Chapter 153: Meeting with the Werewolf King.

Aria had just arrived in the garden, the moon shining brightly in the sky—its glow cast silver across the manicured hedges and ornate flowerbeds, clearly enough for her to see someone standing under one of the huge and central trees.

She stopped in her tracks.

Even in the pale light, there was no mistaking the tall, broad figure cloaked in the heavy folds of royal cloth. That could only be King Jared.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The stillness of the garden wrapped around her shoulders like a shroud, the chill of the night seeping into her skin even as she pulled her coat tighter around her trembling frame. She didn’t dare take a step forward. Didn’t even breathe too loudly.

She was surprised. And if she was being honest, slightly excited.

But the thought of Zyren instantly killed whatever other emotions tried to crawl up her chest.

Zyren had already made his disgust clear—so painfully clear—that she could still hear his mocking voice describing how heavily she stank every time she came close to Clay. She could only imagine the kind of fury he would rain down if he saw her now. Standing this close to a Werewolf King.

A rival.

A threat.

She was still considering turning around, already beginning to turn slightly on her heel to head back when she suddenly watched Jared shift beneath the tree. His head turned—and his eyes, those piercing gold eyes, locked directly onto hers.

She froze again.

There was something in his gaze that pulled her in. Not harsh. Not threatening. It was... beckoning.

He didn’t open his mouth. Didn’t wave or call out to her. But his look alone said everything.

Come closer.

It was shocking to see. His gaze, filled with confidence, made it seem like this moment—this exact meeting—had always been meant to happen. That it was not chance at all.

Aira hesitated. Her heart beat louder in her ears.

And then, slowly, she moved. Each step careful, silent, until she finally stopped a few steps away from him. Close enough to hear the rustle of his cloak in the breeze, close enough to see the deep scar under his jaw.

She bowed slightly. Her voice low. Her tone wary.

"King Jared," she greeted, the weight of his presence crashing over her all at once.

He didn’t speak at first, but then offered a nod of acknowledgement.

"King Zyren’s pet," he said, and the words hit her like a slap. Cold. Cutting. And worse than the tone was the bitter taste they left in her mouth.

Aira’s eyes snapped up to meet his, her displeasure unmistakable.

"Aira," she corrected him sharply. Her name, not his label. Not Zyren’s.

She began to wonder if she had made a mistake.

Was he just like Zyren? Was she foolish to think he was any different?

"Hmmm..." he mused, voice still calm, considering her. "I’m more interested in how a human like you has been able to survive. Last I heard, Zyren’s pets died too easily."

His words were not malicious, but they still sank into her skin like ice water. It was curiosity in his tone, not cruelty. Still, it stung.

"You’re assuming there’s more to it?" she asked, wary. Uncertain.

To her surprise, he instantly shook his head.

"There’s always more to it. I don’t believe in coincidences," he said. His gaze flicked away from her, then slowly back. "Just like I don’t believe in random meetings."

He gestured to the garden around them. The night. The empty silence that surrounded their encounter.

Aira’s frown deepened.

Her hopes of finding something genuine in this conversation—any spark of connection or meaning—were already starting to dim.

"Clearly you’re not saying that I planned this meeting?" she asked, genuinely offended.

But he chuckled. A low, amused sound.

"No. But you didn’t look downcast and annoyed to see me," he replied. "Clearly you need something."

His voice was blunt. Straight to the point. Not unkind, but deeply perceptive. Aira didn’t speak right away.

A heavy silence stretched between them. The wind stirred the branches overhead. And then, finally, she found the courage to force the question from her lips.

"How are humans treated in your realm?" she asked, her voice tight. Her chest rising and falling faster than before.

"Not great," King Jared replied without hesitation.

The answer came so fast, so flat, that it made her flinch.

"They are weak and mostly useless. Why would they be treated better?" he continued, his tone blunt, matter-of-fact. He wasn’t trying to hurt her with the words, but they still carved into her ribs all the same.

"They aren’t treated like slaves though," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Aira mentally shook her head. Her chest ached. She had hoped—foolishly—that maybe his realm would be different. That maybe someone like her could find safety there.

"You sound like you’re planning to leave Zyren," King Jared said.

His voice had lowered, taking on a tone that made her stomach twist in fear.

"No—Never!" Aira instantly said, her eyes wide with panic. Her voice broke slightly as she continued, "Please... don’t spread rumors you can’t..."

But he cut her off.

"As my mistress, I can treat you better," he said, stepping closer to her.

And that’s when it happened.

Aira froze in place as something warm and unfamiliar began to bloom low in her stomach. A strange heat—one that had no place in this cold garden or in the middle of such a terrifying conversation. It bloomed slowly, traitorously, curling through her like smoke.

A heat she only ever felt when Zyren was near.

It was familiar enough for her to be incapable of relating the feeling to something else especially since the wetness between her legs only increases enough for her to realize what was happening.

It didn’t help that she slowly watched as King Jared raised his head and lightly sniffed the air with a confused look on his face as he looked right at her.

Just before a slow smile spread across his face one followed by a slight frown.

"I thought you were simply a human I was interested in!" he mumbled under his breath low almost like he was trying to ensure she didn’t hear yet somehow loud enough that she could.