CHAPTER THIRTEEN — STORM MANOR
Storm Manor loomed like a monument to everything I hated about this pack.
Massive iron gates creaked open as the car rolled forward, revealing a sprawling estate carved into the side of the mountain. Dark stone walls rose three stories high, their edges sharp and unforgiving. Tall windows reflected the fading light of dusk like unblinking eyes. The entire place radiated power, wealth, and control everything the Storm family had hoarded for seven generations.
Everything that had crushed me.
I stared out the window, jaw tight, as the gates closed behind us with a final, echoing clang.
No turning back.
Declan sat beside me in silence, his presence a heavy weight I could feel even without looking at him. The bond hummed faintly—alert, tense, aware. It didn't surge. It didn't pull.
It watched.
Like it was learning me.
I hated that almost as much as I hated him.
"You don't have to stay in the main wing," Declan said eventually, his voice calm but cautious. "There's a guest suite on the east side. Private entrance. No shared spaces if you don't want them."
I didn't respond.
The car slowed, then stopped beneath the covered entrance. A line of guards stood at attention, heads bowed as Declan stepped out first. Alpha heir. Future ruler. Their loyalty was instinctive, unquestioned.
I followed a second later, my boots crunching against the gravel.
The moment my feet touched the ground, the bond tightened—just slightly. Like it was acknowledging the territory. Like it was reminding me whose land this was.
Mine, it whispered faintly.
I shoved the thought away.
Inside, the manor smelled like polished wood and pine smoke. Everything gleamed—floors, banisters, chandeliers so pristine it felt untouched by real life. Wolves moved quietly through the halls, servants and guards alike, eyes carefully averted when they saw me.
Not out of respect.
Out of curiosity.
Out of judgment.
This was the girl who rejected the Alpha heir.
This was the girl who ran.
"This way," Declan said, turning down a long corridor lined with portraits.
I stopped short.
The walls were covered in Storm Alphas—men and women alike—each painted in rich oils, each face hard, proud, powerful. Seven generations of dominance stared down at me.
Every single one of them had ruled this pack.
Every single one of them had believed in the same brutal hierarchy that let kids like me get crushed.
"Your ancestors look thrilled," I muttered.
Declan didn't rise to the bait. "They valued strength."
"They valued control."
He glanced at me then, silver eyes unreadable. "In this pack, those things were the same."
That was the problem.
We reached a heavy oak door at the end of the east wing. Declan opened it and stepped aside.
The room beyond was spacious too spacious. A sitting area with a fireplace, tall windows overlooking the forest, a massive bed draped in dark linens. Everything was elegant. Cold.
Temporary.
"This is where you'll be staying," he said. "There's a private stairwell behind the far wall. It leads outside."
"So I can leave without running into you," I said flatly.
"Yes."
I crossed my arms. "Thoughtful."
He hesitated. "Aria"
"No," I cut in. "You don't get to start that sentence."
His jaw tightened. "I'm trying to respect your boundaries."
"You're housing me in your ancestral home."
"I didn't choose the law."
"But you benefit from it."
Silence stretched between us, thick and brittle.
"I'll have guards stationed outside the wing," he said finally. "Discreet ones."
"I don't want guards watching me sleep."
"They won't be inside."
I studied him, searching for manipulation. For dominance. For that cruel edge I remembered so well.
I didn't find it.
That unsettled me more than anything else.
"Fine," I said. "But they answer to me while I'm here."
His brows lifted slightly. "That's not how"
"I don't care," I snapped. "If I'm going to be treated like a liability, I get some control."
The bond pulsed faintly.
Approval.
Declan exhaled. "Agreed."
I looked away before I could think about what that meant.
He lingered near the door, clearly unsure whether to leave or stay. For a split second, I saw the boy he used to be—the one who never knew when to step forward or back, so he chose cruelty instead.
"I'll make sure dinner is sent up," he said. "You don't have to join the family table."
"I wouldn't," I said coolly.
Something flickered across his face hurt, maybe but he nodded.
"Goodnight, Aria."
The door closed softly behind him.
The silence was deafening.
I dropped my bag by the bed and sank onto the edge of the mattress, pressing my palms into my thighs to stop them from shaking. My wolf paced inside me, unsettled, restless, sniffing at the air like she expected danger to burst through the walls.
Storm Manor wasn't safe.
It was controlled.
There was a difference.
I stood and walked to the window, staring out at the forest stretching endlessly below. Somewhere out there, wraith wolves still prowled. Somewhere out there, someone powerful enough to manipulate dark magic was watching.
And I was trapped in the heart of it all.
A soft knock startled me.
I stiffened. "What?"
The door opened just enough for a familiar face to peek in.
Raven Cross.
My heart lurched.
"Still alive?" she asked quietly.
I stared at her in disbelief. "You're kidding."
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp and alert. She looked exactly the same as she had four years ago—lean, guarded, carrying secrets like weapons.
"I heard you were back," she said. "Didn't think it'd be this dramatic."
Emotion surged up my throat. "You're working here now?"
"Unfortunately." She glanced around the room. "They stick me wherever they think I'll be useful."
"Or controllable," I muttered.
Her lips twitched. "That too."
Raven leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "You shouldn't be here."
"No kidding."
"I mean it," she said seriously. "Something's wrong, Aria. Worse than anyone's saying."
"I know," I said softly. "Declan told us about the magic."
"That's not all of it."
My breath caught. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated, eyes flicking to the door. "Not here. Not yet."
"Raven—"
"Just listen," she cut in. "Storm Manor isn't just the Alpha residence. It's… layered. Old wards. Old tunnels. Old secrets."
My stomach tightened. "You're saying this place is dangerous."
"I'm saying it was built to keep things in," she replied quietly. "Not out."
A chill ran down my spine.
Before I could ask more, footsteps echoed outside the door.
Raven straightened instantly. "I have to go."
"Wait," I whispered. "Why are you telling me this?"
She paused, hand on the handle. "Because four years ago, when no one else would look at you, you looked at me."
Then she was gone.
I stood frozen, heart racing.
Layers. Wards. Secrets.
My wolf growled low in my chest.
I turned back to the window, staring out at the darkening forest, when the bond suddenly tightened—sharp, insistent.
Not pain.
Warning.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
"What is it?" I whispered.
The answer came not from inside me—
—but from the air itself.
A low hum vibrated through the walls, deep and ancient. The lights flickered once. Twice.
Then stopped.
And from somewhere deep beneath Storm Manor—
Something moved.