(Next day, noon)
The lake shimmered like spilled silver beneath the noon sun, its edges dappled with shadow from the dense pines leaning in around it. Birds sang lazily from the canopy above, cicadas buzzing in the heat.
Rai exhaled, toes digging into the muddy edge of the shore before she dove in.
The water closed over her head, cool and velvet-soft, swallowing the noise of the world. For a moment, she floated beneath the surface, arms outstretched, curls fanning around her like seaweed. Here, in this hidden lake deep in the northern reach of their forest, she didn't have to be the caretaker, the dependable one, the soft warm lap for crying pups.
She could just be.
When she surfaced, her gasp was a sharp inhale of joy. Water clung to her skin, dripping down her throat, her back, her thighs.
Her black bikini clung to her like a second skin, but she didn't care. No one ever came here. It was too far from the village trails, too tangled with brush and thorns.
She floated on her back, letting the sun warm her belly, her eyes squinting shut.
But then.
Something shifted in the air.
Not a sound, not at first. Just a pulse. A presence.
Rai blinked and twisted in the water. Her wolf stirred in her chest, alert. Not threatened. Not afraid. Just… aware.
And then she saw him.
Standing at the edge of the trees, half-shadowed by ferns and dappled sunlight — Aryan.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Rai froze, water lapping gently against her collarbones.
She knew he could've turned away. Could've left the moment he saw her.
But he hadn't.
His eyes were dark and unreadable from where he stood, but his body was still, like a predator caught between instinct and restraint.
She felt her throat go dry despite the water.
"I thought no one came out this far," she called softly, voice echoing over the lake's surface.
A pause. Then, "I didn't mean to intrude."
His voice was rough velvet. Deeper than it needed to be. Almost apologetic. Almost.
She swam slowly toward the edge but didn't get out. "You're not intruding."
Another pause. He stepped a little closer, boots crunching softly over the underbrush.
"You come here often?" he asked, still not meeting her eyes. His gaze flicked to the water, then quickly away.
"Whenever I need to think," she said, brushing soaked curls from her face. "Or not think."
She watched him. The way his hands flexed at his sides. The subtle tension in his jaw.
"You really never noticed this place before?" she teased, voice light but laced with curiosity.
"I've known it was here," Aryan murmured. "But I stayed away."
She arched an eyebrow. "Why?"
He didn't answer at first. Then, slowly, he met her eyes.
"Because it feels like yours."
Rai's breath hitched. Her wolf went completely still.
The lake suddenly felt warmer.
She moved to the edge, emerging from the water with slow, deliberate steps. Droplets slid down her skin, catching the sunlight like diamonds. Her bikini clung to her curves. She didn't hide. Didn't flinch.
And he didn't look away.
She stepped onto the mossy patch where her towel lay and bent to grab it — feeling his gaze burn across the small of her back.
"I'll head back," he said roughly, voice low and strained. "Didn't mean to disturb your quiet."
Rai turned to face him, towel wrapped loosely in her hands but not yet raised. Her expression was unreadable.
"You didn't disturb anything."
Aryan's eyes lingered on hers — dark, unreadable — and then slowly, he nodded.
"Still… I should go."
She tilted her head, smile ghosting on her lips. "Unless you want to stay."
His silence was a howl louder than words.
Then, finally — "Another time."
And he turned, disappearing into the trees, his scent curling around her like smoke.
But even long after he was gone, Rai stood there in the dripping hush of the forest, towel forgotten, skin flushed.
The water might not speak.
But it knew.
So did her wolf.