"Marry me." Damien Blackwood smirked, golden eyes darkening. “Come again?” Sofia gripped the contract, her heart still raw from Jake’s betrayal. “No emotions. No strings. Just a contract.” Damien chuckled. “And why do you need a husband, sweetheart?” “Revenge,” she admitted. “I trusted him. He slept with someone else. In our bed.” Something flickered in Damien’s gaze—something possessive. “You think I’ll pretend?” Sofia frowned. “What do you mean?” He stepped closer, voice low. “I don’t fake things. Not my loyalty. Not my obsession. If you become my wife, you become mine.” She should’ve walked away. Instead, she signed. And everything changed. At first, it was just a contract. Then came the way Damien touched her—"Good girl." The way his voice dropped when another man looked at her. "Mine." Then came the nightmares—visions of another life. Another love. Him. Damien wasn’t just her husband now. He had been before. And she wasn’t just human. She was a white wolf. But Jake’s obsession turned dangerous. He would steal her again. Only Damien’s obsession burned hotter. No one touched what was his. And if Jake tried, he wouldn’t live to regret it. A wolf always protects what's his , I thought I married a billionaire, not knowing that he is a wolf, one that unleashed my powers I never knew existed
View MoreThe relentless twilight of the 'Wolf Born Twice' reality began to fray at the edges. The sharp scents of pine and blood softened, the perpetual chill lessened, and the oppressive shadows receded. It wasn’t a sudden transition, but a gradual melting, like frost under a hesitant sun.Sofia felt the change, a subtle shift in the fabric of this dreamscape. She was still the predator, vigilant and detached, the cold logic of survival dictating her every instinct. But a different sensation was bleeding in – a warmth, a pull, a persistent, gentle pressure she had been ruthlessly pushing away.Let go, Sofia. The voice was Lyra’s, no longer distant and pleading, but closer, clearer, imbued with a quiet strength. Let go of the fight. Not the one out there, but the one within you. Come back to the in-between.The 'in-between'. The place she had visited before, a liminal space connecting her conscious mind, her wolf, and the deeper currents of her being. It felt… safer than the twilight world. Le
The biting wind whipped around Damien and Kieran as they descended the worn stone steps into the ancestral crypts beneath the pack house. The air grew colder with each step, thick with the scent of damp earth and something else – something ancient and heavy, the accumulated presence of generations of wolves laid to rest. This wasn't merely a burial site; it was a reservoir of lineage, of history, of secrets best left undisturbed.But secrets were exactly what they needed.After Draven Thorne's chilling message, Damien’s focus had shifted. Protecting Sofia from this external threat was paramount, but he couldn’t fight blindly. They needed to understand the Blackwood curse, its true nature, and its connection to The Hollow Order and this terrifying figure, Thorne. Kieran’s frantic research had unearthed fragmented mentions of Elias Blackwood, a figure shrouded in mystery at the very genesis of the curse, and the possibility of contacting ancestral spirits bound to powerful bloodlines.“
Damien stood by the infirmary window, the first weak light of dawn painting the sky in hesitant greys and pinks. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford. The image of Sofia’s still form, the echo of Kieran’s devastating words about the Blackwood curse and its terrible solutions, were etched into his mind. He had refused the grim options presented, choosing instead the impossible path: to find a way to reach Sofia, to pull her back from whatever twilight realm held her, and face the curse together.A sharp rap on the door shattered the fragile quiet. Kieran entered, his face even more strained than before, if that were possible.“Alpha,” he said, his voice tight. “We have a problem. Another one.”Damien turned, his jaw set. “More Hollow Order?”Kieran nodded, but his eyes held a different kind of dread. “Yes. But… not just a sigil this time. It’s… a statement.”“Where?”“Just outside the western border. The Creekside Pack.”Damien’s eyes narrowed. The Creekside Pack. A small, quiet group
back in reality The sterile scent of the infirmary chafed at Damien’s senses. He sat beside Sofia’s bed, his hand holding hers. It was slack and unresponsive in his grasp. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale and drawn. She hadn’t stirred since collapsing hours ago, after the invisible struggle that had wracked her form, leaving her locked within whatever twisted reality her mind now inhabited. He remembered the look in her eyes just before they fluttered closed – distant, cold, utterly unlike his Sofia.Lyra, usually a comforting presence, was silent within him, a dull ache where fierce protectiveness should have been. It was as if even his wolf was reeling from whatever had happened inside Sofia’s dreamscape.A soft knock preceded Kieran’s entry. He looked even more weary than he had earlier, dark circles under his eyes, ancient scrolls clutched in one hand. He moved quietly, stopping respectfully a few feet from the bed.“Any change, Alpha?” Kieran’s voice was low, filled with
The world was a canvas of perpetual twilight, painted in hues of bruised purple and blood-red. Sofia didn’t walk; she stalked. The ground beneath her boots was hard-packed earth, stained dark in places that still smelled faintly of iron. The air was cold, carrying the scent of pine and something sharp and acrid – fear.She moved with a predator’s grace, silent and efficient. Every muscle was coiled, ready to strike or vanish. Her senses were honed to a razor’s edge. The rustle of leaves wasn’t just wind; it was a potential ambush. The snapped twig wasn’t just nature; it was an intruder. This wasn’t the soft, familiar world of the pack house, or the vibrant, sunlit forest she knew. This was a battlefield, a hunting ground, a place where the weak were consumed.Her hand rested habitually on the hilt of the blade strapped to her thigh. The metal was cold, worn smooth by countless grips. It felt right, an extension of her will. Her clothes were practical, dark leather and sturdy cloth, de
The heavy oak door of Damien’s study burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the framed maps on the opposite side. Damien looked up from the reports on his desk, his eyes narrowing as Kieran Ash stumbled in, his usual composed demeanor replaced by a frantic urgency. Dust and what looked suspiciously like dried blood smudged his worn leather armor.“Kieran! What in the name of the Goddess happened?” Damien’s voice was sharp, immediately on alert. He rose, circling the desk.Kieran leaned against the doorframe, breathing heavily, his gaze wild. “No time for pleasantries, Alpha. It’s happening again.”“What is? Spill it,” Damien demanded, reaching for the hunting knife habitually sheathed at his belt.“The killings,” Kieran choked out, pushing off the frame. He crossed the room in a few strides, his eyes locking onto Damien’s. “Across the border territories. Three packs hit in two nights. Brutal. No survivors left to talk.”Damien’s jaw tightened. He’d heard whisp
(Damien’s POV – Present Day)The blood on the floor had long since dried. The candles flickered as if they feared what we were about to do.Lyra stood at the center of the chamber barefoot, her cloak discarded, her runes fully exposed across her arms and collarbone. Her breathing was shallow, but her gaze had steadied. Focused.“This is not a spell,” she said, voice low. “It’s a bridge. Once we begin, I won’t control where you go. The memories will pull you toward the piece of her soul that still remembers you.”“And if it doesn’t?” I asked.She looked at me with those storm-gray eyes. “Then you’ll wander her past until your spirit forgets who it was.”I didn’t flinch.“If there’s a part of her that still remembers me,” I murmured, stepping closer, “that’s all I need.”Lyra knelt beside the basin of now-consecrated blood. She whispered an ancient chant, tracing her fingers in precise patterns above the surface. The blood began to glow faintly, pulsing—like it was responding to my hear
(Damien’s POV – Present Day)The moon was barely more than a sickle of light in the sky. Clouds churned over the forest, and the air was heavy—too quiet, too still. The trees whispered warnings in a language only the cursed could understand.I hadn’t planned to return to the ritual site tonight.But something—a pull—dragged me here.The clearing still bore the markings of the ceremony that broke me. The silver runes carved into stone still shimmered faintly, and the scent of magic hung in the air like cold smoke.I stepped into the circle.And stopped.Someone was there.A body.A woman.She lay curled at the edge of the stones, half-covered in leaves, her skin dusted with blood and soil. A torn cloak clung to her frame, silver thread stitched into its seams—ancient symbols I hadn’t seen in centuries.I rushed to her side.She wasn’t a rogue. Her scent was strange, like rain and stardust. Not of this land.Her breathing was shallow. Her skin ice-cold.But then, her lips parted.And in
(Damien’s POV – Three Moons Without Her)Time moved differently without her.Slower.Heavier.Like the minutes were dragging their feet through wet concrete.Three days had passed since the ritual.Since I bound my name to another woman to deceive ancient spirits.Since I whispered goodbye into the ear of the only woman who ever made this cursed blood of mine feel worthy.I still felt her breath on my neck.Still caught her scent in the folds of the sheets.Still expected her to walk barefoot into the kitchen every morning with a sleepy smirk, teasing me about my obsessions.But she didn’t.And she wouldn’t.Not for three moons.And I was starting to forget how to breathe without her.---The penthouse was too quiet.I left it behind after the second day.I couldn’t walk into that room without hearing the machines beeping beside her bed. Without seeing the imprint of her body on the pillow. Without smelling cinnamon and honey on the linens.So I returned to the Blackwood manor—a place
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