"Some power can't be tamed. Some power can't even be named. Soraya is both—and the world is about to notice."
Soraya had fainted from the sheer force of her power.
Damian laid Soraya gently on the bed in his chambers.
Gently—a word no one had ever used to describe him.
The room smelled like him—dark pine, smoke, and something sharp beneath it. Heavy curtains blocked the daylight, casting shadows across her pale face.
Her blonde hair spilling like liquid gold across the dark sheets.
Her lashes rested against her cheeks, lips parted just slightly, breath shallow but steady.
Damian stood there longer than necessary.
Too long.
His wolf snarled softly, low in his mind, urging him to go closer, to touch, to claim.
But Damien forced himself to step back.
His eyes traced her face like he was trying to memorize something he didn't understand. She looked fragile now. Too fragile for someone who had melted silver in her bare hands.
Silver.
Wolves recoiled from silver. Their bodies rejected it. Their blood screamed at its touch.
And yet—
She had held it.
Melted it.
Damian clenched his jaw, a low growl vibrating in his chest.
That was when his mind dragged him back to earlier that day.
Zephran was already on his knees when Damian entered the dungeon.
Blood stained the stone floor. Not fresh—this had been going on for a while. Zephran's lip was split, one eye swollen, breath ragged, but his spine was still straight. Stubborn. Loyal. A brother.
Damian circled him slowly, boots echoing.
"Who is your sister?" Damian asked quietly.
Zephran lifted his head, eyes blazing despite the pain.
Damian stopped in front of him. "What is she?"
Silence.
Damian's fingers twitched.
"How does she possess that kind of power?" His voice sharpened. "Power that defies everything we know."
Zephran swallowed, then spat blood to the side.
"She did nothing to you," Zephran continued hoarsely. "Punish me instead. I was the one who killed your mate—by mistake. Let her go."
That wasn't what Damian came for.
He grabbed Zephran by the hair, forcing his head back. "Tell me what she really is."
Zephran's teeth clenched. "She's just an ordinary wolf."
The word ordinary snapped something.
Damian roared.
The sound shook the walls, pure Alpha fury flooding the room. He flung Zephran across the chamber, the body hitting stone with a sickening thud.
"Ordinary wolves don't melt silver!" Damian shouted. "Wolves don't touch silver. Wolves die from it!"
He stalked closer, eyes glowing. "You saw what she did."
Zephran dragged himself up on his elbows, breathing hard. He had seen it. He couldn't deny that.
But belief was another thing entirely.
"The only ones who can do that are witches," Zephran said through clenched teeth. "Powerful ones."
His voice broke—not with fear, but denial.
"My sister isn't a witch."
Damian studied him then, really studied him.
Zephran believed that.
"If she were a witch," Zephran went on, desperation seeping into his tone, "my parents would've killed her. Burned her alive the day she was born."
His hands shook. "In my kingdom, witches are despised. Hunted. Executed."
Damian said nothing.
"If Soraya were a witch," Zephran continued, "the entire pack would've felt it. Her aura would've exposed her. She wouldn't be alive—not then, not now. There's nothing I could've done to save her."
Silence fell.
Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Damian straightened slowly.
So Zephran didn't know.
And worse—he couldn't know.
Damian stepped back, the rage draining into something colder. Sharper.
Soraya wasn't a witch.
Not fully.
But she wasn't just a wolf either.
The power Damian had sensed in her wasn't clean or singular. It was layered. Conflicting. Wild.
Part wolf. Part witch.
Or neither.
Or something far more dangerous.
She felt… older than magic. Rawer.
Stronger.
Even stronger than Cordelia.
But unlike Cordelia, Soraya didn't understand herself. She didn't know how to control what lived inside her—and that made her volatile.
A weapon that didn't know it was loaded.
Damian turned away.
"Don't torture him anymore. For now." he ordered, the torment ending.
As they dragged Zephran away, Damian's thoughts spiraled.
If Soraya was what he feared—
Every evil force would come for her.
Vampires. Rogue Witches. Demons. Sirens. Dark fallen angels. Things that thrived on power like hers.
Or wait?
The triasal bond?
The ancient prophecy whispered by witches who lived too long and knew too much.
Damian scoffed under his breath.
Impossible.
A ridiculous old myth.
And yet—
Damian's gaze returned to Soraya as she slept in his bed.
His fingers curled slowly at his side.
"What are you?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Soraya shifted slightly, brow furrowing, as if the question reached her even in unconsciousness.
Damian didn't look away.
Because one thing was certain now—
Whether she knew it or not, Soraya was no longer just a girl.
She was a threat.
And possibly… the beginning of something that could destroy them all.