The First Shift

POV: Viktor.

Twenty-one years ago.

The marrow inside my bones felt like it was turning into boiling lead.

I gripped the edge of my wooden windowsill, my knuckles turning stark white, as a violent tremor shook my entire frame. Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I couldn't blink. I couldn't even breathe properly. My lungs felt entirely too large for my ribcage, expanding against the bone until I thought my chest was simply going to split wide open.

It was the night of my thirteenth birthday. Under normal circumstances, a kid my age would be out celebrating. I was supposed to be down by the canyon right now, sitting around a crackling bonfire with my friends, laughing at stupid jokes and pretending we were already fully grown men. But I wasn't at the canyon. I had told them I wasn't feeling great, locking myself inside my darkened bedroom to endure an internal war that I couldn't comprehend.

Something was horribly wrong with me. I had felt it festering beneath my skin all day, a primal, terrifying entity clawing mercilessly at the inside of my ribcage. It wasn't just a sickness; it was a desperate, enraged presence demanding to be set free. And the trigger for this unprecedented torture? The massive, blindingly bright full moon hanging heavily in the night sky.

Its silver light poured through my bedroom window, washing over my trembling hands. Every time the moonlight touched my skin, a fresh wave of excruciating pain rippled through my veins. The inescapable pull of the moon was dragging something monstrous out of the darkest depths of my soul. I was a werewolf, yes, but I was only thirteen. I wasn't supposed to have a wolf yet. This wasn't a normal awakening.

My emotions were wreaking absolute havoc within me, swirling into a chaotic vortex of panic, rage, and agonizing claustrophobia. I needed an outlet. The confines of my own human body felt like a suffocating prison.

"Viktor... what's wrong?"

The soft, familiar voice of my mother drifted through the heavy oak door of my bedroom. Even through the haze of my agony, her gentle tone tugged at my heart. She sounded genuinely worried, her footsteps pausing just outside my room.

"Just leave me alone, please," I managed to choke out, my voice sounding incredibly raspy, foreign even to my own ears.

Fear. A deep, paralyzing fear gripped my throat. I felt terrified of myself, of whatever entity was ruthlessly hijacking my anatomy. I dug my fingers harder into the window ledge, staring up at the glowing orb in the sky. I kept my eyes locked on the moon, praying for the agony to subside, for my body to just return to normal.

"Leave him be, he isn't worth it."

The cold, sharp contempt in my father's voice sliced through the hallway, hitting me harder than any physical blow ever could. My breath hitched. Even now, even when I was clearly suffering, he couldn't hide his absolute disdain for me. He was the Alpha of our pack—a strong, ruthless, unforgiving man. And he hated me. He had always hated me, with a burning, irrational passion that I could never quite figure out.

My heart began racing wildly in my chest, thumping against my ribs with the force of a battering ram. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* The sound was deafening in my ears. I hated this. It was as if something inside me was screaming at the top of its lungs to be let out into the world. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to calm myself, trying to force the monster back into its cage.

But it was entirely useless. The pain had elevated my senses to a terrifying degree. I could suddenly hear everything. The voices echoing through the entire house. The creak of the floorboards. The rustle of the wind.

Why was this happening to me?

As my parents retreated down the long hallway toward their master bedroom, I could hear every single poisonous word that carelessly left my father's mouth.

"Valerius... he's a child. There must be something wrong with him," Mom whispered, her voice laced with maternal anxiety as they stepped into their room.

"He's a disobedient mutt. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him," my father scoffed, the sound dripping with pure venom.

A spark of white-hot anger ignited deep within my gut, cutting through the physical pain. It flared into a fiery, uncontrollable passion. Why the hell did he hate me so much? I was his flesh and blood. I was his son. Yet, he spoke of me like I was an infestation.

My heart thumped louder, matching the relentless pounding of the headache splitting my skull. The moon was making my blood sing with a violent restlessness. Ever since I could remember, I had always felt a little restless on a full moon. Sure, I was a werewolf, but this wasn't normal, and it wasn't like I had a wolf yet to howl at the sky.

"I'm not disobedient," I whispered to the empty room, my voice trembling with suppressed fury.

What had I ever done wrong? For thirteen years, I had bent over backward trying to live up to his impossible Alpha standards. I trained until my muscles gave out, I swallowed my pride, I followed every strict rule he enforced. But I was never good enough.

"He's a worthless piece of trash," my father's voice drifted clearly through the walls, sealing my fate. "That one is going to die young. Trust me."

His words were the final strike of a match in a room full of gasoline.

My blood didn't just boil; it erupted. The sheer injustice, the unrelenting cruelty of his prediction, snapped the last remaining thread of my desperate need for his approval. My fingernails dug viciously into the wooden window ledge. A low, guttural growl tore from my lips—a sound that was entirely too deep, too monstrous to come from a thirteen-year-old boy.

I saw blinding red. The rational, human part of my brain was instantly swallowed by a tidal wave of primal fury. I was completely done with having to hear this. I was done trying to please a man who was eagerly waiting for my funeral.

I spun around and stormed across the room. I grabbed the handle of my bedroom door and pulled. In a sudden, explosive surge of newfound, monstrous strength, I didn't just open the door—I ripped it entirely off its metal hinges. The wood splintered violently in my hands, but I didn't even care. I tossed it aside and stormed down the long hallway toward my parents' room.

Each antagonizing remark that had left my father's lips echoed in my mind, making my anger surge higher and higher with every heavy step I took. I reached their closed door and ripped it open, repeating the violent action, not even fully processing that I had torn their heavy bedroom door clean off its frame.

My mother let out a terrified, piercing scream, stumbling backward.

My father whipped around, his face morphing from irritation to sheer, unadulterated shock. For the very first time in my miserable life, the great, terrifying Alpha looked remarkably small.

"What the fuck is that..." he whispered, his eyes wide, completely oblivious to the fact that he was staring at his own son.

I glared at him. The moment my eyes locked onto his, an agonizing, blinding pain ripped through my entire body. The transition had officially begun.

My bones felt like they were literally being set on fire and shattered simultaneously. I heard the sickening sound of my own skeleton snapping and re-knitting itself at an unnatural speed. My spine arched backward at a horrific angle, the vertebrae cracking loudly. My muscles bulged, tearing through the fabric of my clothes.

"I'm not trash! I'm not disobedient!" I growled, but it didn't sound like words anymore. It was a distorted, booming roar that vibrated the glass in the windows. I didn't even care about the agonizing pain ripping my flesh apart. I couldn't recognize my own voice. I couldn't even understand what was happening to my body.

My father's eyes widened to the size of saucers. He instinctively took a step back, his head tilting upward to maintain eye contact with me.

I frowned through the haze of agony. Why was he looking up at me? He was a massive man, easily taller than me. But as my joints cracked and my legs restructured, I realized I was towering over him.

"You worthless mutt! How dare you! What the hell are you!?" Dad roared, his shock quickly dissolving back into his signature fury. He squared his shoulders, throwing his Alpha command at me.

He had always hated how his supernatural Alpha command never truly worked on me. I knew it was the sole reason he beat me so mercilessly whenever I disobeyed him—to forcefully show me that he was physically stronger since his dominance couldn't mentally break me. But why was that such a big deal to him?

Tonight, his Alpha aura felt like a pathetic breeze against the towering mountain of my rage. It crashed against me and shattered. It didn't affect me in the slightest.

"I am not worthless! Why do you hate me so much?!" I growled, the sound ripping from a snout that was painfully pushing its way out of my human face.

My father's face contorted into a mask of pure revulsion. Even in the face of a terrifying transformation, his pride refused to let him back down.

"I told you he was a freak..." he whispered, his voice dripping with unmistakable disgust and cold contempt.

The word *freak* echoed in my mind, snapping the very last chain holding the beast back. Anger flared within me, eclipsing all human thought, and I lunged at him.

What followed felt exactly like a feverish nightmare. I was trapped in a horrifying state of dual consciousness. I could clearly see what was happening, watching the carnage unfold, but at the same time, I wasn't in control at all. I was a helpless spectator trapped in the passenger seat of my own body.

I looked down and saw massive, pitch-black furry paws equipped with razor-sharp, elongated claws. I watched with detached fascination as those claws swung forward and tore viciously into my father's chest. I couldn't feel the physical impact. I couldn't feel his flesh giving way. My physical sensations were completely muted, replaced by an eerie, terrifying calmness that washed over my mind.

I watched the man who had tormented me my whole life get shredded like wet paper.

And then, suddenly, the world abruptly dropped out from beneath me. Everything went pitch black.

***

When I finally came to, I was standing completely naked in the dead center of my parents' bedroom.

I blinked slowly, my vision clearing, and my heart immediately dropped into my stomach. The once beautiful, sunlit summer country room had been transformed into an unspeakable nightmare. It was a literal slaughterhouse.

Shredded, unrecognizable lumps of meat and bone littered the hardwood floor. Rivers of thick, dark crimson blood pooled in the divots of the wood. Deep, violent claw marks gouged every single inch of the walls and the floorboards. The strong, metallic smell of coppery blood tarnished the air, so thick and pungent that I gagged.

I stumbled backward, pure horror filling every crevice of my mind. I looked down at my hands. They were completely covered in blood, the dark crimson caked under my human fingernails.

I frantically scanned the floor, my breathing coming in shallow, panicked gasps. I remembered the anger. I remembered attacking Dad, watching my black claws tear him apart.

But... what about Mom?

I rushed blindly across the destroyed room, navigating around the heavy, upturned bedframe that had been smashed into pieces. I reached the other side, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm.

Then, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Lying alone on the blood-soaked floorboards was a severed hand.

It was pale, delicate, and resting loosely on the slender ring finger was a thin gold band.

Mom's ring...

Mom's hand.

The air was violently sucked out of my lungs. My knees buckled beneath me.

"No..." I whispered, the sound entirely hollow. "How could I have attacked Mom... No. No. No."

My heart thundered mercilessly against my ribcage. A suffocating wave of despair crashed over me, and I desperately wished I could reverse time. I wished I had never opened that door.

I had done this. I had murdered my own parents, and I had absolutely no idea how it had happened. I had no memory of turning my claws on the woman who had softly checked on me through the door.

But as I knelt naked in the ruins of my family, staring at the severed hand of my beloved mother, one horrific truth became crystal clear.

Dad was right.

I was a freak. A terrifying, uncontrollable freak of nature. Whatever monstrous entity I had transformed into tonight, it wasn't a normal werewolf. It was a merciless killer.

That was my first agonizing shift. The very first time I had violently taken someone's life.

But it was far from the last time.