My own bed greets me when consciousness returns.

The sheets feel familiar beneath my fingertips, cool cotton instead of stone bench and willow shadows. Zane’s cedar scent clings faintly to my pillow, evidence of arms that carried me home.

I have no memory of walking here, no recollection of climbing stairs or opening doors.

The guilt arrives before I can fully open my eyes, pressing against my ribs like hands intent on crushing.

I betrayed Paul. My mate. The bond that’s supposed to be unbreakable.

But Paul gave you permission, whispers a treacherous voice. Paul smelled like Sarah’s perfume. Paul reminded you he can do whatever he pleases.

The justifications taste hollow on my tongue, offering no comfort against the weight in my stomach.

Breakfast stretches before me like a battlefield when I finally force myself downstairs. The dining hall reeks of bacon grease and brewing coffee, scents that usually comfort but today curdle my already uneasy stomach.

Sarah presides at the head like a queen holding court. Her eyes find mine across the crowded room.

She shoots me glances that suggest she knows exactly where Paul spent part of last night.

I force myself to eat despite my churning stomach. The toast feels like sawdust against my dry tongue.

“You look terrible this morning, cousin,” Sarah calls down the table with honeyed concern. “Rough night perhaps?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Luna,” I manage through gritted teeth while reaching for my water glass.

“Are you certain about that assessment?” Her smile stretches wide and knowing. “You seem rather pale and unwell today.”

“Just tired from my duties yesterday,” I reply, keeping my voice carefully neutral despite the sweat beading at my temples.

“Perhaps you should eat more then,” Sarah suggests, gesturing toward my plate. “Build up your strength properly.”

Halfway through my toast, my stomach revolts with sudden violence.

The nausea hits without warning, a wave of sickness that sends me stumbling from my chair. I barely make it to the bathroom before losing everything.

The tile bites cold through my thin stockings as I kneel there, sweating and shaking. Bile burns my throat raw.

I saw Sarah in the kitchen earlier, hovering near the coffee station with that satisfied smile.

She poisoned me.

The certainty crystallizes into terror that tightens my throat. Sarah finally made good on her threats after all.

But the nausea passes after minutes that stretch like hours. My trembling subsides into exhaustion.

An hour later, I feel fine. Two hours later, I’m hungry again like nothing happened.

Elena finds me in the hallway that afternoon, her silver-streaked hair catching the dusty light filtering through high windows.

“I heard about your episode at breakfast this morning,” she says gently. “Come with me now.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious, Elena,” I protest weakly.

“Let me be the judge of what’s serious, dear.” She guides me toward the medical wing. “Humor an old healer.”

Her examination room smells like dried lavender and rubbing alcohol, the scents sharp in my nostrils. Cold metal instruments glint on sterile trays.

“Tell me exactly what symptoms you experienced this morning,” Elena instructs.

“Violent nausea that came from nowhere,” I explain, flinching as her cold stethoscope presses against my skin. “I couldn’t keep anything down.”

“How long did the sickness last before it passed?” she asks, fingers probing my abdomen with clinical precision.

Fur erupts along my arms in patches of silver-gray, each follicle burning as it pushes through stretching skin.

I’m shifting. After twenty-three years, I’m finally shifting into my wolf form.

My hands become paws, claws digging into rich earth. My face elongates, jaw cracking as teeth sharpen into points.

I stand on four legs in the garden, the world exploding into colors I’ve never seen, sounds I’ve never heard.

The scents hit me first, overwhelming in their complexity. Every flower releases its own signature perfume. The earthworms beneath the soil carry their own musk.

‘Well, well, well.’ A voice echoes through my mind, dripping with sardonic amusement. ‘Look who finally decided to show up to her own life.’

Who… what…

‘I’m your wolf, genius.’ The voice carries the distinct energy of an eye-roll. ‘Been waiting twenty-three years for this moment. No rush or anything.’

I didn’t know you existed, I think back, stunned by her presence inside my transformed skull.

‘Obviously. Too busy letting everyone treat you like a doormat to notice me scratching at the door.’ She stretches within our shared body, testing muscles that sing with new power.

“That’s not fair,” I protest weakly.

‘Honey, I’ve been watching you pine over two brothers like this is some kind of supernatural soap opera.’ Her tone sharpens with delicious exasperation. ‘Pick a lane already.’

It’s complicated, I manage.

‘It’s really not.’ She sniffs the night air, cataloging a thousand scents with predatory efficiency. ‘But sure, keep telling yourself that while I do the actual work around here.’

I throw my head back and howl at the emerging stars, her laughter echoing through my skull like wind chimes made of razor blades