Aria of Ash and Howl

The morning tasted like ash.

Aria’s eyes shot open, heart racing, her breath clouding in the cold air of the drafty attic. It always smelled like mildew and forgotten things up here—old sweaters, broken boxes, her own dried blood. She kicked off the thin blanket and rubbed her arms, listening for footsteps below.

Nothing yet. That was worse.

Her wolf was silent again. It had been years.

Downstairs, the house creaked—the sound of her stepfather waking. That meant she had about fifteen minutes to clean the kitchen, brew his disgusting chicory coffee, and disappear before his hangover made him cruel.

She scrambled down the ladder and landed softly on bare feet, already moving toward the cracked sink. Dishes from last night were still stacked in the drying rack, greasy from her stepsister’s midnight fries. She washed them quickly, careful not to clatter.

“Don’t forget the floors,” came a honeyed voice from the hallway.

Aria turned, already knowing. Cassandra stood in the doorway in an oversized T-shirt that wasn’t hers, brushing out her blond curls and sipping from a protein shake. “Wouldn’t want your mate to think you’re dirty.”

Aria didn’t reply. She bent down and scrubbed the linoleum until her knuckles burned. Cassandra watched her for a few seconds more, smirking, then flounced back into the hall.

“Dad!” she called. “You promised me the car!”

There was a grunt from the other room. Aria’s fingers tightened around the sponge. It was always the same—Cassandra got the car, the allowance, the brand-new phone. Aria got bruises.

Today was worse, though. Today was the first day back at Crescent Ridge Academy. And today, the new Alpha heir was transferring in.

Everyone was talking about it. Some cousin of the Northfang Pack’s Alpha—someone with bloodlines so old they didn’t bother with titles. Just Kade.

Aria wasn’t planning to care. She just needed to survive the school year, keep her head down, graduate, and disappear.

The engine of the truck roared. Her stepfather honked once. She grabbed her backpack and ran.

The ride to school was as silent as a graveyard.

Gerald Ross didn’t speak unless he was yelling. Today he just smoked, one hand on the wheel, the other out the window like he didn’t care if the wind took it. Aria sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes on the road, not daring to breathe too loudly.

“You better not embarrass us,” he said suddenly.

Aria looked at him.

He didn’t.

“She’s got Alpha blood in her veins, and you—you’re a fucking ghost.”

Aria said nothing.

At the stop sign near the high school gates, he reached over and grabbed her wrist. Hard. “You keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks, you live with your aunt.”

His breath reeked of stale beer and anger.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

He let her go.

She got out, closed the door, and didn’t look back. She could feel his eyes burning into her spine as she crossed the lot.

Crescent Ridge Academy was already buzzing.

Students stood in little huddles near the courtyard, phones out, perfume thick in the air. A line of sleek black SUVs waited along the curb, one of them probably carrying the new heir. Everyone wanted to be first to get a photo, to say they’d seen him.

Aria slipped past them, headed toward her locker. No one noticed her. No one ever did.

Inside, the building smelled like new polish and nervous sweat. She passed the trophy case, the bulletin board with Fall Ball signups, the glass office where Mrs. Linton was already shouting at someone. All normal.

Then she felt it.

A strange pull. Like gravity shifted.

The front doors opened.

Everything went quiet.

From the first SUV, a tall figure stepped out. Dressed in black, sunglasses despite the clouds, a sharp jawline visible under the shadows. His walk wasn’t cocky—it was lethal. Like he didn’t care who watched, but knew they would.

Kade.

Aria stopped breathing.

Their eyes met.

His nostrils flared for half a second—almost imperceptible—and then his expression hardened. He looked away. Walked straight past her like she was a tree. A shadow. A smudge.

Something deep inside her growled.

And then—after years of silence—a voice echoed in her mind.

‘Mate.’

Aria stumbled back.

It wasn’t possible.

Her wolf—her silent, broken wolf—had just spoken.

She turned around, heart hammering, watching him disappear into the main office with the headmaster and three security guards. Students parted like waves. Girls clutched their hearts. Boys muttered threats.

But Kade didn’t even glance at her again.

He hadn’t claimed her.

He hadn’t said a word.

Her wolf whimpered, confused. Aria hugged herself tightly, like that could stop the shaking. Her thoughts raced. Could it be a mistake? Could someone else have—

“Hey ghost girl,” someone sneered behind her.

She turned. Cassandra stood there in her regulation skirt and smug expression. “He didn’t even look at you. That’s gotta sting.”

Aria pushed past her.

She didn’t make it far before tears threatened. She ducked into the girl’s restroom and locked herself in a stall.

Claimed wolves feel a heat, a pull, a connection. Mates are supposed to be drawn together. It’s immediate. Undeniable.

Unless…

Unless the mate doesn’t want her.

Her wolf let out a long, low whine.

Aria covered her mouth, sank to the cold floor, and tried not to cry.

She sat there until the bell rang.

When she finally emerged, her eyes were red, but dry. No one paid her any mind as she slipped into the back row of homeroom, her hoodie pulled low, hair covering half her face. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Everyone else was speaking enough for her.

“I heard he’s from the Bloodridge line. Their Beta could rip out a heart in three seconds.”

“My sister’s friend from the Alpha Summit said he once burned down an entire rival den just to prove a point.”

“He rejected someone this morning. Blonde girl. He didn’t even blink.”

Aria shrank into her seat.

Of course they didn’t mean her. She wasn’t anyone. But the idea that the entire school might find out who he really rejected made her stomach twist.

Her wolf stirred again. Angry. Confused.

‘Why didn’t he speak? Why didn’t he say anything?’

She didn’t have an answer.

The door opened.

Every eye snapped forward.

Kade entered without a word. The teacher froze mid-sentence and fumbled for her attendance sheet.

“You must be… Mr. Locke?”

He gave a slow nod. The room went still. Even the clock seemed quieter.

“Take any seat,” the teacher offered, flustered.

He walked past Aria without looking. Her skin buzzed as he passed—like something ancient and feral had brushed her soul.

He sat two rows ahead. Didn’t speak.

Didn’t turn.

Did nothing.

Her wolf paced. Something was wrong.

***

By lunch, the rumors had reached critical mass.

“They say he’s already challenged Alpha training instructors. He won.”

“No, he didn’t. They backed down.”

“He smelled someone today but walked off. Coldest rejection in school history.”

Aria picked at her tray, trying to stay invisible. She hadn’t touched the food—cold spaghetti and dry rolls—but she needed to sit somewhere. Cassandra was at the popular table, flipping her hair and laughing like she already belonged to him.

Aria glanced across the room.

He was sitting alone. Not eating. Staring out the window like the world bored him.

She knew that look. She’d worn it for years.

Then, to her horror, their eyes met again.

Not just a glance. Not just a passing moment.

He looked at her. Through her. Into her.

Her fork clattered.

He stood.

The room fell quiet.

Every head turned.

And then—he walked past her table, straight toward the exit, and was gone.

Whispers followed. Snickers. Murmurs.

“Damn, cold.”

“What did she do?”

“Guess she wasn’t good enough.”

Aria stood and walked out the back door, down the side hall, and didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the school’s athletic field. She stood behind the old bleachers, out of sight.

Her chest burned.

‘Say something,’ she begged her wolf. ‘Help me understand.’

Nothing.

Then, faintly: He knows. He’s fighting it.

She dropped to her knees.

Why? Why would he deny a mate bond?

Was she broken? Was her wolf not enough?

Was she too… tainted?

Her mind flashed back to nights spent cleaning blood off the floor. To whispered insults, to slaps, to silence. Maybe she didn’t deserve a mate.

Maybe that was the problem.

***

The rest of the day dragged. She kept her head down. No one said her name, but she heard “her” whispered more than once, always followed by laughter.

She slipped out before the final bell and started walking home. She couldn’t stand the truck. Couldn’t stand the house. But there was nowhere else.

Halfway down the gravel road, she heard tires.

She turned instinctively.

It wasn’t her stepfather.

The sleek black SUV rolled to a stop beside her. Tinted window. Silent engine.

She froze.

The window rolled down.

Kade.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

Then: “Get in.”

It wasn’t a request.

Her heart thundered.

She didn’t move.

He sighed. “I won’t ask again.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I need to talk to you.”

She hesitated. Then opened the door.

Inside smelled like leather and spice and smoke. Like him.

He didn’t drive. Just sat there.

“You’re my mate,” she whispered.

He said nothing.

Her voice broke. “You knew. This morning.”

“I did.”

“Then why—”

“Because I can’t afford it,” he snapped. “You don’t know who I am. What’s expected of me.”

“I didn’t ask to be your mate.”

“That’s the problem,” he said, voice low. “Neither did I.”

Silence.

Aria looked out the window. Her throat ached.

“Then reject me,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

“Say the words. Do it.”

“I’m not ready.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I never said I was fair.”

More silence.

He reached into his jacket and pulled something out. A crest pin—silver, shaped like a flame inside a wolf’s mouth.

He pressed it into her hand.

“You’ll need this,” he said.

“What is it?”

“A warning.”

Then the door opened, and she was alone again.

***

She stared at the pin all the way home.

That night, her wolf whispered only two words:

‘It begins.’