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CHAPTER 14

SOPHIA

T he lodge is already buzzing when I walk in. Not the usual soft hum of Nightshade wolves coming and going through the halls, not even the tense silence we’ve all learned to live with over the past few weeks. No, this is louder. Sharper. Voices raised just enough to be threatening, boots too heavy on hardwood floors, the kind of energy that settles under the skin like a live wire.

Lucas walks beside me, his presence a wall of calm, dangerous purpose. Ryder and Isabella flank us, both dressed like they’re ready for a war that might start in the next five minutes. Because it might.

They cleared the main hall, pushing every table to the side, creating a wide circle of chairs filled with wolves from nearly every regional pack. Ironclaw’s delegation sits to the right—older, more reserved, all in muted armor and colder expressions. Thornfang’s wolves glare from the opposite side, as if they regret being forced to surrender their weapons at the door.

And us? Nightshade’s front and center, Ryder gives way to Lucas, who takes the lead. Not just by design. But by instinct.

He doesn’t pause when he reaches the center of the room. He just turns, folds his arms across his chest, and speaks.

“We called this summit because the world you think you’re still living in is gone.”

No preamble. No apologies. Just truth, thrown like a blade.

I step up beside him, holding the journal we recovered and a data slate with the latest findings. I meet every gaze I can as I speak.

“We’ve uncovered glyphs—ancient, corrupted ones. We now know Lina, the Windrider, thought dead, is alive. She and Cain have been working together. Experimenting. Creating hybrid creatures with shifter DNA twisted by something pulled from the Deep Below.”

There’s a flicker from Ironclaw. No surprise. Recognition.

I nod to Lucas, and he gestures to the slate Ryder’s just passed to the closest elder. It cycles through images—Cain’s lab, the hybrid fetus in the tank, the glyphs on the walls.

“We believe they’re trying to open the gate permanently,” Lucas says. “Not to step through. To bring what’s beneath to the surface.”

Grumbles rise across the room. Doubt. Frustration. I wait. Let it build. Then I strike.

“These are not legends. They’re not Windrider campfire stories. I’ve seen Lina. I’ve felt her power. And Lucas has heard the call from beyond the gate. Something is waking, and it’s using Cain and Lina to clear the path.”

“She’s a Windrider,” one of the Thornfang elders scoffs, waving a hand. “They’ve always believed in ghosts and doors that should stay shut. This is superstition wrapped in science fiction.”

“No,” I say calmly, “this is your reality now.”

“You expect us to believe Cain—a mortal scientist—is summoning demons from ancient realms?”

“He’s not a scientist anymore,” I reply. “He’s a conduit.”

Another voice—female, curt, from one of the western packs. “So, what do you propose? We march into every lab and blow it sky high? Hope one of them has the gate hiding in the basement?”

“We infiltrate,” Lucas says. “We’ve identified a probable location in the eastern ridge. Reinforced compound. High activity. Too much power is being drawn to be coincidental.”

“And if we’re wrong?” the Thornfang elder presses.

“Then I’ll die finding out,” Lucas replies, his voice flat.

The room stills. He doesn’t posture. He doesn’t raise his voice. He just promises. And it lands like thunder.

Before anyone can recover, a door creaks open. Max steps inside. He’s thin, face still a little too pale, but he walks on his own. No stagger. No escort. Just a slow, steady stride that brings the room to silence.

I see Kylie standing just inside the doorway. Her hand tightens on the frame as if daring anyone to challenge him.

Max stops in the center of the room. Lucas steps back. I do the same. This is his moment, and we all feel it.

“I was in Cain’s facility,” Max says. “Held for nearly three months. Exposed to something… not natural. Gas that suppresses the wolf. Experiments to track gene expression. Pain, not to kill—but to change.”

The room stays silent.

Max looks around, voice steady. “They’re not just altering us. They’re stripping out what makes us wolves. What makes us pack. They want something new. Something that doesn’t need a bond. Doesn’t need loyalty or law. Just hunger. Just obedience.”

A shiver rides down my spine. Because I’ve seen it now, in Lina’s face. The complete absence of empathy.

Max straightens. “If we let Cain continue, we won’t be defending our homes anymore. We’ll be hunting our own.”

That lands hard. No one speaks for a long moment.

Then Ryder steps forward. “We’re calling for a vote,” he says. “One representative per pack. Choose your stance now.”

A buzz picks up again. Whispers. Debates. Some wolves rise and form smaller circles to vote. Others sit silent, already knowing.

Thornfang’s elder stands, looking directly at Lucas.

“We don’t trust Windriders. We’ve seen too many ‘visions’ turn into wildfire. But if Cain is truly gone rogue—if this Lina is real—then waiting makes us prey.” He nods once. “Thornfang votes to hunt.”

One by one, the others cast their votes. A few abstain. Ironclaw, after a long pause, raises a hand.

“We support the task force. But you’ll do it under the council’s oversight.”

Lucas gives a tight nod. “Agreed.”

Ryder steps forward. “Then it’s done. A joint operation. Lucas and Sophia will lead it. The rest of us will reinforce regional lines, monitor for movement, and be ready if the gate opens.”

There’s no applause. No cheers. Just a thick, collective understanding that this is war. Not the clean kind. The quiet kind. The kind that starts in shadows and doesn’t end until something—or someone—bleeds.

I take a breath. Then another. I look at Lucas. He’s watching me like he always does—steady, unyielding, with that fire behind his eyes. Not long ago, I would’ve run from that fire. Now I think it’s the only thing that might keep me warm when the world finally cracks open.

Max turns and walks out. Ryder follows. Isabella lingers by the door until Lucas gestures for her to go.

The summit disperses like smoke—quick, hot, and leaving behind a sharp scent of things unfinished. Delegates peel off into corners, snapping at each other in low voices. Thornfang leaves first, muttering about preparations and “weapons they should’ve been using a long time ago.” Ironclaw lingers. Watching. Always watching.

Ryder, Max, and Isabella disappear toward the south wing. Lucas doesn’t follow. He stays silent beside me as I scoop up the journal and data slate, wrapping the glyph pages in a strip of cloth from my belt pouch. The moment the door closes behind the last delegate, the lodge goes quiet again. Too quiet.

Lucas’s gaze cuts sideways. “You did good in there.”

I laugh once, soft and sharp. “We didn’t get agreement. We got reluctant compliance. And only because Max stood up when he should be in bed.”

Lucas’s mouth tightens. “He stood because no one else could say what he experienced.”

“He stood because if we’re right, none of this ends with survival. It ends with who we decide to become before the gate takes that choice from us.”

Lucas watches for what seems like an eternity before he speaks again. “And what do you want to become, Sophia?”

I hate that question. Because I don’t know. Because maybe I already am something I never meant to be.

But I don’t say that. I drop the bundle of glyphs on the map table and turn toward him. “I want to be the storm,” I say. “Not the one that kills. The one that clears the air.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s something in him that uncoils—something dangerous and familiar.

“Then don’t hold back,” he says. “With me. Not tonight.”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. I move first.

A suffocating darkness swallows the hallway, each shadow a voyeuristic spectator to our every move. The lodge slumbers in a deceptive quiet as we stride toward his secluded room. I fall behind him into this intimate refuge, and as the door clicks shut with deliberate finality, the outside world vanishes altogether. No words are wasted; there is no pause—only a wildfire of heated touches and a mounting, explosive desire.

He pivots toward me, his jaw clenched with fierce resolve, eyes burning with an intensity that speaks of a thousand untold confessions. I step into his personal gravitational pull, my fingers tightening around the loose collar of his shirt, still undone from our earlier journey.

His breath stutters, a staccato rhythm caught in the turbulence of my touch as my hands set off on an audacious exploration along the hardened contours of his chest, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. They trace every scar, every battle—each faded mark a testament to his endurance and the countless times he bled and rebuilt.

I lower my mouth to one of these battle worn memories, pressing my lips against the lingering ghost of a blade’s kiss—a wound not born of my making but carrying a desperate, volatile longing I can barely contain. Beneath my touch, I feel his powerful heartbeat tearing at the qu: a relentless, vibrant pulse that refuses to be silenced.

“Let me,” I offer with a magnetic insistence that brooks no refusal.

At that, Lucas offers nothing more than a single, potent nod—the entire conversation conveyed in that subtle, wordless exchange.

His eyes devour me like a ferocious beast, and I can feel an almost burning heat erupting from his skin. He pulls back just enough, his hands trailing along my arms with a magnetic urgency as he strips me of my clothing so I am naked to his gaze. He gently cradles the back of my head as he draws me in closer. A cascade of goosebumps ignites along my skin, the reality of our primal need crashing over me like a tidal wave.

Our lips collide once more as an overwhelming passion seizes us. I moan against him, lost in the heat of his kiss while his tongue boldly tangles with mine, sparking a deep, incendiary warmth that radiates to my very core. My fingers slip between us to unbuckle his belt—the soft jingle of metal punctuating the moment—as I push his jeans down, leaving him as naked as I am.

He exudes a wild, untamed essence—an intoxicating scent and taste that ignites a hunger in me I can never quench. As our kiss intensifies, his hands wander feverishly over my body, caressing every elegant curve while my own hands explore every inch of him with desperate fervor.

We break apart for only a heartbeat, lungs raw and pounding as we lock eyes. The hunger in his stare is insatiable, and I find myself yearning for that same relentless need. Gently, he takes me to his bed, his gaze tethering mine as if our souls are one. Every movement in our intimate sanctuary pulses with electrifying eroticism.

With deliberate seduction, he licks his lips before leaning over my exposed body, planting a trail of burning kisses along my skin, until his mouth finally encircles my most sensitive spot. I gasp, arching into him as my fingers clutch the sheets, each teasing flick of his tongue igniting shivers of pleasure that radiate through every nerve. Relentless and determined, he devotes himself to driving me to the edge.

Lost within the intensity of his ministrations, his tongue dances with precision along my clit. The moisture pools at my core as my thighs part instinctively, inviting him in further. I ache for that explosive release, desperate for the fulfillment that only his touch can bestow—a pleasure I've only ever dared to imagine.

Every sizzling stroke sends me spiraling closer to climax, my heart pounding wildly while my breath shatters into ragged gasps. The sound of my moans fills the room as Lucas, completely focused, continues his expert dance of desire.

Briefly, he lifts his head, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he surveys my sweat-soaked, exhilarated form. In his eyes, I catch the fiercely satisfied glint of a man who knows he is delivering ecstasy. I pull him in again, our lips fusing in a kiss of pure, passionate defiance that seals our undeniable connection.

Finally, in a voice trembling with raw need, I confess, "I want you inside me," craving the sensation of his hard, commanding cock. He arches an eyebrow, licking his lips and smiling as he aligns himself with my entrance before plunging into me with ferocious intensity. I gasp sharply at his sudden, forceful entry, each thrust igniting waves of overwhelming ecstasy.

His impressive girth fills me completely, each powerful thrust stretching me wider as he plunges deep with relentless force. He pounds into me and through it all, his eyes remain locked on mine, driving a rhythm that sends tremors of pleasure coursing through every fiber of my being. I toss my head back, gripping the rumpled sheets as my nails sink into the fabric, my composure slipping away under the mastery of his touch.

He quickens his pace—thrusting harder, faster, propelling my desire to dizzying new heights. My moans escalate into frantic gasps and cries of pure, unadulterated pleasure until I teeter on the brink of overwhelming release. In one breathtaking moment, he claims me with a fierce, animalistic passion, driving me to an orgasm so intense it shatters every expectation, before climaxing deeply inside me.

Later, I wake alone. I don’t panic. I can feel he is close. The fear that has become a constant companion is still there, curling under my ribs like it always is, but I’ve learned better than to assume distance means retreat. Not with him.

I pad barefoot down the hall, his shirt hanging off one shoulder, the air cold enough to make my skin pebble. I find him on the lower balcony, crouched low again, elbows braced on his knees.

He doesn’t hear me until I touch him.

“Lucas?” I whisper, dropping beside him.

His shoulders jerk. His mouth is open, chest heaving, like he’s been running in a nightmare. His fingers dig into the stone like he’s anchoring himself in place. He turns to me, and his eyes… they’re not their usual warm amber—they’re black. Bottomless.

I freeze.

“They’re calling,” he says.

“Who?”

He shakes his head. “Not a voice. Not like language. Just a sound. Like thunder under the skin. It’s coming from the gate. From beneath. I can feel it… like it’s inside me now.”

I cup his face in both hands. “Look at me.”

His breath hitches.

“Lucas. Look at me.”

He blinks. Gold flickers through the black, flickering like a flame trying not to go out.

“I’m here,” I say. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

His forehead presses to mine. His voice is quiet. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep it back.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him. “You just have to hold it long enough to end this.”

He nods, jaw clenched, but I can feel it too now. Not the sound—but the shift in the air.

Something in the Deep Below has found his scent, and it wants him… badly.

We slip away through the kitchen, out past the garden, and into the ridge path without stopping for coats. The cold doesn’t bother either of us. Not when the air is this clear, this still. Up here, above the lodge, the forest sprawls like a sea of black and silver, moonlight dancing off the frost-covered treetops. The quiet helps. For a moment, I can almost forget what just happened.

Lucas stands beside me, matching my silence with his own. He’s always done that. Known when to push and when to stand still. It’s a strange comfort—this man who carries storms like they’re stitched into his bones, choosing to be quiet next to me instead of commanding the world to listen.

I reach out, brush my fingers over his, and he twines them with mine without a word. The wind catches my braid, flicking strands of my hair into my face. We strip and stuff our clothes into a run pack. He always seems to know what I need—sometimes, I think, even before I know it myself.

I close my eyes and let the cold bite through the last of my restraint. The storm inside me surges, and I let go.

Mist coils around my ankles, then climbs. It gathers fast, streaked with violet and silver, humming through the air like it’s been waiting. Lightning skims along my skin, and then I’m gone—two-legged form replaced by four. Silver fur, storm-marked eyes, heart pounding with wild rhythm. The world sharpens into instinct and scent and the deep, quiet call of the forest.

Lucas doesn’t hesitate. A breath later, he follows. His form slams into place beside mine—dark fur like smoke, eyes catching the moon. For once, his wolf isn’t straining or snarling beneath the surface. It’s there. Whole. Present. He runs toward me, not away from himself.

We take off into the trees.

No plan. No map. Just movement. Power. Unity.

The forest opens before us like it remembers who we are. Frost snaps under our paws. Birds lift from branches in startled silence. We weave between trees, vault fallen logs, scale a ridge that splits the mountains like a scar. Every turn, every pulse of our feet against the earth is synchronized.

We don’t need words. He runs ahead. I catch him. I dive low. He leaps over. We move as one. Wild. Whole.

I don’t know how long we run, only that when we stop, I’m not shaking anymore. Speed and wind and the steady presence at my side have burned away the fear, the pressure.

We shift back under a canopy of pine. The stars flicker through branches overhead. My breath comes fast, but I’m not tired. Just clear.

Lucas brushes his thumb over my jaw. We don’t speak.

Slowly, we dress again, pulling on the spare clothes tied to our run-packs, and wander the last few yards back to the hollow tree that sits at the edge of a clearing most wolves don’t know exists. It’s older than Nightshade. Older than any of us. Windriders used it as a burial site for broken glyphs and spent wards. Windriders used it to store magic that wouldn’t fade naturally.

I kneel beside it, fingers brushing moss away from the base until I find the seal etched in the bark—a crescent line, one dot above it, two below. My stomach drops.

The bark is split. The glyph has been ripped open. Inside, I find the fragments of an old sigil. Paper. Twine. A bead made of windglass—all of it, broken.

Lucas crouches beside me. “What does it mean?”

I close my eyes. “It means something came through already.”

I look up toward the mountains, toward the direction of the compound we haven’t infiltrated yet.

Cain didn’t open the gate. He opened a door inside it, and something has already walked through.