I felt it first — the sharp, splintering pain that tore through my bones.

It was crackling, breaking, reforming. It didn’t stop. It just kept going, wave after of pain, until I couldn’t even scream anymore.

My body folded, and I rolled on the cold floor, howling.

It was as if my insides were twisting and fighting to rearrange themselves. My spine arched backward, my vision blurred. My fingers bent in ways fingers shouldn’t. My bones snapped, healed, and broke again — all in the same breath.

And then I heard it.

The sound of fabric ripping. My clothes — tearing apart as something else pushed through. Something… alive.

I gasped when the agony began to fade, replaced by an odd lightness. My breathing steadied, my heart thundered with wild rhythm, and when I finally opened my eyes—

I didn’t see hands.

I saw paws.

White paws.

Paws…

Wait—

Does that mean…?

A trembling laugh broke out of me.

“I—I finally awakened my wolf.”

I howled — loud and proud. The sound echoed off the walls, raw and wild. Joy buzzed through me like electricity. My tail swayed, my fur bristled under the moonlight that leaked through the window.

I turned, chasing my own tail just to see the rest of me. My coat shimmered like snow under silver light, pure white and radiant. My ears twitched, catching sounds from miles away — footsteps, voices, the ticking of the old inn clock downstairs.

And then I heard them — the voices.

“Damn it, those werewolves wouldn’t listen, will they?” the innkeeper muttered.

Another man laughed. “Oh come on, let them have their fun while they’re still young.”

Their words were faint, yet crystal clear to me. I could hear the squeak of a rat in the kitchen, the flap of a bird outside, even the rustle of a spider’s legs crawling on the opposite wall.

My senses were alive — sharper, brighter, stronger.

I could feel the blood rushing through my veins like wildfire.

If Raphael were here, I’d have laughed in his arrogant face and said,

“Who’s the wolfless loser now?”

The thought made me grin internally, but the joy was quickly replaced by resolve. Even if he came crawling back, I wouldn’t accept him. I wouldn’t take back the boy who broke me, who made me feel less than what I was meant to be.

I could finally walk among others without shame.

Then I heard a soft voice.

“Hey.”

My ears perked up. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“I am Kate,” the voice said.

“Your wolf.”

My heart leapt.

Oh, right. Every werewolf could talk to their wolf — form a connection, a bond stronger than anything else.

“Kate,” I whispered, both in my mind and heart. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she replied warmly. “But tell me, why did it take so long for you to reach me?”

I blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand. I just awakened now, right? You mean I could’ve heard you before?”

A pause. Then her tone softened. “No, Ella. You awakened your wolf the day you were born. But I was sealed.”

“Sealed?” My voice trembled. “By who? Why?”

“Ella, I’ll explain everything when I’ve fully recovered,” she murmured.

“Wait, Kate—” I tried to call her again, but she was gone. The silence in my head stretched like a ghostly echo.

My chest tightened. What did she mean by sealed?

I paced back and forth, unable to stop thinking. My heart raced as if it was trying to chase her through the silence. I wanted answers, but I could feel her energy fading, slipping back into rest.

“I’ll get answers later,” I whispered to myself.

The restless energy inside me begged for release. My body wanted to move — to run. So I decided to go for it.

Shifting back, though, wasn’t as easy as I thought. I tried once, twice — nothing. My body just trembled and stayed wolf.

Then I remembered.

When Anna awakened her wolf, Dad had been with her in the backyard. I’d been peeking through the window, jealous but curious.

“Close your eyes and relax,” Dad had told her. “Imagine your human form. Feel it.”

She had done exactly that, and I’d watched as her wolf shimmered and shifted back to human, all calm and radiant. She’d hugged him proudly — and then stuck out her tongue at me.

Typical Anna.

I sighed and decided to try it.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Relax, Ella,” I whispered. “Everything’s alright.”

I focused on my heartbeat, my breathing, the image of myself — brown hair, small nose, scar on my left knee. The me I knew.

My body began to tremble again, but this time, it wasn’t painful. It was like my bones were being gently guided back into place. My fur retracted, the crackling softened, and the weight of my paws disappeared.

When I opened my eyes — my hands were back. Human. Small. Trembling.

“I did it,” I gasped.

I jumped, giddy with victory — then froze.

“Oh no.”

I was completely naked.

Groaning, I scrambled for my bag and yanked out a shirt and sweatpants. My shoes were damaged beyond saving, the soles torn from the shift. Great.

Barefoot it was.

“It’s dark,” I muttered. “No one will notice.”

I stepped out of the room, locking it behind me. The floor was cold as ice, biting at my feet like tiny shards of glass. Goosebumps raced up my arms. The hallway smelled like alcohol and cheap perfume.

Halfway through, I changed my mind.

I couldn’t walk all the way barefoot — my pride wasn’t that strong.

So I went downstairs to the counter where the innkeeper was hunched over a ledger. His pen scratched lazily across the paper until he looked up and found me standing there awkwardly.

We stared at each other for what felt like thirty seconds straight before he sighed.

“What do you want, kid?”

Thank the Moon Goddess — he broke the silence first.

“Uh, sorry, sir. I know this is weird, but do you have any spare slippers or sandals?”

He just blinked at me. Then raised an eyebrow. Then… shook his head.

“Please,” I said quickly, clasping my hands like a pleading puppy. “I’ll return them. My shoes are destroyed. I just need something to wear out. Please.”

I even added a pout — lips trembling, eyes watery, the full effect.

He stared. Then sighed again and patted my head.

“Alright, alright. You win.”

I blinked. “Wait… really?”

He chuckled. “You remind me of my daughter. Hold on.”

He disappeared for a moment and came back holding a pair of new sandals.

“I got these last week. You can have them.”

“Have them? For free?”

He smirked. “If you don’t like free things, you can add a dollar to your room fee.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

As I slid the sandals on, warmth bloomed in my chest. “Thank you, sir.”

He waved me off. “Go, kid. Just don’t bring trouble back with you.”

If only he knew trouble was exactly what followed me everywhere.

Outside, the night air kissed my skin — cold but refreshing. The moon hung high above, full and luminous. The forest nearby shimmered in silver light, calling me.

So I ran toward it.

The deeper I went, the quieter everything became. The trees were tall and ancient, their branches whispering secrets to the wind. The lake in the center reflected the moon like a silver coin.

It was beautiful. Peaceful. Magical.

I went behind a tree, stripped again, and set my clothes neatly on a rock. I didn’t want to ruin them or end up running back naked again.

Then I shifted.

It was easier this time. Quicker. The pain came like a ripple, not a storm. My white fur glowed in the moonlight. I approached the lake, my reflection rippling softly — and froze.

My wolf’s eyes weren’t the same.

One was blue. The other was gold.

I gasped. “What in the world…”

Before I could process it, I heard a branch snap.

I turned sharply — and my breath caught.

A massive wolf stood in the shadows. Black fur. Eyes glowing like molten amber. His body was enormous — at least five times my size. Power radiated from him, the kind that made the air thicken.

He didn’t move. He just watched me.

Our eyes met, and something ancient and magnetic sparked between us. My chest tightened. My paws trembled. I didn’t know whether to bow or run.

Then instinct screamed — Run.

I darted toward my clothes, grabbed them with my teeth, and fled. The forest blurred past me. My heartbeat roared in my ears.

I didn’t stop until I reached the edge of the inn. When I was sure I wasn’t being followed, I shifted back, dressed quickly, and pressed a hand over my racing heart.

“What was that?” I whispered.

The memory of his stare haunted me. He hadn’t chased me, but his eyes… they’d followed me. Curious. Possessive. Confused.

It felt like he knew me.

Or maybe — worse — like he’d been waiting.

I pressed my hand harder against my chest.

My heartbeat refused to calm. My body felt wired, alive, and terrified all at once.

“Who was he?” I whispered to the wind. “And why did I feel… drawn to him?”

The thought lingered, even as I crawled into bed later, still damp from sweat and moonlight.

That night, sleep refused to come.

My wolf stayed silent.

And the memory of those golden eyes followed me —

burning, patient, and unyielding.

Was I special?

The thought wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind.

Then it made sense — if Kate was sealed, that meant I had to be careful when shifting in places I didn’t feel safe.

Being special was the last thing I wanted right now.

Because special always came with a price.

~•~•~•~•

THE NEXT MORNING

I woke to the faint hum of the city beyond the inn walls — horse hooves, faint laughter, pots clanging in the kitchen downstairs. It was morning already.

I rolled on the bed, the thin sheets tangled around my legs, groaning as the sunlight stabbed through the cracked curtains.

Part of me wanted to stay hidden there, curled up, pretending the world outside didn’t exist. But the other part — the one Kate had somehow reignited — whispered, “Get up. Move. Keep fighting.”

With a long sigh, I dragged my body up from the mattress. My limbs ached, not from sleep, but from the transformation that still lingered in my bones. Every joint hummed with the ghost of that power, that wild, shattering pain that had changed me forever.

But I was alive. I was me. I was… different.

I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the floorboards, and for a moment I thought of him, the stranger.

The way he’d looked at me the last time, that flash of something unspoken in his eyes. The kind of gaze that burns even when you try to forget it.

But then I pushed the thought away. I couldn’t afford to think about him, not when I didn’t even have breakfast money.

If I stayed in this bed all day, I’d rot — and worse, I’d prove everyone right. That I was the weak one. The unwanted one.

So I stood.

The hallway smelled faintly of old wood and cheap perfume when I stepped out. The floorboards creaked as I made my way downstairs, clutching my small bag like it was my armor.

At the counter, the innkeeper was already awake, wiping down the counter with practiced ease.

“Good morning, sir,” I greeted softly, offering a small smile. “And… thank you for yesterday.”

He looked up from his ledger, his lined face breaking into a slow grin. His dimples appeared — deep, warm, almost out of place on someone with such tired eyes.

“Anything for a cute girl,” he said lightly, his voice carrying a note of quiet kindness. Then his expression softened. “But don’t mistake kindness for weakness, kid. The world out there doesn’t go easy on people like you — so you stand strong.”

The words hit deeper than I expected.

No one had ever said something like that to me.

My father’s voice was always cold, sharp like the edge of a broken bottle. My sister’s laughter — cruel, echoing — had been the soundtrack of my childhood. Even the pack’s whispers still clung to me: “Wolf-less. Weak. Worthless.”

But this man, with his worn hands and gentle dimples, spoke to me like I mattered.

I lowered my eyes, voice trembling slightly. “Thank you… you don’t know what that means to me.”

He didn’t respond, just nodded once before turning back to his counter. But that moment stayed with me — like a flicker of light in a life that had always been shadow.

The air outside bit at my skin the second I stepped out of the inn.

The city was awake now — filled with the clatter of carts, the hiss of roasting food, the rhythmic footsteps of strangers who didn’t know my name.

But that was the beauty of it. No one here knew me. No one whispered about my bloodline or the mate I’d lost or the shame I carried.

Here, I could start over.

I could be Ella — not the outcast, not the wolf-less girl — just… me.

I started walking. The uneven stones beneath my sandals slapped softly as I scanned shopfronts and door signs.

The smell of fried food made my stomach twist. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but hunger could wait.

What I needed was work.

~•~•~•

Three rejections later, my hope began to dim.

Each restaurant said the same thing — “We’re not hiring,” or “You don’t have experience,” or the worst one: a dismissive look that said, you don’t belong here.

I was about to give up when I saw it — a large building with bold brown letters that read: Dallas Diner’s.

The smell of grilled meat hit me the moment I stepped inside.

The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, forks clinking, waitresses weaving gracefully through tables.

My breath caught. I had never seen so many humans in one place. It was overwhelming — all that life, all that noise.

I hovered near the door for a few seconds, uncertain, until a man behind the counter caught my attention.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour. His hair was dark and a little messy, like he’d run his hand through it one too many times.

And his eyes — sharp, steady, assessing.

“Help you?” His tone was clipped but not unkind.

I swallowed hard. “I… I’m looking for a job, sir. As a waitress. Or anything, really.”

He looked at me — slowly — his gaze traveling from my worn shoes to the hem of my faded shirt. Not in judgment, but as if he were weighing me on invisible scales.

I shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t have experience, but I learn fast.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “We get a dozen of you every week, kid.”

Before I could reply, a waitress stumbled behind him, nearly dropping a full tray of drinks. Instinct took over — my hands shot out, catching the tray before it crashed.

The waitress gasped, her eyes wide. “Oh my God — thank you!”

The man just stared at me, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he smirked.

“Well,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter, “maybe you’re not as hopeless as you look.”

My cheeks warmed. “Give me a chance. I’ll prove it.”

He studied me for a beat longer, then exhaled sharply, grabbing a notepad and scribbling something before tearing the paper out.

“Fine. Trial shift. Don’t make me regret it.”

My fingers trembled slightly as I took the note. “When?”

He looked up. “Tonight.”

That one word lit something inside me.

I left the diner clutching the note like it was made of gold. The sunlight hit my face, and for the first time in a long while, I smiled — not because someone made me, but because I felt it.

Maybe things were finally shifting for me.

~•~•~•~•

As the sun dipped behind the roofs, the city transformed. Street lamps flickered to life. The hum of day softened into a lull of voices, laughter, and the scent of night markets.

I stood before the diner again, my palms sweaty, my heart pacing faster than my steps.

The same man stood inside, giving orders. His presence filled the space like gravity itself — calm but commanding.

He looked up as I walked in and nodded once. “Apron’s hanging on the hook. Let’s move.”

No “good luck.” No warm smile. Just purpose.

I liked that.

The apron felt heavy as I tied it around my waist, like the weight of a new beginning.

The waitress from earlier passed by and whispered, “Don’t let him scare you. He’s all bark, no bite.”

I smiled faintly at the irony. If only she knew I’d met creatures who actually bark and bite.

Still, her words steadied me.

When the man approached again, his gaze was sharp, testing. “You ready?”

I lifted my chin. “Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Good. Let’s see if you sink or swim.”

And then chaos swallowed me whole.

Orders flying, trays clattering, voices blending into one endless hum. Every movement had a rhythm, every mistake a price.

But I found my pace. My hands learned fast. My instincts took over.

The first few hours were brutal — sweat running down my neck, my arms sore from carrying trays — but beneath the exhaustion, something warm pulsed in my chest.

Pride.

For the first time, I wasn’t running from something. I was running toward it.

By the time the shift ended, my legs felt like jelly. I collapsed onto a stool near the back, exhaling hard.

The man — the manager, I realized now — walked over, drying his hands with a towel.

“You didn’t drown,” he said simply.

I looked up, smiling weakly. “Barely.”

He let out a short chuckle, the sound rare and deep. “You did good for a first timer. Come back tomorrow, same time.”

For a moment, I thought I misheard. “You mean… I got the job?”

He shrugged. “If you show up, yeah.”

And then he walked away, just like that — as if he hadn’t just changed everything for me.

~•~•~•

Outside, the air was cool against my skin.

The moon was rising again — big, full, and golden.

I stood beneath it, staring up, my breath fogging the night.

Kate’s voice brushed faintly through my mind, sleepy but proud. “You did well today, Ella.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, smiling softly.

But as I looked at the moon, I felt something else — a pulse, a pull deep inside my chest.

For just a heartbeat, I swore I felt him — that same quiet energy that had burned in Jake’s eyes, wild and watchful.

It made my heart skip.

Then it was gone, leaving me with only the wind and my quiet smile.

Maybe one day, our paths would cross again.

But not yet.

Right now, this was my story. My rise. My freedom.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of being special anymore.

The diner smelled like burnt coffee, old grease, and too many secrets. It was a Thursday evening, the kind where time crawled. The neon sign outside buzzed like a restless insect, flickering EAT. EAT. EAT., as if mocking everyone who dared to enter.

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling as I wiped down the counter for the third time.

Calm down, Ella. It’s just a job. Just another night.

But my heart hadn’t learned that yet—it still jumped at every slammed door, every male voice raised from across the room. The laughter of strangers still sounded too much like mockery from my past pack days. I’d thought running away would silence those echoes. I was wrong.

A sharp bell jingled by the door.

I looked up.

A group of girls walked in—five of them—dressed in designer dresses that didn’t belong in a roadside diner. Diamonds glimmered on manicured fingers. Their perfume clung to the air, thick and expensive, making the room feel smaller. Their laughter was high-pitched, brittle, and already dangerous.

Rich brats. The kind of trouble that came wrapped in luxury.

They took the booth by the window, the one most visible from every angle. Of course they did.

I checked the schedule—no other waiter was free. Great. Just me.

It’s okay, Ella. You can do this.

I smoothed the front of my apron, forcing my shaking legs forward.

“Good evening, ladies,” I said, voice as polite as I could manage. “What will you be ordering tonight?”

The blonde at the center—obviously their queen—looked me over, her gaze slow and deliberate. Then, she smiled. A smile with no warmth.

“Well, isn’t this cute?” she purred, tucking a strand of perfect golden hair behind her ear. “They really let anyone serve here now.”

Laughter exploded across the table, bright and cruel. I froze, my notepad digging into my palm. Their voices echoed the taunts I’d heard for years. Wolf-less, weak, unwanted.

I forced myself to breathe.

“Would you like to order something?” I asked, my tone even but tight.

The brunette beside her leaned in, her perfume sharp enough to sting. “Do you even know the menu? Or should we explain it to you… slowly, sweetheart?”

More laughter. My face burned.

For a second, I almost shrank—like I always used to. But then, from somewhere deep within me, Kate’s voice rose. Calm. Commanding.

Don’t let them get to you. Stand tall.

I straightened, lifting my chin. “I know the menu,” I said quietly. “And I know the kitchen’s busy. So unless you’d like to wait all night, I suggest you place your order now.”

The laughter faltered.

Just a flicker—but I saw it. A small crack in their perfect little performance.

The blonde’s smirk sharpened, her pride stung. “Four steak dinners. Medium rare. And make sure it’s perfect.”

I scribbled it down. “Anything to drink?”

Her eyes gleamed. “Surprise us. Let’s see if you’re good for something.”

I nodded once and turned to go, spine straight despite the tremor in my fingers.

As I walked away, I heard one of them whisper—loud enough on purpose—“She won’t last a week.”

Their laughter followed me like smoke.

But I didn’t look back.

Maybe I wouldn’t last. Maybe I’d burn out like I always did.

But not tonight. Tonight, I was staying upright.

At the counter, Mr. Dallas barely looked up when I dropped the order slip.

“Table seven?” he asked, his deep voice like gravel and whiskey.

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced toward the girls’ booth, jaw tightening. “Rich kids. They like to play games.” He handed the slip to the cook. “Don’t let them rattle you.”

I swallowed. “Got it.”

But inside, my stomach twisted. Every sound in the kitchen was too loud—the clang of pans, the hiss of the fryer, the shouted orders. Still, I forced my body to move on instinct.

Grab tray. Balance plates. Don’t spill. Breathe.

When their order was ready, I took a deep breath and whispered under my breath,

“Steady hands. Steady heart.”

Walking toward their table felt like stepping into a battlefield.

Their laughter hushed as I approached.

“Here you go,” I said softly, setting down each plate, my movements careful, deliberate. I wouldn’t give them another reason to sneer.

One plate. Two. Three.

The fourth—almost done—when it happened.

The auburn-haired one bumped her elbow—accidentally, on purpose.

The glass toppled.

The drink spilled across the blonde’s pristine white dress like blood across snow.

She gasped, jerking to her feet. “You idiot!”

The diner fell silent. Every conversation stopped. All eyes turned to me.

My throat went dry. “I—I didn’t—”

She cut me off, her words sharp enough to slice through bone.

“You can’t even carry a tray without ruining someone’s night? What are you even doing here?”

The other girls cackled, feeding off her fury. My chest squeezed, my vision blurring at the edges.

The old instinct clawed up again—apologize, make it stop, take the blame.

But then Kate’s voice surged inside me like lightning.

Don’t bow, Ella. Not this time.

I straightened, the tray still trembling in my grip. “If you wanted drama,” I said, my tone firm but calm, “you could’ve gone to the theatre. It’s not my job to babysit toddlers.”

Gasps swept through the diner.

The blonde’s eyes went wide, her painted lips parting in disbelief. No one ever talked back to her—that much was obvious.

For a heartbeat, I thought she’d lunge at me. But before she could, a shadow fell over the table.

Mr. Dallas.

The noise in the diner died instantly.

He didn’t have to raise his voice. His presence alone was enough to silence the entire room.

“What’s the problem here?” he asked, tone quiet but carrying the weight of command.

The blonde blinked rapidly, her expression switching into fake innocence. “Your waitress spilled all over me. Completely unprofessional—”

“I didn’t spill,” I said before I could stop myself. My voice was sharper than I’d intended. “She bumped the table.”

A collective inhale ran through the crowd. I’d interrupted Mr. Dallas—a rookie mistake for anyone who wanted to keep their job.

His dark eyes turned to me, steady and unreadable. “Is that true?”

The fear roared again, urging me to apologize, to shrink back into safety.

But I thought of Kate, of the way her voice had sounded when she said, Don’t bow.

I met his gaze. “Yes, sir. It’s true.”

The blonde scoffed. “You’re really going to take her word over mine?”

Mr. Dallas didn’t move. He studied the stain on her dress, then me. A faint muscle in his jaw twitched—something between irritation and amusement.

“Then here’s what we’ll do,” he said finally. “You clean up the spill, Ella. And you—” his eyes locked onto the blonde—“sit down and eat your steak before it gets cold. No more games in my diner.”

The entire place went dead silent.

Then, soft murmurs rippled through the crowd. The blonde’s friends stared, wide-eyed. No one had ever dared talk to her like that—not even her own parents, probably.

Her lips parted, then closed again. She sat down stiffly.

And me? My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear the rest of the world.

But for the first time, I didn’t feel small.

As I knelt to clean the spill, my cheeks still hot, I could feel eyes on me—not mocking this time, but curious. Maybe even impressed.

When I finished, I glanced up, expecting Mr. Dallas to be gone. But he was still there, watching.

His gaze was… strange. Not soft, not cruel. Just steady. Like he saw more than I was saying.

“You handled yourself,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder: “Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.”

I rose, the rag damp in my hands, but my spine straighter than before.

As I walked back to the counter, I caught my reflection in the diner window—tired eyes, messy ponytail, grease-stained apron.

But something had changed. My gaze didn’t dart away anymore.

I’d faced cruelty before. I’d survived worse.

This time, I’d stood my ground.

~•~•~•~•

When the rush finally died down, I sat on the back steps, breathing in the night air. The moon hung low, spilling silver light over the parking lot. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

Kate stirred faintly inside me, her tone proud. You didn’t bow, Ella.

A shaky laugh escaped me. “Yeah. I didn’t.”

For a moment, I closed my eyes, feeling the ache in my arms, the faint tremor still in my chest. Then… that strange feeling again—like being watched.

The hairs on my neck stood up. I scanned the shadows near the tree line.

Nothing.

Still, I could feel it. That pull. That familiar, dangerous awareness.

Jake.

How I knew his name? That I don't know but I felt that suited him well.

If he was there, hidden in the darkness, he didn’t step forward. But my heart recognized the energy, the way the air seemed to thicken around it.

He’d seen everything. Every word. Every trembling breath.

And though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was fighting something too—whatever storm brewed in his chest every time I refused to break.

The silence stretched long, heavy, electric.

I looked back at the diner, the neon glow spilling faint red across the pavement.

Maybe I wasn’t the same Ella anymore. Maybe that’s what scared him most.

I stood up, wiped my hands on my apron, and whispered to the night, “I’m not your weak girl anymore.”

The breeze shifted, carrying the faintest growl through the trees—low, guttural, restrained.

Jake.

I smiled softly, lifting my chin toward the moon. “Then watch me rise.”