Hillary hadn't planned to go into Victoria's room. Not that he simply doesn't want to, but because being close to her makes everything clearer in a way that suffocates him.
Standing near her makes it impossible to pretend that he can run from the reality, and facing that truth kills him slowly.
Through the wide hallways of the pack house, he moves toward her room.
The servants he passes bow respectfully, lowering their heads as he strides past, but he hardly sees them.
Their greetings, their deference, none of it registers. His focus narrows to the one destination ahead, the place he least wants to go.
Everything has happened too fast. Too fast for him to steady himself, too fast for him to catch one breath before the next blow falls.
Yesterday morning feels like a different lifetime, because yesterday he had been happy. He had woken without weight on his chest, without dread in his bones.
He had been free, thinking of nothing and no one but Aria. Just Aria.. how she made him happy in ways he couldn't put into words, how even the smallest thoughts of her pulled warmth through him like sunlight on skin.
But all of that collapsed.. at the gala he attended with his father. He had gone expecting nothing more than endless conversations, handshakes, and the shallow laughter of alphas trying to outshine each other.
Yet in the midst of that glittering crowd, his world shattered. His fated mate revealed herself.
He had always known something like this would happen. Some part of him, buried beneath the layers of longing and denial, knew it was inevitable.
No matter how deep his feelings for Aria ran, she could not be his mate.
The moon goddess had never, in all the history of their kind, paired an omega with an alpha.
Omegas were destined for betas, always.
He knew that truth, but he never wanted to think about it. He pushed it away, convinced himself that maybe, somehow, he could carve out a different path.
Because Aria wasn't just anyone to him. She had been part of his world long before the idea of mates had taken root in his mind.
Since his teenage years, he had watched her from afar. Watched her as she cleaned his room, as she arranged the sheets and folded the corners with precise care.
Watched her call him down for meals in the quiet way.
She rarely stepped into his room while he was inside, but sometimes he found excuses to wait, to catch those rare moments when she entered.
Not because he meant to do anything, not because he dared to, but just so he could stand in the same space with her, breathing the same air, sharing something that felt private even if it wasn't.
He never understood why she held him so tightly without even trying.
Girls had come and gone through the pack house all his life. Daughters of visiting alphas, sisters of warriors, strangers from allied packs, each one draped in silk, painted in perfumes that clung to the halls long after they were gone.
They smiled, they flirted, they laughed too loudly, but none of them ever lingered in his mind. None of them stayed. Only Aria.
Maybe it was her beauty. But if it was, it wasn't beauty of the kind the others flaunted.
She wore hers differently, almost as if she didn't notice it existed.
Her hair, pale as wheat left too long in the sun, was always pulled back with a scrap of cloth.
Strands fell loose against her cheeks, never quite tidy, never quite polished.
Her lips were soft and unpainted, touched with a faint, natural blush that made him wonder what they might feel like if he were ever brave enough to find out.
And her eyes... blue, striking in contrast to the plainness of her servant's clothes, were the kind that stopped him cold.
They belonged somewhere brighter, and every time she looked at him, he felt something tighten inside his chest.
Yet as much as he found her captivating, deep down he knew it wasn't beauty that held him bound to her. She was simple. Ordinary. A servant girl in every sense.
And yet whenever she drew close, his heart would pound in his chest as though it might tear itself free.
He had met so many others at school, at pack gatherings, at formal galas where wealth and power shimmered like a mask across every face.
And every single time he talked to them he found himself wishing it was her.
He knew well enough that many girls wanted to be near him. They fought for his attention, sought him out with practiced glances and soft words.
Even now he has never understood why... he isn't special, isn't anything other than another alpha. But even when he was surrounded by their efforts, his mind was never on them. It was always on her.
And now, with everything torn apart, a cold panic claws at him. What if her feelings never ran as deep as his? What if she was no different from the others, only another girl pulled toward him because of what he was.
The thought sinks sharp and fast, and his chest tightens with dread.
~
His thoughts scatter as he realizes he has reached the door. Victoria's door. The room she had only just been given.
His hand lifts before he can stop it, and he knocks. He doesn't want to ask directly, not about whether she believes there is something between him and Aria. To voice it would make it real.
"Come in," comes a soft voice from inside.
At once, his wolf stirs, a restless pull beneath his skin. It responds to the sound of her voice, something as simple as syllables.
And he hates it.
He hates that reaction with a ferocity that makes his jaw ache. If he could tear the wolf from his body, cast it out and let it wander where it wants, he would.
Anything, if it meant he could go back to the girl he has always wanted.
You wish… the words echo at the back of his mind, his wolf's voice curling sharp and low.
A groan escapes him before he can hold it in. His heart, his mind, all of him is still tethered to Aria. Yet his wolf pulls toward Victoria, unyielding.
What he doesn't understand is why his wolf never fights him when he is with Aria. It should. By all logic, it should resist her, reject her, remind him she isn't his mate. But it never does.
"Why?!" The word rips from him. The wolf gives no answer, only silence, as though it, too, doesn't understand.
He pushes the door open, "Hey," he manages, his voice flat.
Victoria looks up from the bed. The moment her eyes find him, she rises and moves toward him, her lips lifting into a smile... charming, bright.
Without a word, she tips onto her toes and presses her lips against his. The kiss lands sudden, unasked for.
Only when she pulls back, cheeks flushed with color, does she murmur, "Sorry." Her voice is soft, melodic.
Hillary doesn't answer. He stands still, silent. She lifts her gaze again, meeting his eyes with a look that waits for something.
He knows what it is. She wants him to brush it aside, to tell her it's fine, to give her the permission she silently craves, ..that she can kiss him whenever she wants, however she wants, anywhere she wants.
But the disappointment in her eyes grows when his words don't come. It is there, written plain across her face, unhidden.
"Am I not supposed to do that?!" Her voice strains to sound casual, but the edge is clear. She can't keep the question inside anymore.
"I wasn't just… expecting," he says at last.
The excuse falls flat even as it leaves his lips.
Because the truth is... The kiss had only reminded him of Aria, of how many times he had kissed her, and how every single time felt like the first.
Nervous, sweet, dizzying. Each one reached all the way down his spine, shaking him.