The woods looked different in daylight. Less menacing, maybe, but still haunting — like they were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Dew clung to the grass, and every time I exhaled, it came out shaky. I hated that. I hated that Lucian was getting under my skin so easily.
Last night's encounter replayed in my head like a broken record — his eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight, the way his breath hitched when I said his name, the way the air seemed to crackle between us. It shouldn't have felt like that. It shouldn't have made my pulse race.
"Stop thinking about him," I muttered under my breath, brushing my hands over my jacket.
But that was the thing — the more I tried not to, the harder it became.
The sound of leaves crunching snapped me back to reality. I froze. The woods were supposed to be empty. I'd only come out here to clear my head, not to stumble into another episode of What The Hell Is My Life.
"Aria."
My breath caught.
That voice.
I turned around, and there he was — Lucian. The dark prince of mystery himself, standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, hair slightly disheveled like he hadn't slept. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… those eyes always gave him away.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, a little sharper than I intended.
He tilted his head, studying me. "You have a terrible habit of wandering off into dangerous places."
"Dangerous?" I scoffed. "It's daylight, Lucian. The scariest thing I've seen so far is a squirrel."
He didn't smile. He just stepped closer. Slowly. Purposefully.
And suddenly, it didn't feel like daylight anymore.
"I told you before," he said, voice low. "You don't know what's out here."
"I can handle myself."
"Not against what hunts these woods."
Something about the way he said what sent a chill down my spine.
I wanted to ask him what he meant — but his gaze held mine captive. It was like he was silently daring me to look away. I didn't.
"Why do you keep showing up?" I asked finally, frustrated by how breathless I sounded. "Every time I turn around, you're there. Following me. Warning me. Staring at me like—"
"Like what?" he asked, stepping close enough that I could feel his warmth.
"Like you're afraid I'll disappear," I whispered.
Lucian's jaw tightened. His eyes flickered — something raw and dangerous beneath the surface. For a split second, I thought he'd actually say it — the truth. But instead, he looked away.
"You shouldn't be out here," he muttered. "Not today."
"Why? What's so special about today?"
He hesitated. "There's… a hunt tonight."
"A hunt?"
"Wolves," he said quietly. "And not the kind you've read about."
The words hit me like a slap. I laughed nervously. "You're joking."
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Lucian, wolves don't—"
"Aria." His voice softened, but the edge was still there. "You need to go home. Promise me."
I shook my head, heart pounding. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's really going on."
He took another step toward me, and this time, I didn't back away. I couldn't. Something about him — the intensity, the way his presence filled the air — made it impossible.
"Aria, you don't understand. The closer you get to me, the more danger you're in."
"Then maybe you should stop pulling me closer."
That made him pause. His eyes met mine again, and for the first time, I saw it — the conflict. The hunger. The ache.
His hand brushed against my arm — light, hesitant — and I swear, the world stopped spinning for a second. His touch was fire and comfort all at once. My heart stuttered.
"Lucian…" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His hand moved up, fingers curling around my wrist. His eyes flickered to my lips — just once — before he pulled back like he'd burned himself.
"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Not now."
"Why not?" I demanded.
"Because once I start…" He swallowed hard. "I won't stop."
I didn't move. Neither did he. For a long, breathless moment, the only sound was the wind through the trees and my heart threatening to break my ribs.
Then, somewhere deeper in the woods, a low, bone-chilling howl shattered the moment.
Lucian's entire body tensed. His head snapped toward the sound.
"They've started early," he muttered.
"Who—?"
"Go, Aria. Now!"
Before I could argue, he grabbed my hand — his grip strong, urgent — and started pulling me back toward the trail.
"Lucian, what's happening?!"
He didn't answer. His eyes glowed faintly again, that same gold fire that haunted my dreams.
And in that instant, I realized two terrifying things:
One — the stories weren't just stories.
And two — Lucian wasn't running from the wolves.
He was one of them.
---
End of Chapter 8.
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