The drive to my apartment was a blur of rain-slicked pavement and the frantic beating of my own heart. Fenrir—the man the world knew as the untouchable CEO of Falcon Enterprises—was slumped in the passenger seat of my rusted sedan. His expensive charcoal suit was shredded, and the metallic
scent of his blood filled the small cabin, making my head swim with a strange,
primal dizziness.
"You need a hospital," I whispered, my knuckles white as I gripped the steering wheel. "Mr. Falcon, you're losing too much blood."
"No," he wheezed, his eyes squeezed shut. Even in his weakened state, his voice carried
a weight that demanded obedience. "No hospitals. They ask... too many questions. Just your place, Aria. Please."
He used my name. It wasn't the sharp command of a boss or the polite inquiry of a stranger. It sounded like a prayer. Against every grain of common sense I possessed, I
pulled into the cracked parking lot of my apartment complex.
Getting him up three flights of stairs was a slow, agonizing dance. He was heavy—all lean, dense muscle—and every time he stumbled, a jolt of sympathetic pain shot through my own chest. By the time I maneuvered him through my front door and onto the small, mismatched floral sofa, I was shaking.
"Aria? Is that you? Why do you smell like a—oh my god!"
My roommate, Lily, came skidding out of the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in her hand. Her eyes went wide as she took in the sight of the bleeding billionaire on our furniture.
"Is that... is that the guy from the news? The Falcon guy? Why is he bleeding on our rug?!"
"Long story, Lily! Get the first-aid kit and some warm water. Now!"
I knelt on the floor beside him, my fingers trembling as I reached for the buttons of his shirt. I had to see the damage. As the fabric pulled away, my breath hitched. These
weren't human injuries. Four jagged, deep gouges ran across his chest—scars that looked like they had been made by a beast's claws.
"Finn..." I whispered, the nickname slipping out naturally.
His hand suddenly shot out, catching my wrist. His grip was weak, but his skin was burning with a feverish heat. "Don't... don't be afraid," he murmured, his amber eyes fluttering open for a fleeting second. "I won't let them... hurt you again."
Again? The word echoed in my mind, but I didn't have time to process it. I began to dab at the wounds with a warm cloth.
As I worked, something impossible happened. Every time my skin brushed against his, a faint, pearlescent shimmer danced over my fingertips. It was the same white light from the library, but softer, like liquid moonlight. Wherever my fingers touched his torn flesh, the bleeding didn't just stop—it vanished. The jagged edges of the wounds began to knit together before my very eyes.
I gasped, pulling my hand back as if I'd been burned. I looked at Lily, but she was in the kitchen, frantically whispering into her phone to her boyfriend. She hadn't seen the glow.
I looked back at Fenrir's face. Even in his pained sleep, he looked like a man carrying the weight of a dying empire. I felt an inexplicable, magnetic urge to lean down
and press my forehead against his. A word bubbled up from the basement of my memory, dark and heavy.
Liability.
The memory hit me like a physical blow—a white dress, the scent of lilies, and a voice like golden thunder calling me a burden. My vision blurred. For a second, the small
apartment vanished, replaced by a grand altar and the crushing feeling of a heart breaking in two.
I shook my head, forcing the vision away. I'm just a librarian, I told myself. I don't have
kings. I don't have wolves.
But as I watched the steady rise and fall of Fenrir's chest, I knew my quiet life was over. I was a target. And the man bleeding on my couch was the only one who knew the truth
about the monster I was becoming.
Fenrir
The pain was a dull roar in the back of my mind, but the scent of her was louder.
Even unconscious, my soul was reaching for her. Being human meant the silver-grade wounds from the Iron-Thorn scout didn't heal instantly. They burned with a slow, agonizing poison. But then, I felt it—a cool, ethereal touch.
Aria was touching me.
Through the haze of fever, I felt the White Queen's power. It was raw, unrefined, and beautiful. She was healing me without even knowing she was doing it. My wolf, locked deep within the cage Silas had built, let out a phantom howl of recognition.
Mate. Ours. Protect.
I forced my eyes open, catching a glimpse of her face in the dim lamplight. She looked
terrified, her brown eyes searching mine for answers I wasn't ready to give. I wanted to reach up and wipe the stray lock of hair from her forehead. I wanted to tell her that I would spend every drop of my now-mortal blood to earn back the right to stand beside her.
"Aria," I rasped, my voice sounding like broken glass.
"Don't talk," she scolded softly, though her hands were gentle as she taped a bandage over the now-closed wounds. "You lost a lot of blood. You should be dead, Finn. I don't know how those cuts closed so fast."
As I taped the last of the bandages, my skin brushed against the base of his neck. A sudden, sharp image flickered in my mind—not a memory, but a feeling. I felt the phantom weight of a heavy silver necklace
against my collarbone and the taste of winter air on my tongue. The room seemed to pulse with a low, vibrating hum that only the two of us could hear. For a heartbeat, the small apartment felt too small, as if the power radiating between us was stretching the very walls. My wolf—if I even had one—wasn't just waking up; she was screaming in recognition of the man lying on my cheap floral sofa."
"You did it," I whispered.
She froze, her gaze snapping to mine. "What?"
"You saved me," I corrected quickly, catching myself. I couldn't tell her about the
light yet. Not while she still saw me as a "Big Personality" CEO. "You... you have steady hands. Like a surgeon."
She let out a nervous laugh, sitting back on her heels. "I'm a librarian, Mr. Falcon. I'm used to repairing torn pages, not torn people."
"Call me Finn," I said, the name feeling strange but right. "At least while we are in this room."
She nodded slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Okay. Finn. You should sleep. Lily and I will keep an eye on the door."
I watched her walk toward the kitchen, her movements graceful even in her exhaustion. I knew the Iron-Thorns wouldn't stop. They had smelled her. They knew the Dual Soul was waking.
I looked at my hands—human hands, weak and mortal. Tomorrow, I would have to call Silas. I would have to bring the full weight of Falcon Enterprises' "Security" to this apartment complex. I would turn this building into a fortress.
But as I closed my eyes, drifting into a heavy, healing sleep, I realized the greatest danger wasn't the wolves outside the door.
It was the fact that I was falling in love with her all over again—not as a King claiming his Queen, but as a man who finally understood what he had lost.