“Wow…” Sophie breathes as we both watch the magic sync between us, and when she moves, lifting her hand gracefully, fire and water follow her without breaking. She’s able to lift it to her lips, then blows out a breath that sends the combined power of water and fire floating through the air like a bubble.
We watch it float away, returning to the river, where it settles and becomes one with the earth again, my jaw hanging open the whole time.
“That was amazing…” she whispers as her fire magic retreats into her palms. The remnants of water on my skin slip into my pores, becoming one with my body and drying my hands off instantly.
But what remains is the charged air between Sophie and me, preventing me from turning to meet her eyes, because I know where it’ll lead. I can feel my inner wolf stirring inside, becoming restless, impatient, needy. And I can’t risk ruining this slow burn between us by giving in to baser urges and the fire that’s always been between us.
I don’t want to burn, and I don’t want to burn Sophie. Fiery passion like that is like her fire powers without control, and it’s dangerous, volatile, unpredictable.
But I can't control it. I can't control the desire to meet her eyes and find the entire universe in them. They're still russet-brown, a tinge of red shimmering in them, and my heart squeezes in my chest, exploding with the sudden jolt that takes me a step forward—an inevitable step—and my hand reaches toward her.
“Damian…” she breathes, eyelids fluttering like pretty flowers in bloom.
I sigh with relief, as if my inner wolf is sighing, but then I hear the earth crunching under the weight of boots behind us, and my head snaps in that direction.
“Uncle Joel,” I greet the elder with a curt nod.
“Damian…Sophie,” he nods back as he proceeds toward us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but can I have a word?”
I turn to Sophie, partly relieved that my uncle interrupted us before things went too far. She smiles at me and offers a nod, her eyes back to their usual shade of chocolate brown.
“I’m gonna head inside,” she says, and nods at Uncle Joel before turning on her heel and heading toward the cabin. I watch her until she’s inside, my heart sinking as if it’s breaking, as if I’m losing her. But it’s only my impatient inner wolf that feels that way.
I’m only trying to exercise restraint because I don’t want to ruin things between us, I don’t want to make a mistake that will hurt her again.
“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Uncle Joel praises beside me, and I nod thoughtfully.
“She’s…everything.” To me.
Chapter 22 - Sophie
Fire answers me without pain now. That’s the first thing I notice.
Not the heat, not the glow curling around my palms, but the absence of the spike—the sharp, panicked rush that used to come with it, the way my chest would tighten as if my own power might tear me open from the inside. Now it rises steadily, like my breath. Like something that has learned the shape of me.
I stand in the clearing behind the cabin, boots planted in damp earth, arms extended. The air hums faintly as the fire gathers, a controlled ribbon of warmth spiraling between my hands. It doesn’t lash out, it doesn’t flare, but it waits for my command, because I’m the one in control now.
“Hold it there,” Damian says from behind me, his voice sharp, but not in a commanding way. Just precise.
I do as he advises, and the fire stabilizes; its edges are clean and contained. I can feel it responding not to fear or urgency, but to intention—to my focus, my decision to let it exist without forcing it to perform. The realization settles deep in my bones, heavier than any praise could be.
“Good,” Damian murmurs. “Now, release it slowly.”
I let my fingers open, the fire dissipating in a soft exhale of heat, vanishing into the air without leaving scorch marks or smoke behind. The clearing remains intact. And so do I.
I lower my hands, breathing evenly, and only then do I become fully aware of how close he is.
Damian stands just behind my right shoulder, near enough that I can sense the cool pull of his water magic resting beneath his skin, quiet and watchful. He hasn’t touched me.He hasn’t needed to. Still, the awareness of him is constant, anchoring, but at the same time, maddening.
He circles me once, slow and deliberate, his gaze tracking the residual warmth in the air rather than my face. When he speaks again, his tone is thoughtful.
“I’m impressed. You’re not bracing for it anymore, like it's going to consume you.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t feel like I have to. It feels more controlled.”
He stops in front of me, just out of reach. His expression is focused, intent in a way that feels almost intimate—not hungry, not possessive. He's studying me as if I’m a puzzle he’s committed to understanding rather than claiming.
“But that’s the difference,” he says. “Fire resists being controlled through force. It responds to clarity.”
