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We climb into the car, and Zane locks the doors before starting the engine. As we pull away from the curb, I can’t help but glance back at my apartment building, a shudder running through me at the thought of what might have happened if I confronted the intruder alone.
Was it fucking Noah? The way the intruder moved, the sheer audacity of breaking into my apartment—it all screamed of his entitled arrogance. My stomach churns at the thought.
Zane reaches over, his hand finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got you now,” he assures me.
I don’t find it reassuring at all, because it could very well be Noah.
I need to call Cayenne and catch her up to speed, but a more pressing question bubbles out. “Where are we going?”
“To my pack house,” he answers. “The Clarke pack.”
My mouth pops open on a feral little, “Oh.” My mind reels, pieces clicking into place. Zane, part of the Clarke pack? The very group I’ve been trying to avoid? A cocktail of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a hint of betrayal—washes over me. “You’re…you’re one of them?” I manage to stammer, unsure whether to feel relieved or cornered.
19
ARIA
“Like as in Dash, Malachi, and Quinn?” I’m pretty sure my eyes are bugging out of my head for more reasons than I care to entertain right now.
First of all, I’m definitely in my preheat era, and Zane is driving me to a pack house full of alphas.
Oh, this is bad, like bad bad.
“Yeah,” Zane murmurs as he pulls away from my apartment. My apartment is dingy, but it’s mine. I made it mine, and it had my scent all over the place.
Oh no, my scent.
“Do you think you could, I don’t know, drop me off at a hotel?” I ask, my voice sharp with desperation. Panic bubbles in my gut, and I’m totally hyperventilating.
Breathing? What is that?
“Aria?” Zane’s voice is a distant sound, as though he’s yelling at me through water.
I flip the seatbelt to the side and shove my head between my thighs.
I can’t go to their house. I need to run.
Was that Noah?
Fuck, I feel the panic doing its best to sweep me under the waves. There isn’t anything I can do at this point except allow it to take me under.
I surrender, but not before I release a whine.
“Aria,” the devil sings. “Where are you, Aria?”
I’m hiding.
My heart pounds in my chest, and fear turns my scent sour, exploding out of me.
“I can smell your fear, Aria,” he whispers.
He wasn’t always like this. He was kind, gracious, and thoughtful. I couldn’t tell you when the switch flipped. I couldn’t pinpoint it. It was gradual. He’d make little slurs here and there.
Why are you wearing that, Aria?
I think we should stay in, Aria.
He says my name like a taunt, like he owns me, making me hate it more with every breath I take. Why couldn’t he have given me a pet name? Then I could hate that and still love my name.
