Damien’s eyes darkened as he pulled away from Sofia, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her shiver. ”There’s a prophecy,” he began, his voice low and weighted with something unspoken. ”One that ties your bloodline to the origins of the curse. It’s been whispered among the packs for centuries, but I never thought—” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if the words were too heavy to say aloud. Sofia’s heart raced, her pulse thrumming in her ears. ”My bloodline?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. ”What does that mean? How could my family be connected to this?” Damien’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin in a gesture that was both comforting and possessive. ”Your ancestors were not just human,” he explained, his tone grave. ”They were part of the first pack. The original werewolves. The curse didn’t just affect us—it started with them. And now, with you, it’s come full circle.” She felt as if the ground had shifted beneath h
"Damien," she finally said, turning to face him. He stood in the center of the room, his hands braced against the marble counter, his head bowed as if waging an internal war. At the sound of her voice, he lifted his gaze, and the moment their eyes met, Sofia felt it—that pull, sharp and inescapable. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You should rest." She swallowed. "I don’t think I can." Damien pushed off the counter and stalked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "You’re still shaking." Was she? She hadn’t even noticed. All she could focus on was him—on the way his golden eyes darkened, on the heat radiating from his body as he came closer. Her breath hitched when he reached her, towering over her, his presence overwhelming. His fingers ghosted over her arm, sending a shiver through her. "You're still burning up from the fight,"
The morning after their passionate night, Sofia had laid out her plan, telling Damien exactly what she thought they needed to do next. She hadn’t expected him to agree so easily, but he had. And that’s what led them here. Jake’s apartment had been abandoned for weeks, the air inside stale with the scent of something long forgotten. It felt wrong being here, stepping into a place that had once been his sanctuary. A place where she had once belonged. But that was a different life. A different Sofia. Determined, she sifted through his old belongings, searching for anything ....any clue that could explain why Jake had changed, why he had aligned himself with the hunters, and what it all meant for her and Damien. Jake's body was never found, but he is alive and watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike. He knows their every move, every weakness, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Sofia’s fingers trembled as she unfolded the old, faded parchment, th
The door creaked open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. Sofia’s breath hitched, her fingers clutching the edge of the desk as Damien stepped in front of her, his dagger gleaming in the low light. “Who the hell are you?” Damien growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down Sofia’s spine. The figure stepped into the room, and Sofia’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was Jake. But... how? His body was never found, but she had assumed... Jake, his face pale and drawn but his eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity, let out a low chuckle. "well isn't it cozy ,Long time no see, Sofia." Damien’s grip on the dagger tightened, his body tensing as he moved to shield Sofia once more. "You’re dead," Damien snarled, his voice low and deadly. "How…?” Jake smirked, his gaze flicking between them, a cruel amusement in his eyes. "Let’s just say I have a knack for survival." He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "And I’v
The room was a blur of motion as Damien and Jake collided with the force of a storm, their bodies crashing into furniture and sending shards of wood flying through the air. Sofia stumbled back, clutching the dagger tightly in her hand, her chest heaving as she watched the two men exchange savage blows. Damien’s movements were fluid, almost predatory, every strike calculated and precise. Jake, on the other hand, fought with a reckless abandon, his desperation evident in the wild swings of his fists.Sofia’s heart raced, her mind spinning as she tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before her. This can’t be happening, not again, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. She took a step forward, the dagger trembling in her grip, but before she could intervene, Damien grabbed her arm and pulled her close.“Stay back,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. His eyes were dark, almost feral, as they locked onto hers. “This is between me and him.”Sofia opened her mouth to pro
Sofia gasped, her body jerking in surprise as the crash echoed through the room. Damien’s arms tightened around her, his body instinctively shielding hers as they both turned toward the sound. The door had been kicked open, splintered wood hanging from the frame, and for a moment, the only sound was the heavy breathing of two people caught in the heat of the moment.Damien’s face was a storm of emotions—anger, protectiveness, and something deeper, something Sofia couldn’t quite place. His eyes, dark and intense, flicked to her, and she saw it then: the raw truth he had been hiding. The truth that had been simmering beneath the surface, just waiting for the right moment to spill over.“Stay behind me,” Damien growled, his voice low and commanding. He stepped in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking her from whatever—or whoever—had just barged in. But Sofia wasn’t one to be told what to do. She moved to his side, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger she had discarded earl
The door crashed open, splintering into pieces as a group of intruders stormed into the room. Their eyes glinted with malice, weapons drawn and pointed directly at Sofia and Damien. "oh fuck, why can't I have a passionate night with my wife" he said with anger on his face The air thickened with tension, the kind that promised violence. Sofia’s grip tightened on the dagger, her knuckles whitening as she stepped closer to Damien’s broad back. “What do we do?” she whispered again, her voice trembling just enough for him to hear. Damien didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he moved with a predatory grace, his body shifting slightly as if preparing to strike. His gaze never left the intruders, but his hand reached back, finding Sofia’s waist and pulling her closer. Stay with me, the gesture seemed to say. One of the intruders stepped forward, a sneer twisting his face. “Hand her over, Blackwood. This doesn’t have to get messy.” Damien’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “Oh,
Damien’s POV The heavy silence of the penthouse shattered under the weight of my voice. “Gather around. Now.” My command was sharp, unwavering. Within seconds, the pack assembled in the living room, their eyes flickering with concern. The air was thick with tension, the weight of recent events pressing down on all of us. Sofia stood beside me, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable—but her eyes burned with a quiet fury. I could feel it radiating from her, her anger barely contained beneath the surface. I let my gaze sweep over the group, ensuring I had their full attention. “Listen carefully,” I began, my voice steady but edged with steel. “Jake has been watching us—stalking us—more than we ever realized. This penthouse isn’t safe anymore. Intruders are getting bolder. We’ve had too many close calls to brush this off as coincidence.” Murmurs of concern rippled through the pack. They knew I wasn’t exaggerating. A younger werewolf, Ethan, stepped forward, his brows furrowed. “W
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
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