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Chapter 84 – The Mark of Thorne
Last Updated:
2025-04-30 14:01:03
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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.“
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The 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
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Sofia’s POV I swear, people needed a new hobby. As I walked out of my last cooking class for the day, my phone buzzed with a notification. I barely glanced at it, expecting another pointless email or a TikTok update. But then I saw the message preview, and my eyes narrowed. "Hey girl, I thought you should know your boyfriend has been messing around." I stopped mid-step, rolling my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain. Seriously? This again? This was the third random message like this in the past month. Different numbers, same tired accusation. I sighed and shook my head. Some people just couldn’t stand seeing a happy couple. I wasn’t stupid—I knew Jake. He wasn’t the type to cheat. We spent almost every day together, and when we weren’t together, we were texting, calling, FaceTiming. If he was cheating, he had to be the most efficient multitasker on the planet. I deleted the message without replying and stuffed my phone into my bag. Some people were so miserable they just wanted to
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I stopped dead in my tracks. What the... My heart pounded against my ribs. The air around me suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. I didn’t even think...I just started walking faster, my brain scrambling for an explanation that made sense. Was this some sick prank? Some stalker? Or... No. I wasn’t going to let some random text scare me. I squared my shoulders, shoved my phone into my pocket, and quickened my pace toward my apartment. But the uneasy feeling in my stomach? That wasn’t going anywhere. By the time I reached my building, my hands were clammy. I took the stairs two at a time, gripping my keys so tight my knuckles turned white. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, already ready to shake off the nerves. But then I saw them. A pair of sneakers. Jake’s sneakers. Relief hit me like a wave, and I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “You got me worried, baby, so you’re...” I stopped mid-sentence. Because right next to Jake’s sneakers, on my freaking
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Bad decisions always start with whiskey. And right now? I was making the worst one of my life. The world around me blurred at the edges, but the fire in my chest? That was crystal clear. Revenge wasn’t just an option—it was necessary. Jake was not about to walk away from this like nothing happened. Not after what he did. And that was when it hit me. Damien Blackwood. Rich. Dangerous. Completely obsessed with me. I laughed to myself, the sound bitter. He had wanted me for years. I knew it. He knew it. And now? I was going to use it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts. Found his name. Hit call. He picked up before the first ring even finished. “Sofia.” His voice was smooth, cool, like he had been expecting this. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.” I swirled the whiskey in my glass. “I have a proposition for you.” A pause. Then, a low chuckle. “Now you have my attention.” “I need to see you.” Another pause, heavier
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Damien’s eyes flicked down to the freshly signed contract, then back to me. His smirk? Gone. His usual cool, unreadable expression? Nowhere to be found. What was left? Obsession. Raw, unfiltered, dangerous obsession. He lifted the contract, scanned my signature, and then, in one slow, deliberate movement, set it down on the table. His fingers tapped against the paper—once, twice—before he leaned forward, eyes locked onto mine. "Now," he said, voice dropping into something dark and undeniably possessive, "seal it." I frowned. "What?" He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. Like he was amused. Like he had been waiting for this moment. "A contract isn't official until it's sealed, Sofia." His voice was all silk and sin. "So kiss me." I blinked. "Excuse me?" His jaw tightened. "Kiss me," he repeated. "Or do you need me to spell it out for you?" Oh. Oh, this man was not playing. I should have hesitated. Should have thought about what I was doing. But the way he was looking a
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“Stop,” i whispered, but my body betrayed me, leaning infinitesimally closer to his. “I don’t think you want me to stop,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “In fact, I think you want me to do the exact opposite.” my knees felt weak. This is wrong. This is part of the plan. But my body wasn’t listening to my mind anymore. i felt his hand trail down my arm, his fingers intertwining with mine. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through me, and I knew I was losing control. “Damien,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Sofia?” His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through her. “This... this isn’t what we agreed on.” “Maybe not,” he admitted, his free hand cupping her cheek. “But tell me you don’t feel this.” I couldn't. Because I actually did. The pull between them was magnetic, undeniable. my lips parted with a silent invitation, and he didn’t hesitate. His mouth captured mine in a searing kiss that sent my world spinning. His lips were firm yet soft
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Morning rolled in like a slow burn—soft golden light spilling through the massive windows, warming the silk sheets tangled around my legs. My body ached in the best way possible, a deep, satisfied soreness that had me sinking further into the mattress. And the craziest part? I didn’t regret a damn thing. Not the way I let myself get lost in him. Not the way I let him take whatever he wanted, knowing full well I wanted it just as much. A slow stretch had me brushing against something solid, warm—him. Damien was still there, lying beside me like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did). One arm tucked behind his head, the other resting low on my hip, fingers just barely tracing circles against my skin like he wasn’t ready to stop touching me. His dark eyes were already on me, heavy-lidded, unreadable, like he’d been awake long enough to just watch. "Morning," he murmured, voice all rough and slow, like he was still tasting last night. I turned my head, pulse kicking up at th
Last Updated : 2025-01-24
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The 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
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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.“
The Beast's Bride: surrendering to the beast within Chapter 84 – The Mark of Thorne
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
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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 Beast's Bride: surrendering to the beast within Chapter 82 – The Wolf Born Twice
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
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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
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(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
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(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
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(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
