Chapter 145

Aria

I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, the events of the previous night slowly trickling into my memory. My left hand felt heavier than usual, and I lifted it to see the moonstone ring catching the morning light as I turned my fingers. The sight of it made my heart swell.

Darren had proposed last night. And I had said yes.

I rolled over to find him still asleep beside me. The sheets had slipped down to his waist, revealing the muscled planes of his bare chest. Heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered what had followed the proposal.

We had barely made it back to our bedroom before his lips had found mine, hungry and passionate. I recalled the feel of his hands on my skin, the way he had whispered my name in my ear as we moved together. The memory alone was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

I reached out to trace a finger along the curve of his bicep without even really meaning to. I just wanted to feel the warmth of his skin.

His eyes fluttered open at my touch, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Good morning, naked lady in my bed,” he murmured, his arm snaking around my waist to pull me closer.

“You say it like this is the first time we’ve shared a bed,” I teased.

“Every time feels like the first time, what with the way you make my heart flutter.”

He leaned in to kiss me, his hand sliding up my back, and I melted against him, losing myself in the sensation. He gently flipped us, pressing me between the mattress and his warm body. Just as things were heating up, though, a commotion outside shattered the moment—raised voices, angry shouts, and what sounded like a dog barking.

Darren broke away with a groan. “Trouble already, it seems.”

We dressed quickly. By the time we made it downstairs and out the front door of the pack house, the shouting had grown even louder.

In the center of the village square, a small crowd had gathered. At its heart stood a human woman I recognized from the refugee group clutching a small, yapping terrier to her chest. Facing her was a tall, broad-shouldered werewolf. He was cradling his hand, blood seeping between his fingers.

“That mangy little beast attacked me!” the werewolf was shouting. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“He was just protecting me!” the woman yelled back. “Your kind has been giving us dirty looks since we arrived!”

“My kind?” the werewolf growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Need I remind you whose territory you’re on, human?”

The terrier chose that moment to let out another series of high-pitched barks. Several other werewolves moved closer, while the humans in the crowd began to back away in fear.

Darren stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding attention. “That’s enough!” he called out.

The werewolves fell silent instantly. Even I stiffened. This was the first time I had been affected by his Alpha Voice myself—he had never had to use it since my wolf emerged. It was a strange feeling, like a rubber band snapping taut inside of me. But the feeling quickly dissipated.

“What happened here?” Darren asked, turning to the woman.

“I was just walking my dog,” the woman explained. “Then this... man... came up and started asking questions about him, wanting to pet him. My dog got scared and bit him. I think he was trying to eat my dog!”

I glanced down at the little dog, who was still growling softly with its teeth bared. When it saw me looking, it growled a little more—no doubt sensing mine and Darren’s Alpha and Luna scents—and I drew my cardigan a little tighter around myself.

“Eat him? Quite the opposite! Your little freak of nature bit me hard enough to draw blood,” the werewolf snarled, holding up his hand. Sure enough, there were four small puncture marks on his palm, the blood still fresh.

Darren opened his mouth, but the werewolf went on, “It’s one thing to have humans here. I can understand that. But why should their genetically-modified little beasts be allowed here if they’re just going to attack for no reason?”

“I had every right to bring my dog with me,” the woman insisted, clutching the dog tighter. “He’s my emotional support animal. I wasn’t going to leave him behind in that chaos! And besides, he’s not a freak! He’s a purebred Yorkie that I got from a very reputable breeder. If anyone here is a freak, it’s y—”

Suddenly, she stopped speaking, cut off by Darren’s cold glare. The other werewolf muttered something under his breath and looked away, his jaw clenching.

Darren nodded to him. “You, go to the medical tent and have that bite looked at,” he instructed. “The rest of you, disperse. This is not a spectacle.”

The werewolves obeyed, although reluctantly, many casting wary glances at the woman and her dog as they left. The humans lingered longer, eyeing us with varying degrees of suspicion and fear.

“Is my dog going to be taken away?” the woman asked. “Because if so, I’d rather leave now.”

My heart sank. This was exactly the kind of situation we had been hoping to avoid—a small misunderstanding threatening to unravel all the progress we had made.

“No one is taking your dog,” I assured her, stepping forward. “But we do need to figure out a solution. You see, dogs can pick up werewolf scents, and it frightens them.”

Just to prove my point, I held my hand out closer to the dog, who began to squirm and snarl in the woman’s arms. The woman gasped, taking a step back, and I quickly withdrew my hand. The dog instantly soothed again.

“See?” I said, giving her an apologetic look. “He wasn’t trying to ‘eat’ your dog. It was just a natural response.”

The woman didn’t look entirely convinced, but she seemed to calm slightly. Darren and I moved away to discuss our next steps. Clearly, having pets and werewolves in such a small area together was risky, and several of the refugees had pets with them.

“We can’t just ban pets,” I said immediately once we were out of earshot. “For some of these people, their pets are all they have left.”

“I know that,” Darren sighed. “But we also can’t have animals attacking pack members.”

“It was just a tiny dog,” I pointed out.

“This time,” he countered. “What if next time it’s a larger dog? Or what if a child gets bitten? Not to mention, some of our wolves might react... instinctively... to being attacked. Even by a small animal.”

I sighed, knowing he was right. “So what do we do?”

We debated various options, each seeming either too harsh or too impractical. Finally, though, we reached a compromise.

With our decision made, we called a meeting of the human refugees. We told them that we would set up a designated area for those who had pets to stay, a smaller encampment just beyond the border of the village, and that they were welcome to come into the village but would have to leave their pets in the camp.

As expected, the announcement was met with mixed reactions. Some understood the necessity, while others felt it was unfair to single them out because of their pets. I couldn’t help but agree with all of them, but it had to be done.

By midday, the humans with pets had been moved to the eastern section of the village. It wasn’t far from the main square—just a short walk, the village still visible from the camp—but the physical separation felt significant. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had taken a step backward, even though I knew it was necessary.

Later that afternoon, Darren and I retreated to the pack house to check the news. We had been avoiding it all day, focusing instead on settling the pet dispute and making sure our guests remained comfortable. But we couldn’t ignore the outside world forever.

Darren opened his laptop and pulled up the local news site. My heart sank as the headlines loaded—”Riots Continue for Fifth Day,” “Anti-Werewolf Sentiment Reaches Fever Pitch,” “Authorities Call for ‘Forceful Action’ Against Werewolf Territories.”

It was getting worse by the day, it seemed. The violence had spread beyond our local city to neighboring towns, with reported attacks on known werewolves and human sympathizers alike.

I scanned the photos accompanying the articles—burned-out buildings, streets littered with debris, angry humans holding anti-werewolf signs and werewolves holding anti-human signs. It was chaos.

Finally, we saw a public statement from Bella’s father, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

“We offered these creatures a fair compromise by gifting them their land, allowing them to be their own sovereign entities,” he said, his cold eyes flashing angrily into the cameras. “And what do we get in return? Spat on, that’s what. And now the so-called ‘Moonglow Pack’ is harboring a political fugitive.”

The cameras flashed, the reporters murmured. I felt my stomach drop. Darren’s hand clenched around my thigh, his fingers digging into my leg, but I could hardly feel it.

Bella’s father went on, “If they do not hand over the murderer Alfira to face justice for her crimes, then they will face the consequences.”