Chapter 17 #2
We resumed our journey, cresting the ridgeline by midday as planned.
The view from the top took my breath away—miles of unbroken jungle canopy stretching in all directions, the distant glint of a river snaking through the green expanse, and far to the east, the misty outline of mountains.
The air here felt different, crackling somehow, like the atmosphere before a storm.
While Damien consulted the GPS and map, I found myself drawn to a small clearing just off the path.
Wildflowers unlike any I’d seen before carpeted the ground, their petals a deep indigo at the base transitioning to silver at the tips, swaying in perfect unison despite the absence of wind.
As I approached, they turned toward me like sunflowers tracking the sun.
“Luna.” Damien’s voice carried a note of warning, his posture alert, positioning himself closer to me.
“Just looky, no touchy.” I crouched near the edge of the clearing, fascinated as the flowers leaned toward me.
Without understanding why, I extended my hand, palm down, above the nearest cluster.
The flowers trembled, then arched upward until their silver tips brushed my skin.
A tingling sensation spread through my arm—not unpleasant, more like the momentary lightheadedness after standing too quickly.
For a dazzling instant, my senses sharpened dramatically.
Smells became richer, colors more vivid, sounds clearer.
I could hear a stream bubbling, catch the musky scent of a large animal that had passed through hours earlier, feel the subtle vibrations of insects moving through the soil beneath the flowers.
Then it faded, leaving me blinking in disorientation. Leaving me drowning in the loss of what once was. My wolf senses, gone.
“What happened?” Damien was suddenly beside me, his hand on my arm.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, staring at my hand. The skin where the flowers had touched me shimmered for a moment before returning to normal. “It was like…my shifter senses came back for a second. Full strength.”
He nodded slowly. “The Wolf Queen’s domain strengthens shifter blood while suppressing vampire power. These flowers seem to be magical amplifiers specifically keyed to your nature.”
“It’s more than that,” I said. “It’s like the jungle is responsive. To intent. To blood.”
“Your shifter heritage gives you an advantage here,” Damien said, helping me to my feet. His eyes held a flash of what might have been admiration. “You can perceive things I can’t.”
I brushed soil from my knees. “This place operates by different rules than either of us fully understands.”
He inclined his head in agreement.
We continued along the ridgeline, making better time now that we were following elevated terrain with less dense vegetation.
By midafternoon, we’d descended halfway down the opposite slope when I picked up an unmistakable scent, this time with my normal nose. Human sweat. Mine, definitely, but this was more than that.
I pushed aside a screen of foliage to reveal the source.
Below us, a ragged group of perhaps twenty people picked their way through the jungle.
Men, women, and children carried meager possessions in backpacks and plastic bags.
Their hollow-eyed exhaustion and northward trajectory identified them clearly: migrants attempting the incredibly dangerous journey through the Darién Gap.
“We should avoid them,” Damien said quietly, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.
A woman carried a sleeping toddler, her face set in lines of fatigue, her mouth firmed in determination.
Another child, perhaps seven or eight, stumbled alongside her, holding tight to her shirt.
My chest constricted with unwelcome recognition—the desperate look of someone willing to risk everything for a chance at safety for their family.
“They have children with them,” I murmured. “In this place.”
“Their choice is likely between desperate hardships at home or possible death here,” Damien said.
“They’re heading straight for a swamp,” I said, recognizing the terrain ahead of them from our map. “There’s a safer route about half a mile east.”
“Our mission requires discretion and speed. Involving ourselves with their journey accomplishes neither.” Despite his words, something in his expression softened.
He was right, of course. And yet…
“I’m not saying we adopt them,” I said. “Just a course correction. Five minutes, tops.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but after a moment’s consideration, he nodded. “Quickly, then. But we approach carefully. I’ve seen cartel scouts use similar groups as bait.”
“Got it.”
We descended to intercept the group, who reacted with initial alarm and suspicion. Understandable, given the dangers of the Gap. Their leader, a weathered man, regarded our high-end gear and appearance with particular wariness.
“We have no money to rob,” he said flatly in accented English.
“We’re not here for that,” I assured him. “You’re heading into dangerous terrain. There’s a safer path.”
I indicated the eastern route on their rudimentary map, explaining the hazards they would avoid.
The group conferred in rapid Spanish, asking if this was a trap, a kindness, or a way to delay them while authorities or traffickers were contacted.
While they deliberated, Damien scanned our surroundings with predatory focus, his body positioned slightly between the group and me—not interfering, but ready to move if necessary.
Finally, the man nodded.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “Why help strangers?”
Unbidden, I thought of Aria, my daughter, clutched tightly to my chest as we navigated our own uncertain future after being cast out from the pack.
“Because the jungle doesn’t need any more ghosts,” I choked out through the sudden knot in my throat.
While Damien kept a watchful distance, I helped redistribute some of their heavier items and gave them purification tablets for water from our supplies, any assistance that wouldn’t compromise our mission but might increase their chances.
One of the children, a solemn-eyed girl of about six, presented me with a bracelet of colored threads from her wrist. I accepted the gift with tears in my eyes.
“We need to move,” Damien reminded me gently as the group prepared to depart.
I nodded, waving off the migrants’ additional thanks.
As we continued our own journey, Damien watched me with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I finally asked.
“Your instinct for survival extends beyond yourself.”
I fingered the simple thread bracelet now around my wrist. “Everyone deserves a fighting chance.”
“Even vampires in werewolf territory?”
“Yes, even you, but only if you don’t bring out any more fangs from the jungle except for the one we actually need,” I said with a smile.
He laughed, the sound widening my smile even more. “Deal.”
We traveled until dusk before finding a suitable campsite beneath an outcropping that offered some shelter.
As Damien set up the same security perimeter as the previous night, I organized our supplies and prepared a cold meal of energy bars and dried fruit.
My thoughts kept returning to the migrants—their desperate determination, the children’s quiet resilience.
“They probably won’t make it,” Damien said as he joined me. “Less than thirty percent of migrant groups that size complete the crossing successfully.”
My jaw dropped. “Wow. Thank you, Mr. Doom and Gloom.”
His expression shifted instantly, genuine regret crossing his features. “I… That was callous of me.” He searched my face, his mouth tightening. “I’m sorry. But you know the dangers. We might not survive either.”
I sighed. “But doing nothing guarantees failure, for them and for us. Sometimes hope is all you’ve got, despite the odds.”
He fell quiet for a moment, looking off into the darkening jungle. When he spoke again, his voice softened. “Is that why you won’t stop until you find a cure? Hope, despite the odds?”
The question felt too personal, too close to vulnerabilities I preferred to keep armored. But deflection seemed petty after all we’d been through together to get to this point.
“It’s well beyond hope,” I admitted, my eyes stinging. “I’ve rewired myself over all the broken bits just to cope. I pretend I can talk to my best friend, Jade, through an earpiece even though she’s in the same magical coma as my daughter.”
I’d never told anyone that before. Not even Dr. Felix when he checked in about my mental health.
“I imagine she’s on quests without me, raiding tombs, having adventures.” I shrugged. “Some might call me talking to her and her talking back a hallucination. I call it survival.”
Damien held perfectly still, his eyes reflecting something more than mere curiosity, but a recognition that felt too intimate.
“Jade gave up her pack, her family, her future—all to help me raise my daughter. She’s the G.O.A.T. of best friends.” I bowed my head. “I’d do anything to save them. Both of them.”
“It’s well beyond hope for me too,” he said, so softly I barely heard him.
He stared into the growing darkness, his profile sharp against the fading light.
“Elliot gave me a life when I should have died. Taught me control when I would have become a monster.” His hands tightened into fists.
“I’ve watched him suffer for months while I searched for answers. ”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Me too.” He cleared his throat then reached into his pack and withdrew a small, wrapped package. “You should eat something more substantial than trail rations.”
He handed it to me. Inside the package was a carefully preserved sandwich—not the squashed mess I would have expected after a few days in a backpack, but something that looked almost fresh.
I stared at it in surprise. “You packed real food?”
“Felix told me you eat like a bird.” He shrugged. “He says you don’t eat enough to sustain yourself, so I packed some for you.”
The consideration behind the gesture caught me off guard. Did he make it for me himself? The thought of Damien in the kitchen frying up some—
“Holy shit, is that bacon?” I snatched it from him without even meaning to, tore into it, and tried not to moan too loudly at the salty, savory, still crunchy heaven between two pieces of bread, along with tomato, lettuce, and mayo.
He watched me eat with undisguised amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I take it you approve.”
“Mmph,” I said eloquently, my mouth full.
As night fully claimed the jungle, we established the same watch rotation as before, though I insisted on taking first shift this time. Damien didn’t argue, which might be another sign of his continued weakening in the Wolf Queen’s domain.
“I’ll wake you in four hours,” I promised as he settled against the rock wall.
He nodded, already closing his eyes. The sharp edges of his features softened slightly, making him appear almost human, vulnerable in a way that conflicted with everything I thought I knew about vampires generally and Damien specifically.
“You’re staring,” he murmured without opening his eyes.
“Just making sure you’re not already dead,” I said, looking away. “Hard to tell with vampires.”
A smile touched his lips. “I’m not dead yet. Though the Wolf Queen is certainly trying her best.”
As he drifted into whatever passed for vampire sleep, I realized with mild alarm that I was staring again.
At Damien, who had packed a (bacon!) sandwich because Felix had suggested it.
Whose touch ignited an inferno in my blood and caused my heart to misfire.
Who pushed through apparent agony to cross a magical barrier rather than admit defeat.
Whose carefully constructed walls occasionally revealed glimpses of something much more complex beneath.
It was a dangerous realization, in more ways than one.