SHIFT

I stood over the Beta as he lay crumpled at my feet. He groaned, a low sound filled with pain and confusion. His skin had turned a sickly shade of grey, drained of all warmth. Sweat soaked his hair and trickled down his temple, collecting at the edge of his jaw before dripping onto the marble floor. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths. He was still alive.

Damn it.

I took a shaky step back. My boots scraped softly against the floor. I cursed under my breath as regret twisted in my gut. I should’ve used more. Just a little more force. Enough to knock him out for longer. Maybe even silence him for good.

My fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into my palms. I fought the scream building in my throat. I couldn’t afford to lose control now. Someone would find him soon—maybe even my father. Maybe especially my father.

Time was running out.

My knees wobbled under me, and my lungs burned. Every breath felt like dragging glass through my ribs. But I moved. I had to. I stumbled toward the hallway, dragging my hand along the wall to steady myself. My fingers brushed over the cool stone, each groove in the surface grounding me just enough to take another step.

Then I stopped.

The corridor ahead was no longer empty.

Guards.

I counted them fast, heart hammering in my ears. One stood rigid near the stairwell, his back straight, hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Two more lingered beside the library doors, their silver armor gleaming under the chandelier lights. Another blocked the garden path. He stood like a statue, unmoving, eyes hidden under his helmet.

Not regular guards.

These ones wore silver-plated gear—the kind only used for special orders. Or for traitors.

For me.

“He knows,” I whispered, barely able to hear myself over the thunder of my pulse. “He knows I tried to run.”

I ducked my head and turned, forcing my legs to carry me the other way. Each step felt heavier, like I had iron shackles tied around my ankles. My breath came in ragged bursts. Pain pulsed behind my eyes, and my vision blurred.

I reached my chamber door and slipped inside.

I didn’t even lock it.

I just shut it and let my back slide down the wood until I hit the floor. My arms wrapped around my legs as I tried to quiet the noise in my chest. My heartbeat refused to settle. My lungs wouldn’t take in enough air.

My room looked exactly the same—soft curtains drawn, books stacked neatly, bed untouched—but it no longer felt like mine.

It felt like a prison.

I pressed my forehead against my knees and whispered to no one, “What now?”

I let the silence stretch.

Then I looked up, voice breaking through the stillness.

“What the hell do I do now?”

I stared at the silver moon through the window. It hung high in the sky, cold and distant, like it didn’t care about anything happening down here. Its light poured through the glass in quiet beams, pale and ghostly. The kind of light that made shadows feel alive.

My wolf stirred under my skin. Slow at first. Then stronger, like it had waited long enough. Like it refused to stay buried anymore.

“This is stupid,” I muttered, pressing my forehead to the windowpane. My breath fogged the glass, a small white cloud that faded almost as fast as it formed. “I can’t shift like this. Not now.”

But the ache in my chest only grew sharper. My body still hurt from earlier—every bruise and gash throbbed like fresh wounds. My ribs felt like they had been cracked open and rearranged. My arms were stiff and sore, marked with cuts I hadn’t even noticed during the fight.

I hadn’t shifted in months. Not since that night in the woods. Not since the exile.

And never in this condition.

Still, I dropped to my knees.

The floor felt like ice against my skin. My breath hitched.

“No turning back now,” I whispered.

I planted my hands on the ground, the cold seeping into my bones. My fingers trembled. My palms stung. Then—pain. Sharp and sudden. It shot up my arms and exploded down my spine.

Bones cracked. Loud and unnatural.

My back arched so hard I thought it might snap. My mouth flew open, and a scream tore out—raw and broken—as blood poured from my nose and lips. The metallic taste coated my tongue.

“Keep going,” I choked out. “Just keep going.”

My muscles twisted under my skin. My shoulders jerked violently. Something tore inside me—something deep. Like my body was being broken down and rebuilt all at once.

My skin burned like fire. Then it split open.

Pale fur pushed through the tears, soft and snow-white, blooming across my arms, my chest, my legs. My nails blackened and lengthened into claws. My fingers bent backward and reshaped. My bones followed, reshaping with sickening pops and snaps.

My face stretched forward, mouth elongating, jaw reshaping into a snout. I gagged as more blood spilled down my chin, soaking the floor beneath me.

Then it stopped.

The pain vanished like a flame snuffed out.

Silence.

I stood still, chest rising and falling. The air tasted different now—sharper, clearer.

I looked down at my paws.

I was no longer human.

The reflection in the glass window stared back at me. A white wolf, eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight.

I was the white wolf.

Just like the one Mother used to whisper about when she thought I was asleep.

Back then, I would lie in bed, barely breathing, pretending to dream while her fingers brushed the tangled strands from my hair. Her voice had been barely a breath, full of fear, full of wonder. She spoke of a white wolf that was never meant to belong. One cursed by the stars but born to outrun fate. A wolf that vanished into the dark without ever leaving a trace.