Aria's POV
"Today, we start combat," Ivan said, tossing me a pair of padded gloves. "Nothing fancy—just stances and basic blocks. We'll build from there."
I nodded, pulling on the gloves. My hands were still sore from yesterday's play with the cubs, but the ache felt good. Productive.
Ivan demonstrated the first stance: feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hands raised in loose fists. "Keep your weight centered. Don't lean forward. Breathe."
I mirrored him, trying to match the confidence in his posture. He circled me slowly, adjusting my shoulders, nudging my feet wider.
"Better," he said. "Now, when I come at you, just block. Don't swing back yet."
He moved in a slow motion, a controlled jab toward my midsection. I raised my arms to block, but my timing was off. My block was weak, late.
Again.
Again.
On the fourth try, he feinted left and stepped in closer—too close. His shoulder brushed mine, and his arm came up in a mock strike toward my ribs.
The movement was fast. Too fast.
My mind flashed white.
I saw the rogue's claws slashing down. I heard my mother's scream. I felt the snow under my knees, the blood on my hands, the paralyzing terror that had locked Lira away for twelve years.
I froze.
Ivan stopped instantly. "Aria?"
I couldn't answer. My chest was tight, my breath shallow. The world tilted.
"Hey,"he said softly, dropping his hands. "Hey, look at me."
I blinked forcing my eyes to focus on his face. His expression was gentle, worried.
"You're safe," he said. "You're here. With me."
He stepped closer, slow and careful, and opened his arms.
I didn't think. I just stepped into them.
Ivan wrapped me in a warm, steady hug. His chin rested lightly on the top of my head. He didn't say anything—just held me until the shaking stopped.
And then I felt it.
A soft, rumbling growl inside my chest.
Just… there.
Lira.
She wasn't strong yet, but she was awake enough to answer. To say, I'm here. I'm trying.
I pulled back slowly, wiping my eyes with the back of my glove.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't be," Ivan said. "You don't have to apologize for remembering."
He guided me to the edge of the clearing, away from the center of the grounds. We sat on the grass, side by side, knees touching.
"Tell me," he said quietly. "If you want to."
I took a shaky breath.
"It was winter," I began. "I was six. The rogues came at night. My parents were warriors—they fought. I hid behind the rocks like my mother told me to. I watched… everything."
My voice cracked.
"I saw them die. I tried to shift. I tried so hard. Lira was there, I felt her, but she was too scared. We both were. I couldn't move. I couldn't help them. And then they were gone."
Ivan listened without interrupting. When I finished, he reached over and took my hand. His fingers were warm and steady.
"I lost my sister to rogues," he said after a moment. "She was fourteen. I was twelve. I tried to protect her. I couldn't. She died in my arms."
I looked at him, tears welling again.
"I wandered after that," he continued. "Alone. Angry. Until Elmore found me. He didn't fix it. Nothing fixes it. But he gave me a place to carry the grief instead of drowning in it."
He squeezed my hand.
"You're not alone in this, Aria. You never were."
I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I don't know how to let it go."
"You don't have to let it go," he said. "You just have to keep going. And you are. Every day."
The silence stretched. I could feel Ivan's steady breathing beside me, the warmth of his hand still wrapped around mine. Slowly, the tightness in my chest began to ease.
I needed to say something—anything—to pull us both out of the dark.
I cleared my throat softly.
"You should have seen Raine yesterday," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. "With the cubs. They all ran to him, climbed all over him. He hugged them back. One of them even asked if he was going to have cubs with me so they could have new playmates."
Ivan chuckled low in his throat. "And what did he say?"
"He laughed—actually laughed—and said he didn't know for now." I shook my head, still surprised by the memory. "Then they begged him to play the guitar, and he did. He sat right there in the grass and played for them. It was… beautiful."
Ivan's smile softened. "Yeah. That's the Raine I remember."
I turned to look at him. "He wasn't always like this?"
Ivan exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the distant treeline.
"No," he said quietly. "He wasn't."
I waited.
Ivan's voice dropped lower, almost as if he were speaking to the wind.
"A few years ago, Raine had someone. Her name was Seraphine. She wasn't his fated mate, but he loved her. Truly loved her. They were careful—never said the words out loud, never let it go too deep. But the curse… it doesn't care about caution."
He paused, his thumb brushing absently over the back of my hand.
"One night, under a blood moon, she told him she loved him. She said it first. She said it out loud. And the curse answered. Her heart stopped right there in his arms. She died smiling, thinking she'd finally made him happy."
My breath caught.
Ivan's jaw tightened. "He held her until she went cold. After that… he shut down. Swore he'd never let anyone close again. Never let anyone love him. Because he believes—really believes—that if he does, they'll die."
Hearing the story, my heart ached in a way I hadn't expected.
"He's not cold because he wants to be," Ivan continued. "He's cold because he's terrified. Every time someone gets too close, he pushes them away. Every time someone looks at him with anything like affection, he remembers her face. And he remembers what happened."
I swallowed hard. "That's… awful."
Ivan nodded. "It is. He's carried it alone for years. He thinks he's protecting everyone else, but really he's just punishing himself."
I looked out across the clearing, picturing Raine with the cubs—his rare laugh, the gentle way he'd let them climb all over him. The man who played a lullaby on an old guitar.
And suddenly, I felt sorry for him.
Not pity. Not even sympathy.
Just… sorrow. For the man who had once loved someone enough to let her close, and lost her in the worst possible way.
For the man who was still paying for it every single day.
I leaned my head against Ivan's shoulder again.
"I didn't know," I whispered.
Ivan rested his cheek lightly against my hair. "Most people don't. He makes sure of it."
We sat like that for a long while, the gray sky above us slowly giving way to faint streaks of light.
And for the first time, I didn't see Raine as a cold, distant Alpha.
I saw a man who had loved—and lost—and was still trying to keep the rest of the world from suffering the same fate.
Even if it meant suffering alone.