Aisling woke up feeling light and full of life. Today, she was ready to step out of the shadows of her mourning. She heard Bree's soft steps in the living area. Bree was more than a maid; she was a friend who had been with Aisling through her darkest days.
"Bree, can you prepare the bath?" Aisling asked, her voice carrying a new strength. "And the mourning dresses; I'm done with them. Let's give them to someone who can use them."
Bree entered, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and happiness. "I'll take care of it, Aisling. And Liam's been looking for you. He says it's urgent."
"Tell him I'll be there after my shower. And find me a colorful dress. I want everyone to know I'm back," Aisling said with a determined smile.
As Bree left to draw the bath, Aisling's thoughts drifted to Fenrir, the warlord whose arrogance somehow stirred a fire within her. He made her feel alive, feelings she thought were lost forever.
At breakfast, the pack's elite were visibly stunned to see their Luna Aisling joining them. Whispers and gasps filled the room as she walked in, her bright dress a stark contrast to the dark attire she had worn for so long.
Fenrir's reaction was subtle but noticeable. His silence, the slight quickening of his heartbeat, betrayed his surprise. He kept his face neutral, but inside, his heart raced with excitement, and his wolf howled with joy at the sight of Aisling, vibrant and full of life.
Aisling sensed the change in the room, the intrigue her presence sparked. Liam approached Aisling with open arms, his face alight with a brotherly warmth. He enveloped her in a hug that seemed to lift the remaining shadows of her mourning.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you like this, Aisling," Liam whispered, his voice tinged with emotion. "You've been missed more than you know."
Releasing her from the embrace, he gestured towards an empty chair beside him, close to where Fenrir sat. "Please, join us."
He gestured for her to sit beside him, near Fenrir. "Aisling, allow me to introduce you to Fenrir, our esteemed warlord."
Fenrir's eyes sparkled with mischief as he took Aisling's hand, his lips brushing her skin in a respectful yet intimate greeting. A shiver of excitement ran through her, unexpected and thrilling.
Fenrir leaned back, addressing Liam with a playful tone. "I must say, Liam, Aisling's return to the world of the living is a sight for sore eyes. It's a shame to hide such beauty in solitude. A flower like her deserves the sun."
The table fell silent for a moment, the air charged with unspoken words. Luna Ingrid, Liam's mate, sat stiffly, her smile strained. Fenrir's words had struck a chord, and though she tried to mask it, her envy was as clear as the brightening sky outside.
Aisling, caught off guard by the attention, could only offer a gracious smile, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. As she endured Fenrir's intense gaze upon her.
Liam couldn't hide his excitement when he saw Aisling. "Guess what? We're going to have the biggest party of the year right here!" he said.
Aisling's eyes lit up. "Really? That's awesome!"
"Yeah," Liam nodded. "It's the annual regional ball. Packs from everywhere will come. It's a big deal, and it's happening here!"
Liam's announcement about the ball had already brightened the room, but his next words were like the first rays of dawn after a long night. "Fenrir will need someone by his side at the ball, someone who shines as brightly as the event itself."
Aisling's eyes widened, not quite believing what was coming next.
"And I believe that person is you, Aisling," Liam said, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You're the belle of the ball, and there's no one better suited to stand with Fenrir."
Fenrir's smile was warm and genuine. "It would be my honor to have you as my partner for the ball," he said, his eyes meeting Aisling's. The compliment sent a blush to her cheeks, and for a moment, she was speechless.
Liam clapped his hands together, pleased with the arrangement. "There's no one I trust more to keep Aisling safe than you, Fenrir. You're not just a great warlord; you're family."
In the corner of the room, Luna Ingrid's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She watched the exchange, her mind racing with thoughts unspoken. She had hoped to catch Fenrir's eye herself, and now here was Aisling, effortlessly drawing his attention. It wasn't fair, why should Aisling have the chance with such a fine man?
Ingrid's envy simmered beneath the surface, a silent storm brewing. Fenrir's interest in Aisling was clear, and it stoked the flames of jealousy within her. She would have to act, and soon
Aisling felt Fenrir's hand take hers under the cover of the table. His boldness surprised her, and she shot him a look, trying to convey her alarm without words. But Fenrir, undeterred, began to gently massage her palm with his thumb, sending a cascade of conflicting feelings through her.
Aisling was torn. The unexpected intimacy of the gesture was thrilling, yet she was also worried about the impropriety of it all. She felt a rush of excitement, but it was tangled with a sense of dismay and a flicker of anger at his audacity. Fenrir's actions were inappropriate, especially with the entire pack around them, and she knew it could lead to complications neither of them was prepared for.
Despite the turmoil inside her, Aisling managed to maintain a composed exterior, her face a mask of calm.
Fenrir audaciously took her hand and placed it on his c.rotch area, making her feel the hard bulge. He then very silently whispered to her in Amharic, "This is the effect only you have on me."
Aisling's face turned crimson. She suddenly stood up, almost choking on her food. Liam was startled and asked what had happened.
She quickly stammered, "I'm still not used to being close to so many people," and excused herself.
Fenrir did not feel an ounce of regret. He knew his brazenness was breaking into her cold exterior, and he wanted to reach down to her core.
Aisling decided to take a stroll before lunch to clear her mind. As she walked along the corridor overlooking the expansive grounds of the pack's manor, she was struck by the sight of over a hundred men training vigorously. Shirtless, they sparred and moved with a primal grace, their sharp claws catching the sunlight. Dominating the scene was Fenrir, the formidable warlord, orchestrating this intense session. The Silvermane pack emblem was boldly tattooed on his massive forearms, drawing Aisling's gaze. She caught herself with the fleeting desire to trace the intricate tattoos and feel the strength in his arms.
As if hearing her thoughts, Fenrir, who had caught her looking at him, smirked and winked. Embarrassed and feeling like a silly teen, Aisling ran away, her cheeks burning.