternity, before the front door opens and Carlisle joined his side.
Aria's complexion still bone pale, and her wound including the bite mark, isn't healing either.
Another tear slipped from Derek's gaze, as he falls back onto his behind. "I've killed her," the whisper rolled from his lips.
Carlisle crouched down, placing two fingers over her neck—checking her pulse. A few seconds passed, a tense silence filling the room…
"She's still alive," he said quietly, meeting Derek's gaze without an ounce of judgement. "Her vital signs are faint, but steady."
"She is? Then why is the transformation not taking place?"
Carlisle studied her for a long moment—then gently pushed back the sleeve of her shirt, examining the wound on her arm from where she'd cut herself earlier. The blood had dried, but something about it… unsettled him.
He turned to Derek, voice low and careful. "Because it's already begun."
Derek stared at him—eyes wide with confusion and hope tangled together. "What?"
"Look at her," Carlisle said softly.
And then—It happened. So faint at first they almost missed it. A flutter. Not in breath or heartbeat—But under the skin. The bite mark on Aria's neck… pulsed.
Just once.
Like a second pulse waking up beneath the surface. And then—a thin red thread of light traced along the wound, branching like roots through pale skin. A network of veins glowing briefly gold before fading again.
A werewolf transformation wasn't meant to look like this.
It wasn't supposed to be slow. It wasn't supposed to fight its way through human biology inch by agonizing inch…
But this was no ordinary turning. This was Anima Cantat rewriting destiny in blood and bone.
Carlisle stood up from the floor. "Help me? We need to get her off the floor." The older Cullen stated.
Derek nodded mutely, scooping her up in one fluid motion—careful not to hurt her as he lifted her limp body onto the nearby bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing a few strands of hair away from her cheek.
"Will it hurt? For her to change?" He asked Carlisle, voice barely above a whisper.
"You already know the answer to that question." Carlisle says with a sigh.
Derek let out a low shuddering breath, his gaze never moving from Aria's face—her eyelashes fanned out against her skin, lips pale but slightly parted. She looked so fragile in that moment, like shattered glass—fragile and sharp. He gently rested his forehead against hers, eyes falling shut—fighting back the tears that were threatening to break through.