Chapter 226 His past
Aria’s POV
Three days had passed since we’d arrived at Ronan’s territory.
The pack was nothing like what I’d expected. They were traditional.
I’d noticed it the first morning, when I’d ventured downstairs to find breakfast.
The dining hall had been full of pack members—easily fifty or sixty of them—all seated according to some invisible hierarchy I didn’t understand.
The Alpha and his mate at the head table. The Betas and high-ranking warriors along the sides. The younger wolves and omegas toward the back.
Every single one of them had stopped eating when I’d walked in.
Not in a hostile way, exactly. More like... curious. Watchful. Like they were trying to figure out what to make of the human woman who’d arrived with the Alpha King.
I’d felt their eyes on me as I’d crossed to the side table where the food was laid out. Felt the weight of their judgment, their assessment.
And I’d forced myself to keep my chin up and my expression neutral, even though my heart had been racing.
Because showing weakness in a place like this? That was a death sentence.
Damian had told me as much the night before, when I’d asked him about Ronan’s pack.
"They’re traditionalists," he’d said, his voice low and rough from exhaustion.
"They follow the old codes. Respect hierarchy. Value strength above all else. And they don’t trust outsiders easily—especially humans."
"Great," I’d muttered. "So I’m walking into a den of wolves who already think I don’t belong."
"You belong wherever I am." His hand had tightened around mine, his gray eyes fierce. "And anyone who questions that will answer to me."
The conviction in his voice had made something warm and dangerous unfurl in my chest. But it hadn’t stopped the nerves.
Now, on the third day, I was starting to find my footing.
Ronan’s mate, Isla, had been a godsend. She was a tall, striking woman with dark red hair and amber eyes that missed nothing.
She’d introduced herself the second morning, appearing at my door with a tray of tea and a knowing smile.
"The first few days are always the hardest," she’d said, settling into the chair by the window like we were old friends. "Especially for humans. But you’re doing better than most."
"I don’t feel like I’m doing better than most," I’d admitted. "I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to screw up."
"They are." Isla had taken a sip of her tea, completely unbothered. "But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It means they’re paying attention. And in a pack like this, attention is the first step toward respect."
She’d spent the next hour explaining the Ronan’s pack’s social structure—who reported to whom, which families held the most influence, which wolves I should avoid pissing off if I wanted to survive the week.
It had been overwhelming, but also strangely comforting. Like having a cheat sheet for a test I hadn’t studied for.
Isla had also explained Ronan and Damian’s history, which I’d been curious about since the moment we’d arrived.
"They go back almost twenty years," Isla had said. "Damian was sent here as a teenager—King Andrew’s orders. Officially, it was ’training.’ In truth, the old King was hiding him from the bloody politics around the throne. Nobody here knew that. Not even Ronan."
"Let me guess," I’d said. "They didn’t exactly hit it off."
Isla had actually laughed. "Ronan hated him. The rumor was that Damian was his father’s bastard, come to steal his place.
Ronan believed it—made Damian’s life hell for a year, and led the other young wolves in it too. Dead rats in his bed, ambushes after training, all of it."
"So what changed?"
"A rockslide on a training run. Ronan went down with it, and the boy he’d been tormenting dug him out with his bare hands and carried him five miles home on a broken ankle. Never said a word of blame after." Isla’s lips had curved.
"Ronan followed him around like a shadow from that day on. And when the summons came from the capital and the pack finally learned who Damian really was.
Our proud heir cried like a pup at the border.Wouldn’t let go of his arm until Damian promised to come back."
I couldn’t smile. The image Isla painted—a teenage boy shipped off to a strange pack with no explanation, hated for something he wasn’t, sleeping among wolves who despised him—made my throat tight.
And he’d never once complained. Never blamed anyone. Just quietly endured it all, the way he still endured everything, alone.
How many scars like that was he carrying that I didn’t know about?
I blinked back the sting in my eyes and took a shaky breath.
Isla had noticed, of course. She’d reached across the table and squeezed my hand gently. "He’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. But even the strongest need someone to hold them up sometimes."
I’d nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
---
That evening, when I returned to our room, Damian was sitting up in bed with his shirt off, examining the bruises along his ribs. They were already fading—healing faster than any human’s would have—but the sight of them still made my stomach twist.
He looked up when I walked in, and his expression shifted immediately.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing." I tried to brush it off, crossing to the window and staring out at the darkening forest beyond. "I’m fine."
"Aria." His voice was low, firm. "Don’t lie to me."
I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. "Isla told me about you and Ronan. About how you met."
Silence.
Then I heard the bed creak as he stood, and a moment later his hands were on my shoulders, turning me to face him.
"And?" His gray eyes searched mine.
"And I hate it." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "I hate that you went through that. That you were just a kid, and they treated you like you were nothing. That you carried all of it alone and never told anyone how much it hurt."
Damian’s expression softened. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
"It’s over, sweetheart," he said quietly. "All of it. Those days are long behind me."
"But they shouldn’t have happened in the first place."
"Maybe not." He leaned his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips. "But if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be the man I am now. And I wouldn’t have you."
My breath hitched.
"You’re the best thing the universe has ever given me, Aria," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Every scar, every hardship—it was all worth it if it led me to you."
Something broke open inside me. I surged up onto my toes and kissed him hard, my hands fisting in his hair.
And he’d kissed me back like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.