Chapter 35
[ 774 words ]
Bad idea
35: 35.
Bad idea Liam
For the first time in days, the pack lands aren’t crawling with tension, with watchers, with that constant itch between my shoulder blades that says you’re being observed.
The Assembly spies are gone—driven out, scattered, whatever the hell they want to call it.
I don’t care.
What matters is this—
Peace.
And more importantly…
Time.
Time with my sister.
I glance over at Aria, where she stands at the edge of the clearing, arms wrapped around herself, like she’s bracing against something that isn’t there.
The wind shifts, carrying her scent to me—smoke and something softer beneath it.
Something new.
Something that still makes my wolf restless in my chest.
Behind us, four very large problems pace in human form.
Ronan leans against a tree as he owns it, arms crossed, eyes glued to Aria.
Kade’s jaw is tight, Theo keeps running a hand through his hair like he’s seconds from snapping, and Barric… Barric isn’t even pretending to be calm.
He’s staring at me like I just volunteered to walk into a fire.
“Still think this is a bad idea?” I call over my shoulder.
Kade scoffs.
“We didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I shoot back.
“Your faces did it for you.”
Theo steps forward.
“We should be the ones teaching her.”
“No,” I say, firm.
Silence drops like a weight.
I turn fully now, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
“You four have been shifting since you were kids. You don’t remember what it’s like for it to hit you late. For it to feel like your body’s being torn apart from the inside out.”
Ronan’s eyes narrow.
“And you do.”
“I do,” I say simply.
My wolf stirs again, backing me.
We remember the pain.
I soften my tone, just a little.
“She needs someone who understands that part. Not just the strength. The fear.”
Barric exhales hard through his nose, tension bleeding out of him in reluctant acceptance.
“We don’t like it.”
“Didn’t ask you to,” I reply.
A beat passes.
Then Ronan pushes off the tree with a grunt.
“Fine.
But we’re not going far.”
“You are today,” I say.
“Give us a few hours.”
Kade mutters something under his breath, but one by one, they back off.
Not far—never far—but enough.
Enough for this.
I turn back to Aria.
She hasn’t moved.
“You ready?” I ask gently.
Her eyes flick to where her mates disappeared, then back to me.
There’s uncertainty there.
Nerves.
But beneath it… trust.
It hits harder than I expect.
“Yeah,” she says, though her voice is a little shaky.
“I think so.”
I step closer, keeping my movements slow.
“Alright. First thing—you’re gonna feel it before it happens. Like pressure under your skin. Like something’s trying to push its way out.”
Her brows knit together.
“I’ve felt that before.”
“Good,” I nod.
“That means she’s there. Your wolf. She’s not separate from you, not really. Think of her like…” I pause, searching.
“Another voice. Another instinct.”
Another half, my wolf supplies.
“Another half,” I echo.
Aria closes her eyes, inhaling deeply.
“Okay.”
“Don’t fight it,” I say quietly.
“That’s the biggest mistake people make. It’s not something you control by force. You… allow it.”
Her hands tremble slightly at her sides.
“I’m right here,” I add.
Her eyes open briefly, meeting mine.
“Don’t let me lose control.”
“You won’t,” I promise.
We won’t.
She nods once.
Then she closes her eyes again.
The shift starts small.
A shudder runs through her, subtle at first, then stronger.
Her breath hitches.
Fingers curl.
That pressure I talked about?
I can practically see it now—rolling under her skin like heat waves.
“Good,” I murmur.
“That’s it. Let it come.”
She gasps, doubling over slightly.
“It burns—”
“I know,” I say, stepping closer but not touching her yet.
“Breathe through it. You’re okay.”
Bones begin to shift.
The sound is unmistakable—soft cracks, stretching, reshaping.
It would terrify anyone who didn’t understand it.
But I do.
And so does my wolf.
She’s strong, he notes.
Aria drops to her knees, hands braced against the ground as the transformation takes hold.
Her hair darkens, lengthens, her frame shifting, shrinking, and reshaping in a fluid, painful grace.
Seconds stretch.
Then—
She’s there.
A black wolf stands where my sister was.
Smaller than mine, sleeker, her fur catching the light like polished obsidian.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, golden eyes wide as she takes in the world through new senses.
My breath leaves me.
“She did it,” I whisper.
Family, my wolf growls, sudden and sure.
Without hesitation, I let go.
The shift takes me fast—faster than hers.
It always does now.
Bone and muscle snap into place, skin giving way to fur, the world sharpening into scent and sound and instinct.
And then I’m there.
My wolf steps forward, head low but tail steady.
Her wolf freezes at first, muscles tense.
Then something changes.
Recognition.
Not conscious.
Not logical.
Instinct.
She steps toward us cautiously, nose twitching as she takes in our scent.
My wolf mirrors the movement, slow and deliberate, giving her space.
When they finally meet, it’s quiet.
Noses brush.
A breath shared.
And then—
Connection.
Family, my wolf says, softer now.
Her wolf lets out a small huff, almost like a laugh, and suddenly the tension breaks.
She nudges him.
He nudges back.
And just like that, they’re off.
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