Aria’s POV The heat didn’t leave. If anything, it worsened as the sun dipped beneath the horizon and shadows crept across the walls of our room. It wasn’t just warmth pooling low in my stomach—it was a restless, clawing need beneath my skin. Every brush of fabric against my thighs felt unbearable. Every breath came too sharp, too shallow. I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the sheets, trying to steady myself. When Ronan entered, the door closing softly behind him, his scent hit me like a spark to dry timber. My wolf surged forward, desperate and hungry, and I had to physically grip the mattress to keep from launching myself at him. He froze for half a second, studying me carefully. “Aria?” he asked quietly. I lifted my head. “It’s me.” He crossed the room slowly, cautiously, like I might shatter if he moved too fast. He cupped my face, his thumb brushing beneath my eye as if checking for some hidden fracture. “You’re sure?” I nodded, already leaning into his to
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