THREE

ARIA—-SIX YEARS LATER.

I was late. Fourteen minutes, by the time I pushed through the staff entrance and shoved my bag into my locker. Fourteen minutes that felt like a personal failure even though I’d spent the last three hours at the hospital watching my son get poked with needles while he tried very hard not to cry.

He never cried. That was the thing about Eli. Five years old and braver than anyone I’d ever met, lying in that hospital bed with his little fists curled at his sides, telling me he was fine, Mama, go to work, I’m fine. Leukemia didn’t care that he was five. It didn’t care about anything.

I tied my apron strings and shoved everything else down where I kept it, deep and locked and not accessible during working hours. I needed this job. I needed the money. I needed to get through tonight without losing either.

“Maya.”

Daniel was already coming toward me from across the floor, which was never a good sign. My boss was a practical man. He didn’t move fast unless something required it.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I said before he could open his mouth. “It won’t happen again, Eli had a bad day and the nurse was late and I missed the first bus—”

“Maya.” He stopped in front of me and lowered his voice. “How sorry are you?”

I looked at him. “What?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the main floor, then back at me. “Because I need a favor and I need it tonight and I need someone I can actually trust to do it without causing a scene.”

I crossed my arms. “What kind of favor?”

“Private booking. Came in two hours ago.” He was already steering me toward the back corridor, speaking low and fast. “Back room. Full buyout for the evening, they’re paying triple and they asked specifically for experienced staff only.”

“Daniel. What kind of booking?”

He stopped walking. Looked at me with an expression that was one part apologetic and two parts desperate.

“Werewolves,” he said. The word sat between us.

He knew what I was, he had known for almost a year, ever since the night a drunk man had grabbed me and I’d moved in a way that no human waitress should be able to move.

Daniel hadn’t fired me, he hadn’t asked questions either. He’d just nodded slowly, like something had been confirmed, and never mentioned it again.

“How many?” I said.

“Eight. All Alphas. Some kind of political thing, pack relations, I don’t know the details.” He paused. “There’s one causing trouble. Young one. Already had his hands where they shouldn’t be twice and the night hasn’t even started. I pulled Renee off the floor.”

“And you want to put me in instead?” I raised an eyebrow and shot him a look.

“You can handle yourself.” He said it simply. “And if the night goes clean, there’s extra in your envelope. Good extra.”

I thought about the billing statement folded in my bag, the number circled at the bottom that I hadn’t been able to look at directly since they handed it to me. I thought about Eli’s little fists.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

The back corridor was long and narrow, the lighting warm and low. I’d walked it a hundred times. I was halfway down it when I felt the first sign that something was wrong, my heart stuttered.

Not fear exactly. Something older than fear, something that came from a place I’d spent six years burying. A pull. Low and insistent, like a string attached somewhere behind my ribs being tugged by someone on the other end. I slowed my steps.

There was a scent in the air. Faint, underneath the food smells and the candle smoke and the general noise of the evening. Pine and something darker, something that made the back of my throat tighten. I knew that scent.

My heartbeat was climbing now, fast and unsteady, and I didn’t understand it. Iy refused to understand it, so I straightened my back and tightened my grip on the tray and pushed through the curtain. Eight of them.

The room was full of Alpha energy, thick and pressing, the kind that sits on your skin like a second layer of air.

They were spread around the long table, suits and lowered voices and the particular stillness of men who were used to every room adjusting itself around them, I didn’t look at the head of the table.

I kept my eyes on the dishes in front of me and started setting them down, moving efficiently, quietly, the way Daniel had trained me to work these rooms. Don’t linger. Don’t invite conversation. Get in and get out.

“Well.”

The voice came from my left, loose and warm with drink. “Look at that” I didn’t respond.

“Hey.” A hand appeared at the edge of my vision, reaching toward my arm. “I’m talking to you, sweetheart. Look up.”

I stepped to the side smoothly, putting a foot of space between us, and reached for the next dish. “Can I get you something, sir?”

He laughed. Low and lazy. “Yeah, you can sit down. Right here.” He patted his knee. I kept my face neutral, kept moving. “I’ll let the kitchen know if you need anything additional.”

“Come on.” His chair scraped back and suddenly he was closer, too close, his hand closing around my elbow. The smell of whiskey came off him in waves. “Don’t be boring.”

I pulled back. His grip tightened and I pulled harder and the tray tilted and the last glass slid and hit the table edge with a sound like a small explosion, sharp and ringing, cutting clean through every conversation in the room.

The silence lasted exactly one second before a voice came from the head of the table. Cold and flat.

“Enough.” I looked up and everything stopped.

My breath stilled as I met a particular storm grey eyes that I haven’t been able to forget even after six years. The tray in my hand dropped but my mind was far from that. My mate. The man I ran away from. That I faked my death to sit at the center, his eyes boring into mine as his face carried shock and everything in between.

Adrian.

And while I’ve been starving and working, he didn’t look like he has aged a day.

“Aria?” He called out, his deep angelic voice I had no idea I'd be hearing again carrying a bit of uncertainty.

No. No. No. This cannot be it.

I turned back instantly, ready to sprint only for a large force to hit me. I had no idea how he got up so fast, his palm wrapped hard and strong on my neck and my back slammed against the wall with those storm grey eyes boring into mine.

My wolf purred deeply inside of me as his scent hit my nose, and my body reacted to his touch instantly.

It was him.

It was truly him.

“Out.” His voice cut through the room without rising, “Everyone. Now.”

Chairs scraped. Feet shuffled on the ground and the door closed with a small thud. But none of that mattered because Adrian’s eyes were staring deep into mine, not blinking, not yielding.

“I…I think there has been a mistake…” I stuttered, my heart racing. There was something in his eyes that made all of this look so wrong, that made me want to run away from him.

“My name is Maya…not Aria. Maya Hatt. I’m just the waitress assigned to this room. There’s no Aria here. B…but I can ask the manager…”

The words didn’t leave my mouth as his free hand moved to my collar, one sharp yank and the fabric split at my neck.

The mate mark. Six years old. Still sitting on my skin like it had never stopped belonging to him.

The silence that followed was the worst thing I’d ever stood inside.

His eyes came back to mine. And what was in them wasn’t the Adrian I remembered. There was no warmth, no softness, no version of the boy who had kissed my forehead and told me ten minutes, I’ll be back in ten minutes.

It was just cold, deep and terrifying and his grip on my throat tightened.

“So you’re still alive.” He sounded almost accusatory.

My heart was racing and without thinking, I bit down on his hand as hard as I could.

He wasn’t expecting it. His grip broke and I dropped and I was through the curtain before he could recover, through the kitchen, past Daniel, out the back door and into the night, I ran.