Eyes That Haunt

Tristan's POV

The instant I stepped inside the arena, the wind changed.

Not because of the thousands of wolves gathered, nor the blinding cheers echoing off the stone ring surrounding the area. Because of her.

Reya.

My mate.

She was in the corner, leather armor clinging to each line of her battle-hardened body. Her hair was tied back tight, jaw set hard, and eyes—those ghostly eyes—on me the moment I entered the ring. As if she'd been waiting.

No. As if she'd sensed me.

Because that's what you do when your soul's bound to someone else's.

You feel them before you see them.

But this wasn't a reunion.

This was war.

"Riverdale's prince in exile returns," Xander whispered beside me, voice laced with venom. "Let's just hope he bleeds beautifully."

I didn't flinch. Let the Lycan King hate me.

I wasn't here for him.

Reya alone filled my mind.

She didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Her arms crossed defensively as her next victim stepped into the pit. A Redfang hulk, half her size.

"She'll win," I whispered to him.

Xander snorted. "You really know her?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't know her anymore.

We were eighteen when the bond clicked. One minute, she was the wild lawless girl I trained with. The next, my wolf growled.

Mate.

We tried to deny it. We were too young. Too broken. Too scared.

But one kiss shattering everything.

She believed in me.

Until I shattered her instead.

I didn't deny her, not really. I just… didn't choose her when it mattered.

I picked Riverdale. I picked Chloe. I picked responsibility. 

And she ran away because I was only treating her like a slave and a sex toy.

I started with the worst mistake of my life.

The whistle blew.

Reya fired first. Quick. Deadly. No hesitation in her eyes.

Her opponent wielded a war hammer. She sidestepped, slipped on sand, and kicked him in the ribs with a bone-shattering blow. He reeled. She climbed onto his back.

I couldn't breathe.

She wasn't fighting to win.

She was fighting to kill.

Each blow deliberate. Cruel. Her face a mask.

He grabbed her by the throat—

—and she snapped his wrist like a stick.

The crowd cheered wildly.

But all I could hear was the thudding crash in my head.

That's my friend.

And I barely recognize her.

She walked away from the field, not even taking a look over her shoulder. Not at the body she left on the ground. Not at the King. Not at me.

But she recognized I was there.

I know she did.

I followed her scent through the corridors. Beyond guards, beyond whispers, beyond memories that tore my throat apart.

I found her in the prep room. Alone. Unstrapping her gloves, her knuckles covered with blood.

"Reya."

She didn't even turn.

"I don't want to fight," I hissed.

"Too bad," she replied, low and deadly. "Because I do."

She turned finally.

Her eyes weren't soft. Her eyes weren't sad.

They were fire.

"I didn't come here for war," I hissed.

"Nah?" She strode in my direction. "So why'd you come? To finish what you started? To claim Luna, you left behind?"

My jaw clenched.

"You think I'm unaware of what you did when you left me?" Her voice broke with rage. "You let them strip me of my title. You let Chloe take my place. You just stood by while they pursued me like a monster."

I took a step in her direction. "I never stopped loving you."

Her laugh was bitter. "You just stopped choosing me."

"I made a mistake."

"No," she said harshly. "You made a decision. And so did I."

She pulled out something from her pocket.

The pendant.

The one that I had given her on the night that I had said forever.

She let it drop at my feet.

"I've burned everything else you ever gave me."

My chest groaned.

"I didn't know," I stammered.

"You didn't want to."

Space between us throbbed with ghosts. Memories. Pain.

"I came back," I told her. "For you."

She looked at me. And for a moment—one breath—I saw something break in her.

Then she turned away.

"You're too late, Tristan."

The explosion rocked the corridor.

Dust billowed down from the ceiling. Screams erupted.

"Reya!" I ran forward, but she was already moving—sword in hand, eyes aflame.

Shadows surged through the smoke. Assassins.

Not Redfang. Not rogue.

These were hired guns.

Dexter Webb's reek clung to the air like venom.

"Get down!" she snapped, twisting into a deadly curve that slit the throat of the first attacker.

I shifted alongside her, back-to-back, our instincts in sync like we'd never been apart.

She did not look at me.

But she fought with me.

And that was enough.

Ten bodies lay scattered on the ground.

Blood soaked the stones.

Reya stood panting, her knife trembling in her hand.

"You were the target," I said to her.

She nodded.

"Dexter's watching. He knows you're here."

"He can keep searching," she snarled. "Because I'm done running."

I edged closer. "Then let me stand with you."

She froze.

"I won't ask for your forgiveness. But I will fight alongside you. Watch over you. Die for you, if it comes to that."

Her fingers around the hilt of the sword clenched.

Then, slowly. she let go.

"You already killed me once, Tristan."

That night, I stood outside her rooms, the pendant clutched in my fist.

I need to get out.

She's not my Reya anymore.

But when I put out my hand to leave, I heard her voice on the other side of the door.

"Let him watch," she whispered. "Let them all watch."

My heart was racing.

Because I knew where she was headed.

This wasn't revenge.

This was war.

And Reya wasn't just getting up.

She was climbing.