Chapter 3 You Want Me to Stay?

Aria's POV

I opened my eyes, for a moment, I felt completely peaceful—until memory crashed back like a cold wave.

The stranger. Lorenzo.

I bolted upright, my heart already racing. What had I been thinking, bringing a wounded stranger into my home?

Even if he'd seemed harmless last night, Alpha behavior could be unpredictable, especially when they were cornered or desperate.

I really screwed up!

I slipped on my fuzzy slippers and padded quickly toward the living room, my pulse hammering against my throat.

Maybe he'd left during the night. Maybe I'd wake up to find my couch empty and this whole bizarre encounter would be nothing more than a strange dream.

The living room was indeed empty—no Lorenzo sprawled across my couch, no bloodstained bandages scattered around.

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders sagging with relief. "This is good," I whispered to myself, running a hand through my messy hair. But as my gaze lingered on that sofa, on the absence of any trace that someone had been here at all, something hollow settled in my chest. "This is exactly what should have happened."

Even as I said the words, that empty feeling grew stronger. Disappointed? That was ridiculous. I barely knew the man, and he'd brought nothing but danger to my doorstep. So why did the spotless living room feel so... lonely?

I turned to head back to my room when a soft clatter came from the kitchen, followed by what sounded like a muffled grunt of pain.

My heart jumped back into overdrive, but this time with a different kind of worry.

"Good morning."

I spun toward the kitchen doorway as Lorenzo emerged, moving with the careful deliberation of someone trying very hard not to show how much everything hurt. In his hands, he clutched a bowl, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping his grip steady.

He'd changed out of his torn, bloodstained clothes into a clean black t-shirt, but I could see where the fabric stuck slightly to his skin—fresh blood seeping through the bandages underneath.

His hair was damp, and the pallor in his face spoke of someone who'd pushed far beyond his limits.

"Moon God!" I gasped, taking a step toward him. "You shouldn't be up! How do you move so quietly when you're—"

"Sorry about that. Old habits." His mouth attempted what might have been a smile. He lifted the bowl with visible effort, the slight tremor in his arms impossible to hide. "I made breakfast. Sort of. As a thank-you for last night."

The scent from the bowl was warm and comforting, but all I could focus on was the way he swayed slightly on his feet.

"Lorenzo, you should be resting. Where did you even get those clothes?"

"Found them in the hall closet," he replied, his voice carefully controlled but strained. "Hope you don't mind. They were just sitting there."

I answered, "No worries. These belong to my dad. But surprisingly, they seem to suit you pretty well."

"Thank you. Also found some oats in your pantry." He gestured toward the bowl with movements that were clearly costing him. "Figured I should put them to good use. Your healing pheromones... they gave me enough strength to do this, though I'm definitely paying for it now."

Despite my worry, my stomach growled at the smell. But watching him struggle to stay standing was making me anxious.

"You didn't have to do this," I said, moving quickly to the table.

He stated, "Yes, I did. You saved my life. The least I can do is make sure you eat something."

I settled into my chair, watching as Lorenzo lowered himself down with painstaking care, his jaw clenched against what was obviously significant discomfort. A thin sheen of sweat beaded his forehead from the exertion of cooking and moving around.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, though the answer was written all over his face.

"Better. Much better, thanks to you." The lie came easily, but his hands shook slightly as he spoke. "Your healing pheromones are... remarkable. I've never experienced anything quite like them."

Heat crept up my neck at the compliment, but I was too concerned to be properly flustered. "Most Omegas have some healing ability, but you're clearly still in pain. You shouldn't have pushed yourself like this."

"It was worth it."

The porridge was simple but surprisingly good—warm and creamy with just a hint of honey. I glanced up to find Lorenzo watching me intently, as if my reaction mattered more than his own physical comfort.

"It's good," I admitted. "You cook often?"

"Not really. But when you live alone, you learn to adapt." He leaned back in his chair, then immediately winced and straightened again.

"About that," I said, setting down my spoon. "Do you need to contact anyone? Your pack must be worried."

Lorenzo's expression tightened—whether from pain or the question, I couldn't tell. "I'll try calling my friend later. See if he can pick me up."

I reached for my phone and slid it across the table. "You can use this if you want."

"Thanks." He picked up the device, the movement pulling at his injuries enough to make him hiss softly under his breath. "I appreciate you not pushing for details about last night."

"Everyone has their secrets." I took another bite of porridge, then added more softly, "And everyone deserves the right to keep them, at least until they're ready to share."

Something shifted in his expression—a flash of what looked like guilt or regret.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, but I found myself stealing glances at Lorenzo when I thought he wasn't looking.

There was something in the timber of his voice that resonated deep in my bones, a forgotten hum my own wolf seemed to recognize. It was maddening.

"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.

Lorenzo nodded, though I caught the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Are you sure we haven't met before? I know it sounds crazy, but I have this feeling..." I shook my head, frustrated by my inability to put the sensation into words. "Never mind. You're right—I'm probably mixing you up with someone else."

Lorenzo said in a low voice, "If we'd met, I would remember."

The certainty in his voice should have reassured me, but it didn't. If anything, it made the strange sense of recognition stronger.

I reached for my water glass at the same moment Lorenzo moved to clear his empty bowl. Our hands collided, and his fingers brushed across my wrist.

The reaction was instant and overwhelming. It felt like lightning shooting up my arm, followed by a rush of heat that made my breath catch.

Lorenzo's scent intensified, wrapping around me like a tangible thing, and for a moment the world narrowed to just the point where our skin touched.

I yanked my hand back so quickly that I knocked over my water glass, sending liquid cascading across the table.

"I'm so sorry!" I jumped up, my face burning with embarrassment as I rushed toward the kitchen. "I'll get paper towels—"

Lorenzo was on his feet too, moving to help despite his injuries. "It's fine, don't worry about—"

But when I spun around with the paper towels, I nearly collided with him. He was right there, close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his eyes, close enough that his presence seemed to fill all the air in the room. Close enough to see the way he was gritting his teeth against the pain of moving so quickly.

My inner wolf stirred restlessly, responding to something I couldn't name. Lorenzo's breathing had deepened, and his gaze dropped briefly to my lips before snapping back to my eyes.

"I should clean this up," I whispered, but I didn't move.

"Aria." The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine. "I—"

The spell broke when I forced myself to step back, putting necessary distance between us. "Paper towels. Right. The table."

I focused on cleaning up the spilled water, acutely aware of Lorenzo watching me with an intensity that made my hands shake slightly. When I glanced up, a muscle twitched in his jaw—whether from fighting some internal battle or from the obvious pain of standing for too long, I couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he murmured.

"You didn't." The words came out too quickly. "I mean, it was just an accident. These things happen."

Lorenzo sat back down slowly, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were bloodless. "Maybe I should try calling my friend now."

"Of course." I handed him my phone, trying not to notice how his hands trembled slightly as he took it. "But maybe you should rest a bit first. You're clearly still healing."

As he dialed, I couldn't help but notice the way he held himself—controlled, contained, like he was keeping something powerful leashed just beneath the surface while simultaneously fighting to stay conscious. When the call went to voicemail, frustration and exhaustion both flickered across his features.

"No answer?" I asked.

"I'll try again later." He set the phone down with deliberate care, the small movement clearly costing him. "I should probably head out soon anyway. I've imposed on your kindness long enough."

I said quickly, "You don't have to rush. I mean, you can barely stand up without bleeding. You're definitely not ready to leave."

Lorenzo's eyes searched my face, as if looking for hidden meanings in my words. "You want me to stay?"