A ghost in the dark
779 Words
While Alchie stood at the edge of the forest, miles away in her quiet apartment, Sophie’s world suddenly shattered.
She had woken up in the middle of the night, her throat dry and her mind heavy. She walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, her movements sluggish. But as she lifted the glass to her lips, she froze.
A sharp, white-hot pain exploded in her chest, right where her heart should be. It wasn’t a dull ache it felt like invisible hands were tearing her ribs apart.
The glass slipped from her numb fingers. It hit the floor and exploded into a thousand tiny shards, but Sophie didn't even flinch. She couldn't. Her entire body was on fire. A strange, restless energy rushed through her veins, making her want to scream, to run, to tear through the walls of the apartment until she found... something.
“Soph? You okay?” her father’s voice called out, groggy from the other room.
“I’m fine!” she managed to choke out.
She gripped the kitchen counter so hard her knuckles turned white. She waited for the feeling to pass, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had no idea that, miles away, the man she had touched was screaming into the night.
For the first time in three years, her soul was stirring, trying to wake. She had no idea that, miles away, the man she had touched was screaming into the night. For the first time in three years, her soul was stirring, trying to wake.
Slowly, the pain faded into a dull throb. Shaking, Sophie cleaned up the shards and crept into her mother’s room. The steady rise and fall of her mother’s chest, the soft hiss of the oxygen machine, anchored her. Exhausted and bewildered, she curled into the armchair by the bed and drifted into deep, dreamless sleep.
Back in Vordstarwood forest.
The moon began to dip below the horizon, the fever in the forest finally broke. The agonizing shift back into human form began a process of bones snapping back into place and skin cooling from a feverish heat.
Alchie stood in the clearing, his chest heaving. Sweat dripped from his brow as he reached for the clothes Jax had left in the SUV. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been shredded and sewn back together.
Eliora shifted back as well, wrapping a thick fur cloak around her shoulders. She stepped toward him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of the man she used to know.
“Alchie,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “We need to talk. The Pack is worried. You haven't been yourself since the concert began. Let me help you. Let me be what you need.”
Alchie didn't even glance at her. To him, she was like glass transparent and unimportant. He didn't see her beauty or her loyalty. He only saw the obstacle standing between him and the truth.
“Not now, Eliora,” he said. His voice was cold, like a winter wind.
“But Alchie..”
He didn't wait for her to finish. He turned his back on her, walking toward the waiting black SUV with a predatory grace. Jax stood by the door, his face grim.
“Jax,” Alchiesnapped, his gold eyes still glowing with the leftover power of the moon.
“Yes, Alpha?”
“Forget the tour schedule. Forget the meetings. Cancel everything,” Alchiesaid, his jaw tight with determination. “I want every record of the backstage staff from tonight. Every name, every address, every photo. There’s a girl a worker. She goes by the name Sophie.”
Jax hesitated, glancing toward the trees where the Elders were watching. “Sir, the Council is expecting you. They want to discuss the territory boundaries and the ritual…”
“I don’t care what they want,” Alchiegrowled, climbing into the car. “I’m going into town. I’m not stopping until I find her.”
The car roared to life, kicking up dirt as it sped away from the forest and toward the city.
Behind them, Eliora stood alone in the shadows, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. She had eavesdropped on every word. She had waited three years for Alchieto finally stop mourning Ophelia. She had played the part of the perfect, patient mate-in-waiting.
And now, a "backstage worker" was ruining everything.
“Sophie,” Eliora whispered, the name tasting like poison. “I won’t let you take him again.”
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