Chapter 268: Fires of Obsession

The fire cracked sharply in the hearth, sending tongues of orange light flickering across the walls of Holly’s house. The only noise that could be heard outside her house was the sound of children running about and pack members talking and strolling.

Inside, Holly’s eyes burned with fury. She could still feel it—the sting of humiliation from the training grounds.

Her boots clicked sharply against the floor as she moved through her home, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. The firelight caught in her dirty blonde hair, already loose from the bun she had hurriedly tied that morning.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, jaw tight. Nia. Laia. Joren. All of them had dared to speak back to her, had dared to call her out like she was their equal.

She was the only one who had dated Orion among them. She was the only one who had gone close to him. She was the only one who knew what his lips tasted like, the noises he made when he was satisfied. She knew everything about him—every little thing—and they didn’t, yet they spoke to her like she was on their level.

A cold smile crept across her face, but it was anything but gentle. She imagined the future with Orion, his trust and loyalty bound to her alone.

"When I become his wife," she muttered to herself, each word dripping with dark satisfaction, "I will make them crawl. I will make them beg. Nia, Laia, even Joren... they’ll know who they’re dealing with. They wouldn’t mess with me. Better yet, they’ll leave the pack with their foolish demon friend. I’ll make sure of it."

But even with how annoyed and irritated she was that they stood up to her, that was a problem for later. Right now, there was a more immediate obstacle: the demon, Sophia. Holly was absolutely certain Sophia was a demon. She just looked innocent, but everything about Sophia screamed demonic.

She moved to the table beside the hearth, the firelight flickering across a familiar object she had kept carefully hidden in her room for a week now: the book she had stolen from Sophia’s home. Its dark blue leather cover, etched faintly in silver markings, seemed almost to shimmer in the glow of the flames. She picked it up and let her fingers brush across the cold surface.

She had spent nights staring at it, flipping its pages again and again, trying to make sense of the strange language that filled them. None of it made sense. Every letter, every symbol, seemed deliberately crafted to confuse her. She wondered if Sophia had done this on purpose.

She wondered who even wrote this way, with symbols instead of writing straightforwardly.

And there was something else: the book looked like it was written by someone, but she had no idea who.

She couldn’t make sense of the symbols across the pages. And yet, Sophia—that demon—had been able to read it. Holly could feel a prickling, bitter envy rise up in her chest at the thought. How could Sophia understand something that did not seem like it was from their world? How was she able to understand it?

Each page she turned was filled with the same symbols. There was nothing written in their simple language. Nothing at all.

But even at that, one image stood out to Holly.

It was a simple drawing of a moon, full and bright in its depiction, etched carefully with silver ink. Holly stared at it for a long moment, her mind twisting around it, trying to discern meaning where there was none.

Why the moon? she asked herself repeatedly. What is she hiding in this?

And around the moon, smaller ones were arranged. It would have been beautiful if not for the fact that the book belonged to Sophia.

A week had passed since she had taken the book. A full week of frustration, of fruitless searches in the library, of scanning the oldest tomes in the archives, all in the hopes of finding a clue, a key, a hint, anything that could translate the language.

But no matter how much she searched, she could not find anything. And she didn’t want to ask anyone for help, especially when the pack members would likely tell each other and, soon, Sophia would find out that the book was with her.

So she did it herself, she searched alone, trying to decipher the language. But the more she tried, the angrier she grew.

Her fists tightened around the book. The rage inside her bubbled up to a feverish pitch, a fire that threatened to consume her entirely. She slammed the book down onto the wooden table, the echo reverberating in the small house—but even that wasn’t enough to appease her. As she threw the book on the table, its pages opened as if mocking her with the symbols, telling her that she couldn’t understand it, that she couldn’t read it no matter how much she tried—and that annoyed her even more.

With a roar, she threw herself at it. Hands pressed down on the book as she flung it to the floor.

She moved immediately, stamping on the book again and again. The leather creased beneath the force of her boots.

The faint hum the book had emitted when she first took it didn’t sound anymore. It had stopped the moment she brought the book into her home.

And the more she stamped on the book, the angrier she grew, as if the book was at fault, sending back her anger in return.

She ripped her hair from the bun as she paced, each step sharp against the floor.

She decided to stop, to regain herself, as she moved around the house with her fingers between her teeth, chewing her nails raw, trying to make sense of everything.

"Why does she understand this? How can she read it?" she asked aloud as she moved around her house. "It’s impossible. It has to be demonic. There is no other explanation."

Her hands shook as she gripped the edges of the table, leaning over it, the firelight catching the glint in her eyes.

"She’s a demon," she told herself, because there was nobody in the house with her. "That’s it. There’s no other way."

Holly’s breath came fast, short gasps, echoing in the quiet of her house. She picked the book up again and flipped through it at random, her eyes scanning the impossible text again as if to be sure she couldn’t read it.

But every line, every symbol only deepened the gnawing certainty inside her chest.

She thought of Orion and the way he had avoided her glances, the way his attention seemed perpetually drawn to Sophia. And yet, Holly knew—she knew—that the Alpha could be hers. He would see reason, once she proved the danger Sophia posed. If the book could not serve as proof, then she would find another way. She would uncover any secret Sophia had, any sign of her malevolence, and bring it to Orion. She would save him. She would save the pack. And she would finally claim what was rightfully hers.

Holly laughed then. It started as a low chuckle, barely audible, but it grew, rising into a sound that was almost unhinged—a delusional melody of triumph and obsession. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the sharp angles of her face, the wild glint in her brown eyes, the strands of dirty blonde hair that framed her face like flames themselves.

Her mind raced with scenarios, with plans, with possibilities. If the book could not help, then Holly would uncover something else. A scrap of parchment. A note. A forgotten charm. Anything that proved what she already knew to be true.

Holly’s pacing became more frantic, her boots striking the floor with rapid, sharp clicks. Fingers continued to chew at themselves, nails bitten ragged, hands shaking as her mind circled over the same thought again and again: Demon. Threat. Alpha. Mine.

She stopped suddenly in front of the hearth, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. The fire seemed to mirror her obsession, wild and untamed. Holly imagined herself standing in the pack hall, holding the proof of Sophia’s deceit, showing Orion the truth. He would look at her with awe, gratitude, and the unspoken desire she knew he held for her. All of it—the humiliation of the training grounds, the defiance of Nia and Laia, even Joren’s quiet smirk—would melt away before her.

She would make them all pay, eventually. But for now, the demon came first. Orion came second.