Page 9 of Sophie’s Ruin (Crimson and Shadows #2)

SOPHIE

Iwas in the dark place again, the eerie quiet chilling my skin. Frantically, I looked around, searching for Henry or my mother, but they weren’t here to guide me into the light. It was just me and the darkness.

“You’re mine now,” it whispered maliciously from the shadows.

A cold feeling invaded my chest, and I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself.

“No,” I said into the pitch-black, but my voice came out weak and unsteady.

“There is no one here to save you,” another slithering whisper of smoke and shadows.

“I don’t need anyone to save me. I can save myself,” I said louder, but my voice still shook as trepidation curled down my spine.

“You couldn’t even save him. The one who’d pulled you out before.”

“I will save him. I will do anything for him,” I declared, lowering my hands and squaring my shoulders.

“Anything?” the darkness whispered, and the hunger in the question twisted my stomach with dread.

“Anything,” I said with resolve, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.

The darkness came alive then, pulsing all around me. The shadows rushed toward me, enveloping me in their dark embrace. They climbed into my ears, nostrils, and mouth, filling me as if I were an empty vessel, until I was choking on the thick black smoke, gasping for air.

I bolted upright from where I’d been asleep on the floor, my breathing coming in short, rapid pants.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and I placed a hand over it, willing it and my breathing to slow as I looked at the old, faded sofa next to me.

Isabelle lay on top of it, her breathing soft and even as she slept.

Wren had given her more blood and had helped her clean up before we’d all hunkered down in the living room for the day.

I’d cleaned up, too, borrowing a faded tunic and black pants from Celeste to change into.

The lone oil lamp on the small rustic table by the sofa bathed Isabelle’s features in a soft, warm glow.

All her wounds had healed, fading to raised pink welts, but she was still weak.

That was why she hadn’t even stirred when I’d awakened.

Exhausted, she was not on high alert, sleeping right through it.

“Sophie?” came Wren’s voice from my left, snapping my attention to him.

He’d claimed a spot on the floor next to me last night, refusing to leave Isabelle’s side.

“Are you alright?” the young man asked, using his forearm to prop himself up off the floor.

“Yes. Just a bad dream,” I murmured, as I scooted closer to the wall and rested my back against it.

Wren sat up fully then and scooted back as well, leaning against the wall next to me.

Uncomfortable silence ensued as I let my gaze travel over the small room.

The plain blue curtains were drawn closed to prevent the bright daylight reigning outside from spilling inside the dimly lit house.

A lumpy armchair sat by the opposite end of the sofa, and Waylon was asleep in it, breathing shallowly.

He didn’t look peaceful in his slumber, the muscles of his face twitching slightly, his brows moving and knitting at times.

I wondered what nightmares were haunting his dreams. Then I remembered my own nightmare, and a shudder rolled through me at the thought.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Wren asked, and I nodded.

My gaze dropped to the spot on the floor in front of the sofa.

We’d thrown out the thin, blood-soaked rug that had covered it before, but a faint smell of Isabelle’s blood that had seeped into the wood still lingered in the air.

I tilted my head to the side, studying the floorboards.

They reminded me of the floorboards in my mother’s old study, and a shuddering breath left me as I remembered the day I’d found the note about the Tear.

So much had changed since then. I’d changed.

I was no longer human, but I’d still kept my humanity.

Thanks to Henry. He was my compass, my anchor, my guiding light, even in the darkest hour.

I missed him like I’d never missed anyone in my life.

I missed my mother, of course, but the feeling wasn’t the same.

It couldn’t compare. The way I missed Henry…

I felt it in my heart and in my bones as if it weren’t just blood I needed to keep me alive, but also him.

I should have told him, I thought again, as tears threatened.

“How did you survive?” I asked Wren, trying to distract myself from my dreary thoughts. When I turned to look at him, I found him watching Isabelle with a mix of concern and affection on his handsome face. “You care about her?” I asked, my gaze flicking over his taut features.

“I do,” he said with a heavy sigh, focusing on me. “Not everything that happened at the mansion was a lie.”

“Just most things,” I scoffed.

“Look.” He dragged a hand through his tousled hair. “I’m sorry about what happened, about what I did. But you have to understand, I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” I countered.

“Oh, really?” Wren smirked bitterly. “Okay, then you have a choice, too. You can choose to use the amulet to destroy the vampires, but you’re not going to do it, are you?”

“We’re talking about you, not me.”

“I was simply trying to prove a point. You might have had the right to rebuke me for my decision in the past…before you turned. But you don’t have the right to do so now. Not when you’re putting yourself first, choosing your own happiness over humanity’s freedom.”

I flinched at his words as anger rose, swift and overwhelming.

“Have I not already done enough? Sacrificed enough?” I whispered harshly, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.

Wren’s eyes widened at my outburst as if he’d never expected it from me.

I hadn’t expected it either, but now that the words were out, they hung in the quiet room like a heavy weight.

I knew I should feel regret for uttering them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I had sacrificed enough, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice Henry and our future together.

I deserved it. I deserved the happiness Wren had mentioned, throwing it in my face as if to shame me.

“How did you survive?” I asked again, changing the subject.

“You mean after you stabbed me with your dagger?” Wren arched a brow.

I just stared at him, refusing to engage. Surely, I didn’t need to remind him that I’d stabbed him after he’d brought me to the Black Forest, doing the Dark Witches’ bidding.

Sensing that he wouldn’t get a rise out of me, Wren finally said, “The White Witches found me bleeding out on the forest floor. They took me in and nursed me back to health. They also lifted the spell binding me to the Dark Witches’ will.

I was finally free.” He got choked up on the last word, his eyes glimmering with tears.

“They let me stay here with them, and two weeks later, you defeated the Dark Witches.”

“I didn’t see you at the border when the White Witches joined our fight,” I pointed out, thinking back to that night.

“I stayed behind,” Wren murmured low.

Of course he had.

“Like a coward,” I bit out.

Wren exploded, whispering harshly, “Yes, like a coward. I knew you’d say that. You’d never understand. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I’ve been through worse. I almost died–”

“But you didn’t! Instead, you were granted eternal life.”

“I didn’t want it!” I seethed, raising my voice almost to a shout.

Wren opened his mouth but clamped it shut when Isabelle stirred on the sofa—we were being too loud.

“You might not have wanted it then,” Wren said low, his anger visibly deflating. “But tell me…now that you have eternity, would you go back and make a different choice?”

Though the question caught me by surprise, the answer came quickly and without hesitation.

“No,” I said vehemently, trying to keep my voice down. “I wouldn’t choose differently.”

Choosing differently would mean not choosing Henry. And I would always choose him.

Wren’s gaze darted to Isabelle as I uttered the words.

Shadows crept across his features, and I wondered if the question had been more about him than me.

He’d wanted to know if turning into a vampire was worth it in the end.

It was worth it to me because I had Henry.

Would it be worth it to him if he wanted to be with Isabelle?

He was the only one who could answer that for himself.

As if sensing Wren’s gaze on her, Isabelle woke up, slowly blinking open her eyes. They were a beautiful, deep-brown hue now, not black with hunger, when she looked in our direction. Her skin was also back to a rich-brown shade instead of the sickly, ashen tawny.

Wren shifted from his spot by the wall, moving closer to the sofa.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Isabelle, stroking her hair.

“Much better,” she replied. “Thanks to you.”

One side of Wren’s mouth turned up, and Isabelle gave a small, answering smile.

The interaction was intimate, tugging at my heart because it made me think of Henry.

A bitter taste pooled in the back of my mouth as I tried to imagine where he was and what he was going through.

The clans would keep him alive because they wanted me and the Tear, but they wouldn’t be kind to him.

There was no doubt in my mind they would unleash pain and misery on him.

He was probably suffering at this very moment, while I lounged here on the floor.

Anxious and frustrated, I swiftly rose to my feet and left the living room, quickly crossing the dark and narrow hallway leading to the kitchen.

I stopped in the doorway, my gaze fixed on the closed green curtains draped over the small kitchen window.

My chest tight, and my muscles tense, I counted down the seconds until sunset.

Closing my eyes, I imagined the daylight receding, gradually surrendering to the darkness.

When I felt the last sun rays disappear below the horizon, a soft exhale left me, as if the night made breathing easier somehow.

The pressure on my chest alleviated just a fraction.

My muscles were still tense, but it was now restless energy, not anxiety, coiling them tight.

In a matter of seconds, I felt stronger, faster.

My body came alive like it always did at sunset, my blood singing for the freedom of the night.

A soft smile tugging at my lips, I approached the window and pulled open the curtains, peering into the darkness outside.

When I noticed my own fuzzy reflection in the glass, the corners of my mouth pulled down as last night flashed through my mind.

I’d been so close to the world I wanted.

How had it all gone so terribly wrong? I couldn’t believe I was here, and Henry was…

I swallowed to relieve the tightness in my throat.

Reaching inside my pants pocket, I pulled out the Tear and looked at it.

The crystal in the middle pulsed, casting a pale-blue glow around the dark kitchen.

The amulet had freed us from the Dark Witches, but now it felt like a cursed object in my hand because it was causing suffering—Henry’s and mine.

What if I destroyed it? My brows knitted at the thought.

Destroying the amulet wouldn’t save us, I realized with a heavy heart.

Even without the Tear, Henry and I stood between the clans and the current world order they were so desperate to keep.

The only way to ensure our safety was to defeat the clans.

An impossible task, the world whispered.

I dismissed the warning with a shake of my head. My grandmother had begun creating the amulet that could destroy supernatural forces, and my mother had finished it. The magic of my bloodline was strong. I had to believe it was powerful enough for me to be able to face the clans and prevail.

“Good evening,” Celeste’s gentle lilt pulled me from my thoughts. “Would you like some tea?”

She lit the oil lamp on the kitchen table and began rummaging around.

“I want to learn my magic,” I said, instead of responding to her question. “As soon as possible.”

When I turned around from the window, Celeste was putting a kettle on the hearth.

Those luminous blue eyes of hers fastened on me.

“Patience,” she said calmly, and the sound of her measured voice made me clench my teeth so hard that my jaw ached. “It will be a process and will take some time.”

Time was the one thing I didn’t have to spare.

Henry was suffering. I wasn’t foolish enough to hope otherwise.

The longer I delayed coming for him, the longer he was in the clan leaders’ claws.

I was at Celeste’s mercy, though, and lashing out at her would be unwise.

I needed her help to learn my magic if I hoped to stand a chance against the clans.

So I took a breath and asked, making sure my voice didn’t betray my ever-increasing dread and anxiety, “Where do we begin?”