Page 26 of Aries

His expression softens as he watches Spark lead another aerial parade. “Maybe you’re right.”

We stay for a while after the first moon rises, watching nature’s light show while our small companion plays with his new friends. The star dancers seem reluctant to let Spark leave, but ourshimmerlingseems to use an elaborate light pattern to promise its return.

Walking back to the cottage, our arms occasionally brush—accidental contact that sends awareness skittering across my skin. The rules feel especially difficult tonight, with aurora-light painting everything in magic and possibility.

“Thank you,” Aries says quietly as we reach our door.

“For what?”

“For sharing this.” He gestures at the sky, still dancing with color. “For helping me remember there’s more to life than… than what we have to face in Phase Three.”

Spark creates a red heart between us before zooming inside, trailing aurora-touched sparkles.

“You’re far from sneaky, my friend,” Aries says, and we share a laugh.

The moment feels precious somehow—this shared joy, this reminder that not everything between us is weighted with trauma. That maybe we’re building something new alongside healing something broken.

Soon we’ll face more memories, more pain. But tonight, we saw magic, and that feels like its own kind of healing.

Chapter Sixteen

Callie

All three Committee members materialize, their combined presence immediately signaling the importance of this moment. Spark hovers anxiously between Aries and me, its usual bright colors muted to a concerned lavender.

“Phase Three requires complete openness,” they intone. “You will both experience the memory through Aries’ perspective—his thoughts, his feelings, his choices. Are you prepared?”

Aries’ hand finds mine, squeezing gently. His palm feels clammy. It doesn’t surprise me. In fact, I wonder if this will be harder on him than me.

The memory field activates, reality blurring around us. Spark presses close as everything dissolves into the past.

The first sensation is overwhelming—rage and helplessness warring in Past-Aries’ chest as he watches the guards march us down the corridor.

Through his eyes, I see myself stumble past each cell, trying not to stare at the alien creatures within. His enhanced hearing picks up every terrified heartbeat, every muffled sob.

Not again, his thoughts rage.Not another innocent forced to suffer because of these monsters.

When they shove Past-me into his cell, Past-Aries catalogs every detail with brutal clarity—my trembling hands, the fear-scent rolling off me in waves, the way I try to make myself smaller against the bars. His instincts scream to protect, to shield, but he knows that’s impossible.

The loudspeaker’s announcement hits him like a physical blow. One hour to mate or die. His hands clench, nails pricking his palms as he fights to maintain control.

“My name is Callie,” Past-me says, voice shaking but chin lifted. His respect blooms instantly at my courage, even in terror.

“Aries,” he responds, keeping his voice low and calm despite the fury churning inside. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

His thoughts race:How to make this bearable? How to give her some sense of control when we have none? How to touch her without adding to the trauma?

A scream echoes from another cell—someone testing the guards’ resolve. Past-Aries flinches at the sound of the pain collar’s activation, memories of his own torture flooding back.

We’re so connected in this moment that I feel his remembered pain, instantly knowing what the pain/kill collar feels like at high levels, although I’ve only felt it for a moment once, at the lowest level. I knew he was pressed into the gladiator arena, knew he’d never wanted it, but never knew the poor male had been tortured.

“We can’t wait much longer,” he forces himself to say, hating every word.But better to face it now than risk the guards’ intervention.He’s seen what happens when they get impatient.

When Past-me nods, tears falling, a visceral anguish breaks inside him. His face contorts with a pain that transcends thephysical—this is soul-deep torment. I feel it now as if it were my own: his desperate need to protect me warring with the knowledge that he can’t shield me from what must happen.

The way his eyes briefly squeeze shut, his jaw clenching so hard I can see the muscle jump beneath his bronze skin. When he looks at me again, something has fractured behind those golden eyes—some final barrier between the male he was and the one circumstances forced him to become.

“Just… please be gentle?”

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