# **Chapter 2: Death's Door**
---
Pain.
That was all Aria knew anymore. Pain from the broken mate bond, pain from her battered body, pain from the cold seeping into her bones.
She was dying. She knew that much, even through the fog of fever and delirium. You didn't survive a mate bond rejection and exposure in the wilderness. Not when you were as weak as she was.
"Pathetic," a voice whispered in her mind—not Lyra, but her own thoughts, cruel and mocking. "Can't even die properly. Just like you couldn't be a proper mate."
Aria tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. Everything hurt too much. It was easier to just... let go. To sink into the darkness that kept pulling at her, promising relief from the agony.
But something wouldn't let her slip away completely. Some stubborn part of her that refused to give Damien the satisfaction of her death. That refused to prove everyone right about how weak she was.
*I'm not weak,* she thought deliriously. *I'm not.*
Lyra whimpered somewhere deep in her consciousness, but her wolf sounded distant. Fading. The bond rejection had hurt Lyra just as much as it had hurt Aria.
"I'm sorry," Aria whispered to her wolf, though she wasn't sure if she said it out loud or just thought it. "I'm so sorry."
Images flickered through her mind, fever-bright and disjointed. Memories she hadn't thought about in years.
---
*She was five years old, holding her mother's hand as they walked through the Shadowmoon Pack grounds. Her mother was beautiful—Aria remembered that clearly—with long brown hair and kind eyes.*
*"Stay close to me, little one," her mother said, squeezing her hand gently.*
*"Why, Mama?"*
*"Because the world can be dangerous for special little girls like you."*
*Aria didn't understand what that meant. She wasn't special. She was just... Aria.*
*That was the last good memory she had of her mother. Two days later, her parents were dead. Rogue attack, they said. Tragic. Such a shame about the little girl they left behind.*
---
The memory dissolved, replaced by another.
---
*She was seven, sitting alone at lunch while the other pack children laughed and played together. No one wanted to sit with the orphan. No one wanted to be friends with the weak girl who couldn't even shift properly yet.*
*Then Damien had appeared—ten years old and already showing signs of the Alpha he'd become. He'd sat down across from her, his storm-gray eyes curious.*
*"Why are you sitting alone?" he'd asked.*
*"Because no one wants to sit with me," Aria had answered honestly.*
*"That's stupid." He'd stolen a piece of fruit from her tray. "I'll sit with you."*
*And for a while—a brief, shining while—Aria had thought she'd found a friend. Maybe even more than a friend, someday.*
---
That memory hurt worse than the others. Because it made what happened later so much more painful.
---
*She was thirteen when things started to change. Damien was sixteen, nearly done with his Alpha training. He'd grown distant over the years, but Aria had told herself it was just because he was busy. He had important things to do. He couldn't waste time with a weak omega like her.*
*But then she'd overheard him talking to his friends one day.*
*"Your dad wants you to marry that Aria girl, right?" one of them had asked, laughing. "The orphan?"*
*"Absolutely not," Damien had said, and his voice had been cold. Disgusted. "My father can suggest whatever he wants. I'll never tie myself to someone that pathetic. She can barely shift without passing out. What kind of Luna would she make?"*
*They'd all laughed. And Aria had run away, tears streaming down her face, telling herself it didn't matter. That she didn't care what Damien thought.*
*She'd cared. She'd cared so much.*
---
More memories flashed by. Each one a small cut, a tiny wound that had never quite healed.
The pack members who'd ignored her. The ones who'd been outright cruel. The years of being told she wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't worthy of being part of the pack except out of obligation to her dead parents.
And through it all, the faint pull of the mate bond she'd felt toward Damien since she turned sixteen. The bond that had given her hope, made her think that maybe—just maybe—the Moon Goddess had a plan. That Damien would see her differently once he realized they were mates.
What a joke that had been.
"You're too weak."
His words echoed in her head, over and over, a cruel mantra.
"Too weak. Too weak. Too weak."
"No," Aria tried to say, but her lips wouldn't move. "Not weak. Not..."
But what was the point of arguing? She was dying alone in the woods. If that wasn't the definition of weak, what was?
The darkness pulled harder, and this time Aria didn't fight it. What was there to fight for?
*Let go,* the darkness whispered. *Let go and the pain stops.*
She was so tired of pain.
Aria let herself sink deeper into the void, feeling her consciousness start to fragment. This was it, then. This was how her pathetic life ended. Rejected and alone, exactly like she'd always been.
At least it would be over soon.
But just as she was about to slip away completely, she heard something. Voices. Real voices, not memories or fever dreams.
"—blood. Fresh."
"Injured?"
"Or dead. Come on."
Footsteps. Getting closer. Aria tried to open her eyes, tried to call out, but her body wouldn't obey. She was trapped inside herself, aware but unable to move, unable to speak.
"There!" One of the voices was closer now. "Is that—"
"A girl. Damn it, she's barely breathing."
Hands touched her—gentle but urgent. Checking her pulse, her breathing.
"She's hypothermic. And gods, the pain coming off her..." The voice was male, deep, concerned. "This is rejection. Fresh mate bond rejection."
"That's brutal." A different voice, also male but rougher. "Who would—"
"Doesn't matter right now. We need to get her warm or she's not going to make it."
"Are you insane? We don't know who she is or where she came from. Could be a trap."
"Does she look like a trap to you? She's dying, Marcus."
There was a pause, then a heavy sigh. "Your bleeding heart is going to get us killed one day, you know that?"
"Probably. Grab her legs."
Aria felt herself being lifted. The movement sent fresh waves of agony through her body, and she would have screamed if she could have. As it was, only a small whimper escaped her throat.
"Easy," the first voice said. "We've got you. You're safe now."
Safe. That word again. Why did people keep saying that?
"Where are we taking her?" the rough voice—Marcus—asked.
"Moira's. If anyone can save her, it's the Elder."
"Moira's going to kill us for bringing a stranger to her doorstep."
"She'll understand. Come on, we need to move fast."
Aria drifted in and out as they carried her. Sometimes she was aware of movement, of voices speaking in low tones. Other times, she slipped back into memories.
---
*She was sixteen, the day she'd first felt the mate bond snap into place. She'd been helping in the pack kitchens when suddenly, the world had tilted. Every sense had sharpened, all of them pointing in one direction.*
*Damien.*
*He'd walked by the kitchen windows, and even though he couldn't have known what had just happened, something in her had sung out: Mine.*
*She'd been so happy. So stupidly, naively happy. The Moon Goddess had chosen them to be mates. Surely that meant he'd see her differently now. Surely that meant everything would change.*
*She'd waited for him to feel it too. Waited for him to seek her out, to acknowledge the bond.*
*He never had.*
*For two years, she'd waited. Two years of watching him from afar, feeling the pull of the bond and knowing he either didn't feel it or didn't care. Two years of hope slowly dying.*
*Until tonight, when he'd killed it completely.*
---
"—nearly there. Hold on."
Aria became aware that she was indoors now. Warmer. The scent of herbs and woodsmoke filled her nose.
"Moira!" the first voice called out. "We need help!"
Footsteps, quick and purposeful despite sounding elderly. Then a new voice, female and sharp with authority.
"What have you brought to my door, Kael Ashford?"
"A girl. Found her in the woods. Mate bond rejection, hypothermia, maybe internal injuries. She's fading fast."
There was a pause, then Aria felt different hands on her—older hands, but somehow steadier. More sure.
"Get her to the bed. Quickly now." The woman—Moira—sounded brisk and efficient. "Kael, I need hot water. Marcus, blankets from the chest. Move!"
Aria felt herself being laid down on something soft. A bed. Blankets were piled on top of her, their weight somehow comforting despite the continued pain.
"Her pulse is thready," Moira muttered. "And the bond damage... merciful Moon, who did this to her?"
"We don't know," Kael said. "We were passing through neutral territory when we scented blood. Found her maybe half a mile from the border of..."
He trailed off, and Aria heard him move closer, sniffing.
"Shadowmoon Pack," he finished, his voice gone cold. "She's from Shadowmoon."
"Damien Blackwood's pack," Marcus said, and there was disgust in his voice. "Should've known."
"Now isn't the time for politics," Moira snapped. "This girl is dying. Everything else can wait."
Aria felt something warm and bitter being pressed to her lips. She tried to turn away, but Moira was insistent.
"Drink," the old woman commanded. "Just a sip. It'll help with the pain."
The liquid burned going down, but true to her word, the crushing agony in Aria's chest eased slightly. Enough that she could finally drag in a full breath.
"That's it," Moira encouraged. "Breathe, child. Stay with us."
Aria's eyes fluttered open—just barely—and she caught a glimpse of the woman leaning over her. Silver-white hair, cloudy blue eyes, a face lined with age but strong with determination.
"There you are," Moira said softly. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Can you hear me?"
Aria tried to respond, but only managed a weak sound.
"Don't try to talk yet. Just listen. You're safe here. We're going to take care of you." Moira's hand was cool against Aria's burning forehead. "But you need to fight, understand? You need to want to live. I can heal your body, but you have to do the rest."
Want to live? Aria wasn't sure she did. What was there to live for?
As if reading her thoughts, Moira's expression hardened. "Whatever happened to you, whoever hurt you—don't let them win. Don't give them the satisfaction of breaking you completely. You fight, girl. You fight, and you survive, and you show them all how wrong they were about you."
Something in those words sparked against the numbness that had settled over Aria. A tiny flame of defiance.
Damien wanted her gone? Wanted her to disappear so he could pretend she'd never existed?
Fine. She'd disappear.
But not through death. Through becoming someone he'd never expect. Someone he'd never see coming.
"That's it," Moira said, apparently seeing something in Aria's eyes. "There's some fight in you yet. Hold onto that."
Aria's eyes started to drift closed again, exhaustion pulling at her.
"Let her rest," she heard Moira say to the others. "The next few hours are critical. If she makes it through the night, she has a chance."
"And if she doesn't?" Marcus asked quietly.
"Then we bury her come morning. But somehow..." Moira paused. "Somehow I don't think this one is ready to die just yet. There's something about her. Something different."
Aria wanted to ask what she meant, but the darkness was calling again. This time, though, it wasn't the cold void of death. It was just sleep. Natural, healing sleep.
She let herself sink into it, Moira's words following her down.
*Don't let them win.*
---
Time passed strangely. Aria drifted in and out of consciousness, never quite awake but never fully asleep either. Sometimes she was aware of Moira moving around the room, changing cold compresses on her forehead, forcing bitter medicine between her lips. Other times, she heard the two men—Kael and Marcus—speaking in low tones near the door.
"She's been like this for two days," Marcus said at one point. "How much longer?"
"As long as it takes," Moira replied. "Her body is healing. Slowly, but it's healing. The mate bond rejection did internal damage that goes beyond the physical. She needs time."
"What if whoever rejected her comes looking?"
"Let them try." There was steel in Moira's voice. "They'll find out quickly that I don't take kindly to people who abuse those under my protection."
Aria wanted to tell them not to bother. That Damien wouldn't come looking. He'd probably already forgotten she existed.
But she couldn't form the words, so she just drifted back into the gray space between waking and sleeping.
---
*More memories came, unbidden.*
*Her eighth birthday, when she'd expected at least a small celebration. The pack had forgotten entirely. She'd spent the day alone in her small room in the pack house, telling herself it didn't matter.*
*Her first shift at thirteen, which should have been a moment of pride. Instead, she'd been so weak that she'd collapsed immediately after, and the pack healer had tsked and said, "Poor thing. Some wolves just aren't meant to be strong."*
*Every casual cruelty, every dismissive comment, every time someone had looked at her like she was less than nothing.*
*And through it all, the faint hope that maybe Damien would see her. Really see her. That the mate bond would change things.*
*What a fool she'd been.*
---
On the third day—though Aria had no way of knowing it had been that long—she finally surfaced from the fever dreams to full consciousness.
She opened her eyes slowly, expecting pain. There was some, a dull ache in her chest where the bond had been severed, but it was manageable. Bearable.
She was alive.
For better or worse, she'd survived.
The room was dim, lit only by a low fire in the fireplace. Moira was sitting in a chair nearby, her eyes closed, but she opened them the moment Aria stirred.
"There you are," the old woman said, and there was satisfaction in her voice. "I had a feeling you'd pull through."
Aria's throat was dry. When she tried to speak, nothing came out but a croak.
Moira was there immediately with water, helping her sit up enough to drink. This time, Aria managed more than just sips.
"Where..." she managed to rasp out. "Where am I?"
"My home. Deep in the mountains, far from any pack territory." Moira settled back in her chair. "You've been unconscious for three days. Your body was shutting down from the rejection and exposure. But you're a fighter, I'll give you that."
Three days. Aria absorbed that information slowly. Three days she'd been lying here while Shadowmoon Pack moved on with their lives. Three days that Damien had been celebrating with Seraphina, probably not sparing Aria a single thought.
"The men who found me," Aria said, her voice getting stronger. "Where are they?"
"Kael went back to his pack—he's an Alpha, has responsibilities. But he'll be back to check on you. Marcus is outside chopping wood." Moira studied her with those unsettling cloudy eyes. "You're lucky they found you when they did. Another hour and there would have been nothing to save."
Lucky. There was that word again.
"What happens now?" Aria asked.
"Now you rest and recover. Build your strength back up." Moira poured herself a cup of tea from a pot near the fire. "And when you're ready, we'll talk about your future."
"I don't have a future."
"Everyone has a future, child. Though yours might be more interesting than you think."
There was something in the way Moira said that. Something knowing.
Before Aria could ask what she meant, a strange sensation washed over her. Like electricity dancing across her skin. The room suddenly seemed brighter, the colors more vivid.
And her eyes—Aria could feel something happening to her eyes.
"What..." she started.
Moira was staring at her now, her expression shifting from calm to shocked.
"Well," the old woman breathed. "That's unexpected."
"What is? What's happening?"
Moira stood, moving to a small shelf and grabbing a mirror. She held it up so Aria could see her reflection.
Aria's breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes—her normal, boring brown eyes—were glowing. Actually glowing with an eerie violet light that seemed to come from within.
"What the hell?" Aria touched her face, as if that would somehow explain what she was seeing. "Why are my eyes—"
"Violet," Moira interrupted, and there was something like awe in her voice now. "The sign of the True Alpha bloodline." She set down the mirror, her hands trembling slightly. "Child, what were your parents' names?"
"I... Catherine and Thomas Winters. Why? What does that have to do with—"
"Everything," Moira said quietly. She was looking at Aria like she was seeing her for the first time. "Catherine Winters. I knew that name sounded familiar. She was one of them. One of the last."
"One of the last what?"
Moira's expression was grave as she met Aria's glowing violet eyes.
"One of the last True Alphas. Which means, Aria Winters, so are you."
The words didn't make sense. Couldn't make sense.
But as Aria stared at her reflection—at those impossible glowing eyes—she had the sudden, terrifying feeling that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine.
And in the back of her mind, Lyra stirred.
For the first time since the rejection, her wolf spoke clearly.
"Finally," Lyra whispered, and her voice resonated with power Aria had never heard before. "Finally, we're waking up."