Aria's POV
The scent freezes me in place.
Pine trees. Rain. Wild power.
Him.
After ten years, the silver-eyed man is here. Close enough that I can smell him.
Footsteps echo in the alley. Heavy. Confident. Coming closer.
I press myself against the dumpster, holding my breath.
The footsteps stop.
"I know you're there." His deep voice cuts through the darkness.
My blood turns to ice.
"Come out."
I step into the dim light, hands raised to show I'm not a threat.
A tall man stands at the alley entrance. Those silver eyes. That commanding presence. The same man who left me to die ten years ago.
But he's older now. Harder. More dangerous.
He studies me with no recognition in his face. I was just a pathetic eight-year-old rogue. Now I'm eighteen and look like every other desperate rogue.
"This is Stormfang territory," he says coldly. "Rogues aren't welcome."
"I'm leaving," I say quickly. "I didn't know—"
"Wait." His eyes narrow. "Have we met before?"
Yes. Ten years ago.
But I shake my head. "No, sir."
He takes a step closer. "You smell familiar."
My wolf stirs inside me for the first time in months. She's been dormant, weak from survival mode. But now she's awake.
Why does she care about this man?
"I have a common scent," I lie.
"Maybe." But he doesn't look convinced.
His phone rings. "Stormfang. Yes. I'm on my way." He ends the call. "You've got five minutes to get out of my territory."
He walks away, disappearing into the night.
I lean against the dumpster, legs shaking.
I need to leave this city. Tonight.
Age Nine
The older rogue's fist connects with my face. Blood fills my mouth.
"That's what you get for stealing my food," he snarls.
I didn't steal it. I found it in the trash behind a restaurant. But arguing will only get me beaten worse.
I curl into a ball and wait for it to end.
It always ends eventually.
Age Eleven
"Fetch water," the rogue woman orders, pointing at the river half a mile away.
It's my third trip today. The bucket is heavy and my arms ache, but I don't complain.
Rogues who complain don't last long.
I carry the water back to camp, my small body trembling with exhaustion. The woman doesn't thank me. She just points at the fire pit.
"Now cook dinner."
I cook. I clean. I do whatever they tell me.
Because I'm weak and they're strong.
That's how rogue life works.
Age Thirteen
The rogue camp leader corners me by the creek. He's drunk and mean, with scars covering his arms.
"You're getting pretty," he slurs, reaching for me.
I stab him in the leg with the knife I stole last week. He howls in pain.
I run before his friends can catch me.
That night, I sleep in a tree, cold and alone.
But alive.
Always alive.
Age Fifteen
I fight a male rogue twice my size for a piece of bread. My fists are bloody. My ribs are cracked. But I win.
The other rogues watch me differently after that. With respect. With fear.
Good.
Fear keeps you alive.
Age Seventeen
I'm faster now. Stronger. Meaner.
I know how to fight dirty. How to steal without getting caught. How to survive on scraps and hate.
The rogue life has turned me into something hard and sharp. Something that doesn't break easily.
I look at my reflection in a puddle and barely recognize myself. The little girl who loved butterflies and her sister is gone.
This version of me is a weapon.
And weapons don't cry.
Present Day - Age Eighteen
I shake off the memories and focus on now. On survival. On getting through one more day.
The city I'm in now is bigger than anywhere I've been before. More wolves. More territories. More danger.
I've been here three weeks, hiding in abandoned buildings and eating from dumpsters. It's not a good life, but I've had worse.
Yesterday, I turned eighteen.
The thought hits me like lightning. Eighteen. The age when wolves feel the mate bond.
I'd forgotten. With everything else—survival, hunger, fear—I forgot about the one thing most wolves wait their whole lives for.
The mate bond.
According to pack legend, when you turn eighteen, you can finally sense your mate. One touch, one look, one scent, and you know. The Moon Goddess connects two souls destined to be together.
It's supposed to be beautiful. Magical. Perfect.
But I'm a rogue. What kind of mate would want someone like me?
Still, I can't help the tiny spark of hope that flickers in my chest. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe I'll find someone who sees past the dirt and scars. Someone who might actually want me.
"Stop it," I mutter to myself. "Hope is dangerous."
Hope gets you killed in rogue life.
I settle down behind the dumpster for the night, using my backpack as a pillow. The concrete is cold and hard, but I've slept in worse places.
As I close my eyes, I think about the silver-eyed man from earlier. Something about him felt important. Familiar in a way that has nothing to do with memory.
My wolf stirred when she smelled him. Really stirred, like she'd been asleep for years and suddenly woke up.
Why?
The answer hits me so hard I sit up straight.
No.
No, no, no.
It can't be.
That scent. That pull. The way my wolf reacted.
"Please don't let it be him," I whisper to the Moon Goddess. "Anyone but him."
But deep down, I already know the truth.
The silver-eyed man who told me I'd die within a week is my mate.
The same man who looked at eight-year-old me with disgust and called me pathetic is the one the Moon Goddess chose for me.
The irony is so cruel I want to laugh. Or cry. Or both.
I survived ten years of hell just to find out my mate is someone who would never want me. Someone who probably doesn't even remember the scared little girl he abandoned.
Tomorrow, when our eyes meet again, the mate bond will snap into place. He'll feel it too.
And then what?
Will he accept me? Reject me? Laugh at the Moon Goddess's twisted sense of humor?
I curl up tighter, my arms wrapped around my knees. For the first time in years, I feel like that eight-year-old girl again. Small. Scared. Alone.
But I'm not that girl anymore. I survived. I'm stronger now.
If he rejects me, I'll survive that too.
I always do.
The next morning, I wake up to the smell of food. My stomach growls so loud it echoes in the alley.
I climb out from behind the dumpster and search for the source. Mario's Pizza is opening for the day. The dumpster behind it always has good finds.
I wait until the morning cook goes inside, then I make my move.
That's when I smell it again.
Pine trees. Rain. Wild power.
My wolf slams to life inside me, practically clawing to get out. She's never reacted like this before. Never been this desperate.
The scent is stronger now. Closer.
And it's pulling me like a rope around my heart.
I turn slowly, my whole body trembling.
A tall man steps into the alley. The morning sun lights him from behind, making him look almost unreal. He's powerful and dangerous and beautiful in a way that steals my breath.
Silver eyes lock onto mine.
My wolf whispers one word that changes everything:
"Mate."