7 – BAPTISM OF FIRE

Sophie sat on the edge of her bed, sheets damp with sweat, and carefully peeled her dress away from her wounds.

She did it slowly, methodically, like she was disarming a trap. The fabric stuck in places it shouldn’t have, and every time she lifted it, pain flared bright enough to make her vision pinch. She didn’t make a sound.

The mansion was silent above her. Lucian slept, or possibly brooded, in his study.

Sophie pictured him there, awake in the dark, drinking control like it was water. She pushed the thought away before it could sour her breathing. Thinking about him too much was a kind of surrender.

Sophie dipped a cloth into cool water, biting back a hiss as she cleaned the welts. She wrapped herself in fresh linen, hands steady despite the tremors in her chest. She would not show weakness. Not for him. Not for anyone.

A thin tremble ran through her fingers anyway, not from pain, but from last night’s other violence. The Ball. The blast. Tom’s body laid out. Pandora’s sobs and the way her eyes sharpened when she saw Sophie.

This is on you.

Sophie scrubbed harder until her knuckles whitened. She didn’t know who had orchestrated the attack, but she knew this: it hadn’t been wolves acting alone. Not like that. Not with trucks. Not with a device that had been made by human hands.

And if Pandora was already spreading a story, it meant someone else would be spreading one too.

By the time the sun breached the horizon, Sophie was dressed. Black cargo pants. Black singlet. The double silver swords strapped to her back, throwing stars cinched at her waist. Her hair was tied in a sharp ponytail.

She paused at the mirror, eyes fixed on her own reflection as if she could command herself into being unbreakable. She saw the faint tightness at the edges of her mouth, the way her shoulders sat a fraction too rigid.

A warrior’s reflection stared back at her in the mirror. Not Lucian’s granddaughter. Not the girl who bled in silence. An elite Hunter.

She forced the thought to settle. Elite. Not ornament. Not pawn. The best of the best.

Her mind wandered as she checked her gear. All the lessons from Wildbourne Academy, etched into muscle memory: the speed of her blade, the precision of her aim, her uncanny ability to scent rogues before anyone else. Strategy had always come naturally to her.

And yet, strategy hadn’t prepared her for one thing.

Jax’s mouth on hers.

His control, the way he’d stopped himself. The way he’d said he’d wait and do it right, like Sophie was something worth waiting for. She didn’t understand why that small restraint felt more dangerous than the kiss itself.

Hunters were human, yes, but not ordinary. Descendants of the Original Four. Royal hunters who centuries ago had been blessed with gifts to wipe out the first wolf abominations.

It had begun with a lone wolf, twisted enough to believe that devouring children might grant him immortality. As he fed, his form shifted, mimicking men, until he dared steal the King’s son. The Four had hunted him, killed him, and saved the prince. But by then, the wolf’s sins had taken root. He had violated women in secret, and his half-human offspring spread like plague. Wolves prospered in the shadows, multiplying, while the four trained generations of hunters. Some still descended from the orignal four.

And Sophie, blood of that same line, was the newest heir to their burden.

The heir. The prodigy. The one Lucian had shaped too tightly.

A black armored car waited at the gate. Sophie climbed in, shoulders squared, though her heart dipped when she saw it was empty of Jax. Of course. He couldn’t spend every moment at her side babysitting.

Still, the disappointment hit. She told herself it was practical. He had a squad. A Council breathing down his neck. He wasn’t a fairytale escort.

And she wasn’t a girl who needed one.

The car pulled away. Sophie watched the estate gates slide shut behind her and felt, for one sweet moment, like she could breathe.

Two hours later, the vehicle rolled into a high-security compound. Inside, Sophie was ushered into a war room buzzing with Hunters. Maps sprawled across the tables, drones fed live footage to glowing screens.

Jax stood at the head, cold fire in his eyes.

He looked different in daylight. Not softer. Just clearer. The kind of handsome that didn’t need effort, which somehow made it worse. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms corded, hands braced on the table like he owned the room.

Sophie felt her body react when she saw him, yet she remained ice-cold and professional. Still, it didn’t stop the memories of his kiss the night before.

His gaze slid to her for half a second. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Long enough for her stomach to twist.

“In two days,” he said, voice carrying, “we move on the Spring Rivers Pack.”

Sophie blinked. A whole pack?

He explained with clinical precision. “The Alpha is our target. If we can’t reach him, then the Luna. She’ll draw him out. Betas are second priority, then the warriors. Wolves in their forms, avoid their teeth. A bite is poison. Twenty-four hours of agony before death. If captured and bitten…” His jaw hardened. “…better to kill yourself than wait.”

A hush followed that last line, like everyone in the room had seen that reality before.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Relax, sweetheart. We’ve got silver. They won’t get close enough to use their teeth.”

Jax didn’t even glance his way. “Omegas, women, children, will be in a stronghold. Our objective is complete annihilation.”

Something cold slid down Sophie’s spine. Not fear. Recognition. This was what Lucian had declared. Not a hunt. A purge.

Sophie’s mask cracked. “Isn’t this… against the treaty?”

Jax’s gaze snapped to hers, ice-blue and unyielding. “This is war.”

The words struck hard.

But his eyes softened a fraction when no one was looking, as if he wanted her to understand something else underneath it. Sophie didn’t let herself read it. Reading it would mean wanting it.

One by one, Johnny introduced the rest of the squad.

“That’s Ryder—computer prodigy, though he spends more time on illegal bets than hacking.”

“Cole—our bomb guy. Don’t give him liquor, unless you want half the base blown up.”

“Those two are Nina and Marco. Don’t let the cuddling fool you—they’ll gut a wolf before breakfast.”

“Gideon—brooding type. Don’t expect small talk.”

“Then there’s Old Man Harris. Lost his wife and kids to rogues. Been chasing a deathwish ever since, but the bastard won’t die.”

“Kofi—giant, smokes like a chimney, hits harder than a truck.”

“And finally, Daichi—our samurai. Blades sharper than his tongue.”

Johnny threw Sophie a grin. “And now we’ve got the Ice Queen. Fastest blades in the Academy. Don’t let the babyface fool you, she’s deadly.”

A few chuckles. A few looks. Sophie stayed still.

When he clapped her back, Sophie flinched. His hand paused over the bandages hidden beneath her shirt. His eyes flickered with concern. “You okay?”

Sophie’s throat tightened. Johnny’s warmth was casual, but it landed like sunlight on skin that hadn’t seen it in years.

“From the Ball,” she said smoothly, her tone flat. “I’ll heal.”

Johnny studied her a second longer, like he almost didn’t buy it. Then he let it go, because Johnny knew when to crack jokes and when to leave people their secrets.

“Any more recruits?” someone asked.

“Tomorrow,” Jax said. “Sophie is the only underage one. She’ll sleep at her own home unless we’re on assignment. She’s not in barracks.”

The decision cut, though Sophie didn’t show it. Home was the last place she wanted to be.

Jax’s jaw tightened as if he didn’t like saying it either. He didn’t look at her then, but his hand shifted on the table, a small, controlled tension that didn’t belong in a man who never lost composure.

“Dismissed,” Jax ordered. “Rest while you can.”

As people filed out, Sophie caught fragments of conversation.

“Ball was a setup.”

“Council’s too calm.”

“Someone wanted this war.”

Sophie kept walking like she hadn’t heard. Like she wasn’t collecting every word.

The drive back was silent. Shiloh had been assigned her escort, and the woman kept her eyes on the road.

Sophie tried to break the monotony, though she didn’t know why.

“How long have you been with Jax?”

“Long enough,” Shiloh replied, her voice clipped.

Sophie waited. Nothing else came.

Shiloh wasn’t cruel. She just didn’t offer warmth.

Sophie swallowed her words, then slid back into her mask. If Shiloh wanted Ice, she would get Ice.

When they pulled up to the mansion gates, Shiloh finally spoke.

“I hate new recruits. Most of them get us killed before they prove their worth. Don’t be one of them.”

Sophie’s chin lifted. “I won’t.”

Shiloh’s gaze flicked to her, cool, unreadable. “And one more thing. Jax. You’re young. Probably haven’t had experience with men. He’s one to watch. Promises the moon, gives it to someone else.”

The words hung between them, sharp and ambiguous. Shiloh shrugged, as if she didn’t care either way.

But her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. A telling sign that Sophie noticed.

“Goodnight, Ice Queen.”

And then Sophie was left alone at the gate, uncertain if she had been warned by a friend or an enemy?