Part 72

(Pov Aria)

The air wasn't as heavy once they'd shifted back to their human forms. But it was still overpowering, and Aria couldn't help the way her eyes stung.

Nothing had changed since the last time she'd come close to discovering its existence, and yet now that she knew what it was, it felt all the more sinister.

The house looked like it hadn't been tended to in years. The grass in the yard out front was overgrown with wildflowers and weeds popping out of the ground and circling the larger shrubs. The porch was sun damaged; the wood looked brittle, and she briefly feared that one misstep would send both her and Marcus crashing through the floor.

The paint on the exterior was weatherworn, enough that she wasn't sure what the original color had been. Maybe a deep sea green? She wasn't sure; it had lightened to a sickly teal that looked unnatural in the vibrant woods surrounding it.

The shutters had been destroyed by a storm, the hinges taut and creaking in the gentle breeze. There was a swing on the porch, something Aria had always wanted. She'd dreamed about reading books late into the night, the summer evenings warm and enticing. But the bench that sat on the porch didn't move. The bolts had ground to a stop from years of disuse.

It made her heart hurt a little, seeing the way time had left this piece of Marcus's history behind. Life had gone on without it, the plants thriving despite the gloom of death hanging over the house. And all the little details that hinted at a life that was almost lived. The porch swing that hadn't been used in years, the steps that had fallen inward, barring anyone from entering.

There had once been life here, and now it was barren, a wasteland.

Something in her subconscious tugged at her, sensing the deep unease in her mate, and she turned to face him. Without a word, she held his hand tightly in hers, hoping it would be enough to ground him and give him the strength he needed to move forward.

He took a breath, his jaw set, his brow determined, and they walked in together.

Aria muffled her gasp with her free hand.

What might have once been a beautiful, cozy home had been demolished, left in ruins with the scent of decay and rot hanging in the air. The hardwood floors had been torn up, jagged chunks of splintered boards poking out of the floor like a set of traps. The walls were streaked black with dried blood, whose; she had no idea. And she wasn't sure she wanted to know whose blood had been spattered on the walls like some crude work of art.

There had been blinds and shutters over the windows, but they hung on by a single hinge, rust freezing them in place in an eerie picture. There were photo frames scattered around the entrance, the shattered glass sprinkled over the dark matted rugs like stars.

Aria hated it, but it all looked like a devastating masterpiece. Disaster caught on impact, frozen forever. She was in awe at the sight alone of what Marcus had been forced to carry with him for five years.

Silently, she followed him through the house, carefully navigating the carnage left behind. He stopped at the entrance of what Aria guessed was the bedroom. It was there that the smell of death was strongest, and she caught him staring fixedly at a spot near the bed and it dawned on her...

He was looking at his dead mate.

She could smell it on him, the guilt and sorrow twisting into something dense and awful. He was looking at an apparition of her. It was something that only happened when wolves went insane, and she suddenly wondered how long he'd been seeing apparitions of his dead mate. With a little trepidation, she squeezed his hand gently, trying to silently tell him she was still there and she wouldn't abandon him.

Aria hated it, but it all looked like a devastating masterpiece. Disaster caught on impact, frozen forever. She was in awe at the sight alone of what Marcus had been forced to carry with him for five years.

Silently, she followed him through the house, carefully navigating the carnage left behind. He stopped at the entrance of what Aria guessed was the bedroom. It was there that the smell of death was strongest, and she caught him staring fixedly at a spot near the bed and it dawned on her...

He was looking at his dead mate.

She could smell it on him, the guilt and sorrow twisting into something dense and awful. He was looking at an apparition of her. It was something that only happened when wolves went insane, and she suddenly wondered how long he'd been seeing apparitions of his dead mate. With a little trepidation, she squeezed his hand gently, trying to silently tell him she was still there and she wouldn't abandon him.

She wanted to call out to him, to bring him out of the dark place he'd fallen into the second they'd stepped foot into the house, but something stopped her. She knew that this was what he needed to face to work through the trauma he still held onto. All Aria could do was stand beside him and be there when he needed her.

Detachedly, he led her out, walking through the house like he was wading through water.

"My love," she murmured, trying to keep her voice low for fear of waking whatever darkness still clung to the walls in the house.

He didn't turn to look at her, and he didn't answer. But he squeezed her hand in response, three short squeezes to let her know that he was still there with her.

It didn't do much to put her at ease, but she followed him anyway.

She couldn't help but admire what must have once been a quaint little home, obviously decorated with so much love and happiness. There were little personal touches everywhere she looked. There were decorative little seashells sitting atop a shelf with beach names scrawled on little plaques in front of them, knitted blankets thrown over the back of a dusty sofa, little bits and bobs that made the house a home, once.

She followed Marcus into another room, this one not nearly as wrecked as the rest of the house had been. She spotted the desk and guessed it was his old home office. It was somehow even more personal than anything she'd seen beyond the door. If there had been any doubt that Marcus had once lived there, his home office dispelled it completely.

Almost every flat surface held a photo frame, and every frame held the same smiling face, sometimes pictured beside him, but mostly alone.

Her face.

Wildly, she thought that perhaps she was just seeing things, but no, those were definitely real photos.

And if the person in those photos was who Aria believed it to be, then...

She and Marcus's dead mate had more in common than their love for the brooding Alpha.

She stepped forward, her fingers limp in his hand and falling to her side when she stepped out of reach. With numb hands, she lifted one of the photo frames from his desk and held it closer to her face.

That was his mate, smiling, caught mid-spin in the middle of the clearing just outside. The sun turned her blonde hair to burnished gold, and even though her eyes were closed, Aria somehow knew what she'd see if they were open.

Was it some kind of sick joke?

She spotted another photo, this one of both her and Marcus, the pair staring lovingly at one another in front of the house.

A dark, poisonous envy unfurled in her chest.

"She looks like me," Aria whispered, her words cracking. The mark on her neck hurt suddenly, as if to remind her that Marcus was hers, that he belonged to her and nothing would change that.

But she saw the way he gazed at the photo in her hands, a wistful, faraway look in his storm gray eyes.

"She did," he agreed, not lifting his eyes from the photo.

Heat flooded her cheeks and catapulted down to her chest, anger and jealousy simmering. And shame. God, she felt ashamed that she felt this way, jealous because his true mate had looked just like Aria.

But it was like the universe had played some awful trick on her, giving her a true mate who could never love her, and giving the wolf she loved a true mate who looked just like her.

It was silly; she knew it, but what if she was just a replacement for the true mate he'd lost?

What if she was just a clone to replace his true love?

The notion hurt, and she set the photo frame back down on the desk with more force than she intended, startling both her and Marcus.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true, right?

She was more than a replacement; she had to be. But what if the only reason that Marcus had even approached her that night at the club was that she'd reminded him of his dead mate?

Did that mean that everything in their relationship was a lie? She had nothing against his dead mate. She felt the opposite. But who the hell wanted their relationship to be built around their partner's ex?

How could she ever measure up if that was the case? God, all she had going for her was the fact that she resembled his dead mate. What else could she possibly offer him? She was stupid to think that this would have ever worked out. She couldn't even work things out with her own true mate. What chance did she have with anyone else?

Marcus hadn't told her anything about his dead mate. He'd been so secretive, holding the truth to his chest while she went about completely unaware that she could have been his dead mate's sister.

She looked up at him, his usually bright eyes darkened by grief and sorrow, and she hated herself for the surge of envy and mistrust she felt towards him. That was her mate; he'd marked not an hour ago and yet she wanted to run as far as she could.

Aria knew she couldn't do that. She would never forgive herself for abandoning him and stealing his chance to finally talk about his past after years of keeping it hidden within him.

It didn't make it any easier, but she swallowed the bile in her throat and took a steadying breath.