Chapter 18 - Sophie
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare at the door I'd just closed, feeling only slightly disoriented, as if I’m still climbing down or reeling from everything that’s happened in one day.
One day.
That’s all it took for my life to change so drastically, and to my surprise, I’m doing better than I thought I would, finding a certain peace in accepting my powers, despite not being able to wield them the way I wanted to in front of the council.
But how I feel has more to do with the way Damian handled things.
Gosh!
He handled it so well, reminding me of the time he defended me against the bitter, dark-haired werewolf who always watches me as if he’s either scared of me or wants to rip my head from my neck.
And tonight, Damian defended me in front of all the council members, standing up for me as if I were the most important person in that meadow outside the meeting cabin.
Phew!
Maybe focusing on how hot he was is a way to distract myself, but I can’t help it. I’ll think about powers and fire and demons tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll keep my mind on Damian and how irresistible he is.
The moment my head hits the pillow, and I close my eyes with a long, drawn-out sigh, fire comes first, and it’s not the dream I was hoping to dream.
The fire is not the kind I can feel breathing beneath my skin when danger calls, not the kind that answers me. This fire feels wrong, too fast, too hungry, tearing through everything around me without waiting for permission.
I’m standing in the valley, but it isn’t the valley I know.
The trees are nothing but blackened skeletons clawing at a copper sky, their leaves burning as they fall, ash drifting down around me like snow.
The ground beneath my feet splits open, veins of molten light pulsing through the earth as if the land itself is bleeding.
My chest tightens.
“Sophie...”
I turn at the sound of my name to find Damian standing at the riverbank.
Relief hits me so hard that my knees nearly give out. I run toward him, fire flaring at my heels, chasing me, feeding on the panic that hammers in my chest. The closer I get, the farther he seems, the river stretching wider with every step I take.
“Damian!” I call out, reaching the water’s edge and throwing my hands forward with a panic that’s rooted deep in my chest, begging the river to rise, to meet my fire the way it did before.
The water answers when Damian lifts his hands, but it’s too late.
It evaporates the moment it touches the heat pouring from my body, hissing into nothing, leaving me alone at the edge of the river with flames roaring unchecked.
Damian’s expression changes, but it’s not with fear.
It’s acceptance.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I can stop it. I just need—”
The fire surges, blocking out my voice. Wolves emerge from the smoke around me, running toward me with familiar faces and trusting eyes.
The Red Moon Pack. My chest tightens as I open my mouth to warn them, to pull the flames back, but the fire doesn’t listen.
It lashes outward, wild and ravenous, consuming fur and flesh in flashes of blinding heat.
The wolves don’t burn.
They turn to ash, their howls tearing through me, ripping something open in my chest.
“Sophie!”
Damian’s voice reaches me at last, distorted, as if carried through water too deep to swim through. I spin, desperate, searching for him, and that’s when I see the demons rising instead, peeling themselves out of the smoke, their molten eyes fixed on me with delight.
“This is what you are…” they whisper in a collective, droning tone, their voices layered and cruel. “This is what happens when fire forgets its place…. You are destruction….”
“I’m not—” My breath stutters and catches in my throat. “I’m not doing this—”
The flames collapse inward suddenly, spiraling toward my chest, compressing tighter and hotter until the pressure is unbearable. My body locks, my lungs forget how to work, and I realize with dawning horror that I can’t release the fire.
I’m going to burn from the inside out.
Then Damian breaks through the smoke, charging toward me, the river finally answering him in full force. Water roars at his command, surging forward, reaching for my fire.
For one perfect, fragile heartbeat, fire and water stretch toward each other again, like arms stretching out toward one another.
Then the flames rise higher, and they wall him off.
I scream his name as fire slams down between us, and his silhouette blurs, vanishing behind the inferno, his outstretched hand dissolving into light and heat.
The ground gives way beneath my feet, and suddenly, I’m falling, pulled into the depths of heat and darkness in the all-consuming fire.
I gasp awake, bolting upright as if something yanked me back into my body.
My heart slams against my ribs, my chest burning as I suck in air that feels too thin, too sharp. The room is dark, silent, whole. No ash. No flames. No screams.
Just my bedroom.
Just the steady hum of the valley outside.
My hand flies to my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as if I can physically hold the fire in place. My mouth opens on instinct.
Damian.
The name trembles on my tongue, raw and desperate—but I swallow it back, clenching my jaw as I force my breathing to slow. I can’t call out to him. Not over a dream. Not when he’s finally giving me space, finally trusting me not to unravel uncontrollably.
He’s safe, I tell myself.
For now.
That's the reassurance I give myself, because truthfully, that's what I'm more concerned about—that something happened to him.
Because of me…
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, pressing my bare feet to the floor, grounding myself in the cool wood. The fire beneath my skin flickers restlessly, but stays contained, as if it’s listening this time.
I drag a shaky hand down my face and exhale.
It was just a dream.
Just a bad dream, and I'm sure of it, as sure as I am that I'm awake now, pinching the skin on my arm to come back to reality.
But the fear lingers, sharp and insistent, curling low in my gut like a warning I don’t know how to ignore.
Sleep doesn’t come back easily after that.
I lie there for a long time, in the stillness of the night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of the valley waking around me; the distant rush of the river, the soft rustle of leaves brushing against the cabin walls, the muted sounds of early-morning activity far beyond the trees.
Each sound anchors me a little more firmly into the present, reminding me that the fire is contained, that the demons are not clawing their way out of the earth, and that Damian is alive and not lost to my fear.
Eventually, the tightness in my chest eases.
I force myself out of bed before my thoughts can circle back to the dream, padding across the room to the small bathroom.
Cold water splashes against my face, helping chase away the lingering heat beneath my skin, and when I look at my reflection, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
My eyes look older somehow, darker around the edges, like I’ve lived a lifetime in the span of a few weeks.
I dress slowly, deliberately, choosing comfort over armor for once. When I step out of my room, the cabin smells different than it usually does: warm, inviting, threaded with something unmistakably human.
Food.
I pause at the end of the hallway, surprised by how that alone makes my chest soften.
The last time Damian tried to cook for me, I’d barely touched the plate.
I’d sat there stiff and suspicious, convinced every kind gesture was another attempt to bind me tighter, another reminder that I didn’t belong here.
Back then, accepting his food felt like accepting him, and I wasn’t ready for that.
This morning, my stomach growls softly in response to the smell.
The kitchen is bathed in early sunlight when I step inside, and Damian stands at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly damp, as if he’s already been outside. He looks…normal. Grounded. Not the alpha, not the leader of a supernatural war, just a man making breakfast in a quiet cabin.
He glances up when he senses me, his gaze softening instantly.
“Morning,” he says gently, like he’s afraid of startling me.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice steadier than I expect it to be.
He doesn’t ask if I slept well. I’m grateful for the fact that he doesn't probe and just remains a quiet anchor in his presence. Instead, he gestures to the table, where a plate already waits for me with eggs, toasted bread, fruit, and a mug steaming quietly beside it.
No pressure. No expectation.
I sit, and the chair doesn’t feel like a trap this time.
As I take my first bite, warmth spreads through me, simple and grounding, and something inside my chest loosens.
I didn’t realize how long it’d been since I allowed myself something this ordinary, something this kind.
Damian watches me from the counter without hovering, without intruding, and when he sees me actually eating, relief flickers across his face before he looks away.
It makes my throat tighten.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, surprising both of us.
He nods once. “You’re welcome.”
After breakfast, he doesn’t mention training.
Instead, he asks, “Would you like to get out of the valley for the day?”
I blink at him. “Out…how?”
“There’s a trail into the mountains,” he says. “High ground. It's quiet out there, away from the pack. No council. No expectations.”
The offer feels like a gift.
So, I nod my head slowly and head back to my bedroom to prepare for the day.
No council. No expectations.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I don't feel any pressure. I mean, it's still there, at the back of my mind, but I'm able to push it back without focusing on it too much.
Damian is enough of a distraction—a welcome one—as he leads me toward the hiking trail.
The mountains are different from the valley—wilder, sharper, untouched in a way that makes my lungs ache with every breath of thin, clean air.
We walk side by side, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about nothing at all.
He tells me stories about growing up here, about sneaking away as a teenager, about learning to control water magic when he'd gained the ability to shapeshift on his eighteenth birthday.
I laugh more than I expect to, the sound feeling strange and unfamiliar in my own ears.
For a while, I forgot about fire.
I forget about demons.
I even forget about the nightmare.
We’re sitting on a rock kissed by the warmth of the sun, overlooking the valley, when Damian’s expression shifts. I notice the slight tick and follow his gaze as his eyes flicker to the back of the mountain.
That's when it hits me…
We're in the same spot we used to visit when we were dating.
Sundays.
Our picnics after hiking.
“Damian…” I murmur, shock crippling my breathing.
He nods gently, getting comfortable as he bends his knees and presses his elbows into his thighs. “Yes, Sophie…we just came up the other way this time.”
I nod thoughtfully as I stare at the panoramic view of the valley from up here, my body covered in sweat from the hike, glittering in a shade of gold that never was there before.
It's because I'm different, and because the valley in front of me doesn't seem normal anymore.
Not in the way it used to.
Nothing is as it was.
Before, I used to gaze at the valley and think nothing of it, just appreciating its beauty because I didn't know any better.
Now, I know that the Bitterroot Valley carries secrets, much like the secret of my heritage, and where my bloodline links to.
I sigh as all the weights I've ever carried throughout my life slip away in that moment, and I feel drawn to Damian in a way I haven't been able to feel before.
I turn to him slowly, frowning when I notice the way his body goes still, head tilting slightly as if he’s listening to something I can’t hear. I notice the way the color of his eyes flickers with a recognizable glow, and I know he's having one of his moments.
The moment stretches before he exhales sharply.
“There’s movement in the south,” he says, voice tight. “Demons...a small cluster.”
My stomach drops.
He turns to me immediately, concern etched across his face. “You should stay here.”
The words don’t feel like an order. They feel like fear, and I can see it written all across his face.
I look out over the valley, the image from my dream flickering at the edges of my mind—fire consuming everything, Damian lost beyond the flames. My hands curl slowly into fists at my sides, heat stirring in response to the familiar threat.
“I don’t want to stay back, Damian,” I say honestly. “Not if something goes wrong.”
He studies me for a long moment, searching my face, the bond between us humming with unspoken understanding. He knows what I am now. And I know what I can’t control.
Yet.
“If you come,” he begins carefully, “you listen to me. The moment I tell you to step away, you do it.”
I nod without hesitation.
“I will.”
The fire beneath my skin flares softly in agreement. Not wild, not hungry, just awake. It's as if my power is responding to the threat, just as it always has, and while I'm not in control of it, and I'm not sure how to use it on command, I can feel it surfacing now.
“We’re meeting Conan and Heinrich first.”
Damian rises to his feet, stretching out his hand toward me, and when I slip my hand into his, the awareness of our bond is more powerful than ever, surging through me like electricity.
A force.
That's what standing beside Damian feels like.