Chapter 6 A STORM IN HIS VEINS
The storm arrived without clouds.
Aria felt it before she heard it—an electric shift in the air, a tightness under her skin, the sudden pulse of something ancient and alert stirring in her wolf.
She stood in the balcony corridor, wrapped in a borrowed cloak, watching the early dusk settle over the castle grounds. Below, warriors trained in organized chaos—blades clashing, wolves lunging, shouts echoing under the fading light.
She scanned the courtyard for Roman.
He wasn’t with them.
He was never with them.
Not when he trained.
Kael had said that yesterday.
“He doesn’t train with others. Only alone. Or with power.”
She hadn’t understood.
Until she felt the shift.
Low, sharp, unnatural.
Not wolf.
Something colder.
Like thunder without sky.
Her feet were already moving. She didn’t remember choosing to run.
She turned a corner—then stopped.
There he was.
In the old stone sparring hall, light spilling in from cracked windows, dust swirling in faint motes.
Roman stood alone.
No weapons.
No armor.
Just him.
And whatever was raging beneath his skin.
His back was to her, breathing low—too low. Like he was forcing it. Like the air was not cooperating.
His hands trembled.
His veins—glowed.
Not silver.
Not moonfire.
But darker.
Like smoke and lightning had braided under his skin.
Aria froze.
It felt wrong.
Not like her power—wild, frightened, awakening.
His felt…
Contained.
Feral.
Like something ancient and chained was clawing its way toward the surface.
Mate, her wolf whispered.
Danger, her instincts warned.
Both were true.
“Roman?” she said softly.
He didn’t turn.
He flinched.
Just barely.
Then—
“Leave.” His voice was not like yesterday. It was too sharp. Too brittle. Too deep.
She took a step forward.
“I just—”
“Aria.” He turned.
Her breath caught.
His eyes weren’t storm-grey.
They were silver.
Not moonfire silver like hers.
A darker kind.
Metallic.
Fractured.
Frantic.
She knew then—
He was fighting something, too.
Something that did not belong to wolves.
“What’s happening?” she whispered.
His answer was a ragged breath. “Not now. Not—here.”
“You’re in pain.”
“I told you to leave.”
He took a step back.
She took another forward.
His jaw tightened.
“Aria—stop.”
She didn’t.
And that—
Was when the air split.
Not with fire.
Not with light.
With force.
Like silent thunder.
It rippled out from him—an invisible shockwave that rattled the lanterns, cracked old stone, and sent dust swirling off the floor in a perfect circle.
Aria staggered back, grabbing a stone pillar.
Roman stood in the center—
Breathing like a man who had just strangled an earthquake.
His veins pulsed dark-grey, fading in and out like lightning under flesh.
Aria stared.
“That wasn’t… wolf,” she whispered.
Silence.
He didn’t deny it.
He closed his fist slowly and looked at her—not with anger.
With resignation.
“Now you know,” he said.
Three words.
And everything changed.
She swallowed. “What are you?”
His jaw flexed, but his voice stayed controlled. Barely.
“The same thing you are,” he said. “A flaw in the prophecy.”
Her skin prickled. “But… I thought the prophecy only spoke of the Luna.”
“It speaks of balance,” Roman said. “The moon’s chosen and the moon’s destroyer.” He stepped closer, but his voice stayed low. “Sometimes they are one person.” His eyes held hers. “Sometimes… two.”
A shiver climbed her spine.
“Then which are you?” she asked.
His lips curved—tired, not amused.
“That,” he said, “depends on how long I can keep this buried.”
The torchlight flickered across his veins.
Aria didn’t step back.
Not this time.
“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.
He hesitated.
Then he nodded once.
The honesty made it worse.
She took a slow step closer.
He tensed. “Aria, don’t—”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said.
“You should be.”
“I’m not.”
His breath caught.
Something shifted.
Slowly—warily—he lifted his hand.
Not to touch.
Just to see.
She held his gaze.
Then—
She lifted hers.
And placed it in his.
Heat.
Lightning.
Moonfire.
Silence.
His eyes widened—silver flickering, storm-grey returning in flashes.
Because touching her…
Calmed it.
Not completely.
But enough.
His shoulders dropped, the fight less violent behind his eyes.
“You…” His voice shook for the first time. “…are louder than it.”
Aria didn’t know what to say.
So she said nothing.
They stood like that.
Hands almost touching.
He could feel her magic.
She could feel his storm.
They weren’t reflections.
They weren’t opposites.
They were… parallel.
Finally, his hands steadied.
And when he spoke again—
He sounded like the Alpha King.
“Aria.”
“Yes?”
“You cannot let your magic own you.”
Her breath softened. “And you?”
His gaze darkened.
“I cannot let mine escape.”
Something in her chest twisted.
“Then,” she whispered, “we learn.”
He didn’t thank her when they left the hall.
But he didn’t send her away, either.
Kael waited just outside, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. He looked at Roman—really looked—then at Aria.
He didn’t ask.
Roman didn’t explain.
But the look Kael gave her, just once, held… respect.
And something like warning.
As she walked away, Roman’s voice drifted after her—calm, composed.
“Training resumes tomorrow.”
She didn’t turn.
She didn’t need to.
Because what he didn’t say—
Was louder:
And what was waking in you, Luna… has already woken in me.
