Makeover!

I did the assignment for the girls literally in the passenger seat of Sloane’s sleek, obnoxiously expensive sports car on the way to the sprawling outdoor mall. It was truly that simple. Math was my undisputed domain. While the rest of the werewolf community prized raw brawn, aggressive dominance, and superficial beauty over brains any day of the week, I was a quiet, unapologetic nerd, and I took a small, fierce pride in that. It was the one thing no one in the pack could ever take away from me.

The heater was blasting on full force, baking my freezing knees as we sat parked in the icy, snow-dusted lot of the mall. Sloane and Tasha leaned over the center console, their perfectly manicured fingernails tapping against the leather seats as they watched me work. When I finally handed over the completed sheets, their eyes went wide with genuine admiration. They were thoroughly impressed. They quickly snatched the papers and began frantically copying the meticulous equations over in their own sprawling handwritings, entirely focused on making sure Mr. Gannon wouldn't suspect a thing.

"You're actually a total lifesaver," Tasha muttered, biting the cap of her pink pen as she furiously scribbled down the final proof. "I thought I was going to get kicked off the squad for sure."

"Just remember the deal," I reminded them quietly, clutching my thin, worn-out jacket tighter around my shivering shoulders.

Sloane let out a loud, dramatic scoff, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please. We are going to make you look so hot, you won't even recognize yourself. Let's go."

The moment the last equation was copied, the afternoon violently shifted into a chaotic, high-energy whirlwind. Sloane and Tasha threw open the car doors and literally dragged me through the sliding glass doors of the massive mall. The sheer blast of warm air and the overwhelming scent of cinnamon pretzels and expensive perfumes hit me like a physical wall. They squealed excitedly with every step, their designer bags bouncing against their hips. They paraded me through the brightly lit concourses as though I was doing them a massive favor, treating me less like a pack member and more like their own personal, oversized dress-up doll.

"I don't have any money," I reminded them nervously as Sloane bypassed the sales racks and marched directly toward the high-end boutique section of a massive department store. "I can't afford any of this."

Sloane stopped dead in her tracks, turning around to fix me with a deeply exasperated eye roll. She entirely ignored my financial panic. "Did anyone ask you to pay? We're literally almost as rich as the Alpha's family. Just shut up and let us work our magic."

I swallowed the massive lump in my throat and decided to just let it happen. I guessed I could consider the expensive clothes and the makeup they were about to buy as fair compensation for saving their academic lives.

For the next two hours, I tried on outfit after outfit. The fitting room became a blur of silk, denim, and lace. Sloane and Tasha sat on a velvet tufted bench outside my cubicle, aggressively rating each piece I walked out in. They were having an absolute blast, loudly critiquing cuts, fabrics, and hemlines. To my profound shock, this was actually kind of incredibly fun. I had never had girls my own age pay this much positive attention to me. They continuously encouraged me to pick out a seemingly endless parade of miniskirts and tight mini dresses.

"You have absolutely great legs," Tasha insisted, waving a dismissive hand as I tugged self-consciously at the hem of a leather skirt.

I frowned, looking at my reflection. "The Triplets always call me fat."

"The Triplets are blind, arrogant idiots," Sloane snapped back immediately, adjusting my collar. "You're curvy in all the right places. Stop listening to those assholes and look at the mirror."

Honestly, the clothes they were meticulously selecting for me really did look amazing. They finally settled on a highly flattering, form-fitting long-sleeved white sweetheart top that dipped just low enough to accentuate curves I genuinely didn't even know I possessed. They paired it with a sharp, black pleated miniskirt that stopped mid-thigh, totally exposing my legs. Because the winter air outside was aggressively cold, even for a werewolf running hot, they added a pair of sheer black stockings and absolutely killer, stylish black high-heeled ankle boots.

I stepped out of the dressing room wearing the final ensemble, and my knees immediately wobbled. I had a lot of trouble walking in the sharp heels.

"Oh, absolutely not," Tasha commanded, standing up and grabbing my shoulders. "You are not walking like a newborn giraffe in those boots. Shoulders back. Chin up. Walk toward me."

Right there in the middle of the brightly lit, upscale store, the two popular girls ruthlessly made me practice walking. They treated the polished hardwood aisle like a professional runway, demonstrating how to place one foot directly in front of the other, how to sway my hips naturally, and how to command the space. They pretended to be on a catwalk too, strutting back and forth with effortless grace. They were so naturally confident, so utterly comfortable in their own skin. I couldn't help but marvel at them.

Once the clothes were purchased and securely packed into heavy, glossy shopping bags, the chaos continued. They drove us straight to Tasha’s sprawling, gated mansion. We bypassed her parents and went directly up to her massive bedroom, which was basically a fully stocked salon.

"Sit," Tasha ordered, pushing me down into a plush vanity chair.

For the next hour, they painstakingly showed me exactly what high-end makeup to apply and how to properly style my unruly hair. The air filled with the scent of burning hairspray and sweet vanilla setting powder. Tasha worked on my face with an arsenal of brushes, perfectly blending foundation to make my skin glow, while Sloane stood behind me with a hot curling iron, painstakingly styling my messy hair into voluminous, bouncy, shiny curls that tumbled flawlessly down my back. They did a full test run of everything, holding nothing back. Tasha carefully applied a sharp, dramatic cat eyeliner that made my eyes look dangerous, finishing it off with a bold, striking red lip.

"Okay," Sloane said, stepping back and dropping the curling iron onto a heat mat. "Stand up and look."

I slowly pushed myself up from the vanity chair and walked over to Tasha’s massive, floor-length mirror.

My jaw literally dropped.

I stared into the clear glass and genuinely barely recognized the girl looking back at me. The sweetheart neckline drew the eye perfectly, the pleated miniskirt made my legs look a mile long, and the ankle boots gave me a commanding height. The dark stockings contrasted beautifully with the crisp white of the top. My skin looked absolutely flawless, glowing under the bedroom lights, and the cat eyeliner and red lips surprisingly suited my face perfectly, giving me an edge I never knew I had. My hair was a cascade of shiny, loose curls. I didn't look like the abused, neglected omega of the pack. I looked confident. I looked beautiful.

Overwhelmed by a sudden, intense rush of emotion, I spun around and tightly hugged both Sloane and Tasha. They laughed, hugging me back. For a brief, shining moment, a wild thought crossed my mind. Did I just make two actual friends?

But the harsh, suffocating reality of my life quickly shattered the delicate illusion. Duty called. The pack house was waiting, and I knew exactly what kind of hell I was going to pay if I delayed any longer.

Sloane drove me back to the sprawling pack house, both girls clearly hoping to catch a rare, up-close glimpse of the Triplets, but the future Alphas were not home yet. Thank goodness. I waved goodbye to the girls, took a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and sprinted through the heavy front doors.

The afternoon peace was immediately shattered. I was forced to run straight to the massive main kitchen and dining hall to assist Darla. Darla was the agonizingly snobby, demanding, bleached-blonde party planner in her early thirties that the Drakens had hired to orchestrate the final touches for the Triplets’ extravagant, over-the-top eighteenth birthday bash tomorrow night. Darla was utterly obsessed with the hunk-i-ness of the Triplets, constantly throwing herself at them despite the age gap. She also seemed to deeply despise me, even though I was literally the only person in this massive house actually helping her do the heavy lifting.

"Where the hell have you been?" Darla shrieked the second my heels clicked onto the marble floor of the dining hall. Her beady eyes aggressively raked over my transformed appearance, and her lip curled in deep disgust. "You think you can just waltz in here looking like a cheap streetwalker while I'm drowning in work? Get under that table and start wrapping the door prizes. Now!"

I didn't argue. I had been dealing with adults trying to make me look bad my entire life. I immediately crouched down, crawling under the massive, heavy banquet table that was draped in thick, white linen. I sat on the cold floor, surrounded by a mountain of tiny, expensive mystery gifts that the pack members would blindly pick from a huge box tomorrow. I grabbed the tape, the scissors, and the thick wrapping paper, frantically wrapping the boxes as fast as my fingers could move. I did my own homework in between wrapping the smaller boxes, balancing a textbook on my knees. I was a master multitasker.

An hour passed in suffocating silence under the table. And then, I heard it.

The heavy, unmistakable roar of three high-powered car engines parking aggressively in the front driveway. It was the Triplets. Zander, Kellan, and Corbin. Alpha Ragnar and Luna Vera were still out shopping for even more lavish gifts for their golden boys, despite the fact that I had already wrapped a dozen massive boxes for them earlier this week.

Heavy, confident boots thudded against the hardwood floors of the grand foyer, moving steadily toward the kitchen. The Triplets swaggered through the front doors, taking up all the oxygen in the room. From beneath the edge of the tablecloth, I could see their expensive boots. Each of them had their arm securely wrapped around a different girl. They cycled through different girlfriends every two months or so, parading them around the pack house like trophies. It genuinely didn't make any sense learning the girls' names, because they would be gone before the snow melted.

The Triplets were wildly anxious to find their real, fated mate. They talked about it constantly. They weren't sure if they had three separate mates or just one single mate to share among them. It sounded totally crazy, but when it came to identical multiples like twins and triplets, they usually shared a single mate since they had originally been one egg and one sperm that split to form the multiples. So theoretically, identical twins and triplets were naturally occurring clones of one another. Every single girl in the pack, and in the neighboring territories, desperately wished she was their mate. That concept was so utterly crazy to me. The Triplets were undeniably handsome—they were carved from marble, tall, imposing, and exuded raw, predatory power—but they were awful, cruel people, and managing three mates sounded like a complicated, waking nightmare.

"Oh, boys!" Darla's sickeningly sweet, sycophantic voice echoed through the kitchen. "You're back!"

Through the small gap in the tablecloth, I watched Darla glare at the three girlfriends, pure, unfiltered jealousy highly evident in her beady eyes. The girls clearly felt the hostile tension and didn't stay long. The moment the front door clicked shut behind the departing girlfriends, Darla's voice immediately dropped its sugary tone and turned sharp.

She immediately seized the golden opportunity to berate me loudly, desperate to get me in trouble with the future Alphas. "I just want you to know," Darla whined loudly, stepping closer to the massive kitchen island where the boys were leaning, "that your little servant girl showed up incredibly late to help me. I've been doing all of this back-breaking work entirely by myself."

I let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. I had been crouched under this table for over an hour, literally doing all the grunt work while she barked orders and drank sparkling water.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I realized that hiding from them would only set them off worse when they inevitably found me. I pushed the wrapping paper aside, placed my palms flat on the cold floor, and slowly crawled out from beneath the heavy tablecloth to make myself known.

I stood up, my high-heeled ankle boots clicking softly against the floor. I carefully brushed the dust off my sharp, black pleated miniskirt and smoothed down my sweetheart top. I kept my head down, fully bracing myself for their usual barrage of cruel insults, physical shoves, and humiliating jabs about my weight or my deadbeat parents.

Instead, total, absolute silence fell over the kitchen.

It was so quiet I could hear the faint hum of the massive double refrigerators. I nervously glanced up through my eyelashes.

The Triplets stood completely frozen by the kitchen island. Their eyes were blown incredibly wide, absolutely locked onto my transformed appearance. They stared at me as if I had just materialized out of thin air, as if I were an entirely different, unrecognizable species. They looked at each other, profound shock radiating off their massive frames.

Kellan was the first to move. He slowly licked his lips, his dark eyes deliberately trailing from the top of my styled, bouncy curls, down the tight sweetheart neckline, down the short pleated skirt, all the way down my exposed legs to my ankle boots, and back up again. The sheer intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle with heat. I instinctively took a nervous step back.

Zander looked completely flabbergasted, his mouth slightly open, while Corbin leaned against the marble counter, a slow, unreadable smirk spreading across his handsome face.

Darla smiled maliciously at me, her arms crossed tight over her chest. "Leave it to us, Darla," Zander suddenly said, his voice dropping an octave as he recovered his usual, haughty sneer. He didn't even look at her; his eyes remained entirely fixed on me. "We'll punish her."

Darla practically glowed with immature victory and quickly scurried out of the kitchen, leaving me entirely alone with the three monsters.

Before I could even process the danger, the three of them moved. They fanned out with terrifying, synchronized predatory grace, forcing me backward until my spine hit the cold, hard edge of the kitchen island. They smoothly boxed me in, effectively cornering me flush against the marble.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out quickly, my hands gripping the edge of the counter behind me. "I had to do some extra math for Mr. Gannon."

It wasn't a complete lie, and they knew it. The Triplets knew Mr. Gannon perfectly well because they were his star football players back when they went to high school, and they also knew I had easily won regional math competitions before. They had really enjoyed violently making fun of me for being a nerd back then.

"Ok," Zander said simply. He took a heavy, deliberate step towards me, his massive chest rising and falling. His eyes narrowed, violently raking over my outfit, my red lips, and my eyeliner. "What's all of this?" he demanded, his voice low and incredibly dangerous as he gestured broadly to my clothes, my makeup, and my hair.

"My eighteenth birthday is tomorrow too," I said softly, looking down at my boots, defensively crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm just trying out how I wanna look." I waited for the inevitable strike. I waited for them to call me fat, to tell me the skirt looked ridiculous, to tell me the makeup looked like a clown.

"Do you have a boyfriend, is that it?" Kellan asked, stepping closer to my left side. Genuine, inexplicable anger was rapidly rising in his deep voice.

Why the hell did he even care?

"I'm too fat to get a boyfriend, remember?" I said bitterly, directly repeating one of their absolute favorite, classic insults.

Zander rolled his eyes, taking another step forward, completely closing the distance between us until I could literally feel the intense, radiating heat of his large body. "Don't play games with us," Zander said softly, his tone deadly serious. "Is all of this for your mate? Have you figured out who he is?"

The question completely caught me off guard. "No!" I practically shouted. They were acting so incredibly strange, circling me like I had committed some deeply underhanded crime.

"You'll only know for sure tomorrow," Corbin pointed out, leaning his hip against the counter on my right side. "Your inner wolf will tell you who your mate is the second you shift."

"I don't want a mate," I answered with blunt, unapologetic honesty, staring straight into Zander's chest. I had never had a single guy in this entire pack be genuinely nice to me without wanting something in return, and I absolutely could not picture a magical mate treating me any differently.

Kellan frowned deeply, his brow furrowing in profound confusion. "Are you stupid?" he asked, genuinely baffled by my statement. "Why the hell not?" The Triplets were so desperately eager to find their mate. They talked about it every single birthday. They routinely visited other packs, pacing through foreign territories just hoping to get a single, fleeting whiff of their mate's scent. They had convinced themselves that their mate must be younger than them, which would perfectly explain why they couldn't pick up her scent yet, since only mates who had officially come of age and shifted could be chemically discovered.

"Because he’d just be mean to me and call me names, and I get enough of that from you," I snapped at them, my voice rising in volume.

The moment the words left my mouth, my heart violently slammed against my ribs. I should not have snapped. I was suddenly, deeply frightened. The heavy silence returned, thicker and far more suffocating this time. The Triplets hadn't physically hit me since we were little kids, but the memory was permanently burned into my brain.

The last actual physical fight we had happened when I was eleven and they were massive fourteen-year-olds. I had wildly punched Corbin, successfully breaking his nose, entirely because he had viciously called me "fat and nasty" and mocked me for having "dead parents." My addicted parents' exact whereabouts had never been officially confirmed, and I always desperately liked to think they were still alive somewhere out there. After Corbin had let out a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream and ran to tell his elder brothers about his bloody nose, the retaliation was swift and merciless. Kellan had slapped me hard across the face. Then Zander slapped me even harder. Corbin had been crying and reluctant, but his brothers forcibly made him hit me too.

But the slaps weren't the end of it. They had dragged my screaming, thrashing eleven-year-old body out into the freezing, snow-covered woods behind the pack house. They dragged me straight to the frozen river. There was a jagged hole chopped into the thick ice for winter fishing, and I was just small enough to fit. With zero hesitation, they had violently shoved my head under the freezing, black water. They held me under the ice, ignoring my desperate kicks and the burning agony in my lungs, until I completely blacked out. Their parents had been furious when they found out, but only because I had to be rushed to the human hospital for severe hypothermia, which risked exposing the pack. I never knew what their actual punishments had been, but ever since that horrific day, we never got genuinely physical with each other. It was never more than a harsh shove in the hallway. But right now, surrounded by them, the phantom feeling of freezing water rushed back into my lungs.

"Are you stupid?" Kellan repeated, pulling me sharply out of my terrifying flashback.

I just offered a pathetic, defensive shrug.

Zander violently rolled his eyes, looking at me as if I was the one utterly failing to grasp a basic, elementary concept. "No werewolf would insult his own mate or be mean to her," he stated firmly.

"Don't you know anything?" Corbin added, shaking his head.

"Ok, thanks, I get it now," I said simply, desperately wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

Zander leaned in closer, a wicked, knowing smirk slowly playing on his lips as he dramatically rubbed his strong jawline. His dark eyes meticulously raked over my exposed legs, trailing up the pleated skirt, over my sweetheart top, and finally locking onto my red lips. "You dressed up for us, didn't you?" he murmured.

The other two brothers instantly grinned, their matching, devastating dimples popping. My heart executed a violent, treacherous skip in my chest at the sight of those dimples. I frantically shook my head. What the hell was wrong with me? These boys were privileged, abusive monsters, and their incredible good looks did not mathematically absolve them of the torture they had put me through.

"Don't make her admit it," Corbin said smoothly, chuckling under his breath. "She's embarrassed, Zander."

"Admit it! You did this for us!" Zander exclaimed loudly, grinning wickedly as he took another aggressive step forward. I was now completely boxed in, my back pressed entirely flush against the cold marble of the kitchen island. There was absolutely nowhere left to retreat.

Kellan was strangely quiet on my left, smiling faintly and watching my chest rapidly rise and fall with every panicked breath. I just wanted to escape these monsters. I was so unbelievably frustrated with my entire miserable life. I knew for a fact there would not be a single birthday present for me tomorrow. No adult in this entire pack had sat me down and counseled me about my impending, terrifying first shift at midnight tonight, and I was genuinely scared. I knew the legendary pain of a werewolf's first shift was agonizing, and I absolutely did not need to deal with this suffocating interrogation from three privileged assholes who did not deserve the sacred title of Alpha. They were physically massive and imposing, yes, but they had zero integrity. They couldn't possibly lead this pack with honor. What an absolute joke.

Deciding that simply playing along with their massive egos was my safest and fastest avenue of escape, I fully leaned into the lie. I feigned deep embarrassment. I lifted my trembling hands to hide my face, using the physical gesture to stifle a nervous, highly cynical laugh that was bubbling up in my throat.

"Yeah, ok," I lied softly, staring down at my boots, wrapping my arms tightly around my own waist. "I dressed up for you. I asked two girls at school to help me. I really did have a math thing, but I went to get dolled up after, so that made me late as well. I'm sorry."

I kept my face buried in my hands, silently shaking with stifled, bitter laughter.

To my absolute shock, the heavy, aggressive, suffocating tension in the air instantly dissipated. Their collective demeanor visibly, drastically softened. They genuinely bought the lie, and they seemed to think I was actually crying.

"Hey," Kellan said, his voice dropping to a surprisingly gentle, low rumble. "You know, we aren't the stupid little boys we used to be when we would physically fight with you. We're officially taking over this pack tomorrow, and as you're technically part of this pack, we just wanna know what's going on with you, that's all."

Huh? I blinked behind my hands. What kind of twisted logic was that?

"Don't cry, stupid," Zander said, his tone a bizarre mix of exasperation and awkward comfort.

"Don't insult her when you're literally trying to cheer her up, stupid," Corbin snapped, turning fiercely on Zander.

Corbin then took a slow step forward, completely invading my personal space. His expression was entirely unreadable. "Amity," he said softly.

I instantly dropped my hands, my breath catching in my throat. I was utterly shocked. I just stared up at him with wide eyes. That was the very first time in nine agonizing years that any of them had actually used my real name instead of a cruel nickname.

Corbin bent his massive frame down until his incredibly handsome face was breathlessly close to mine. I could clearly smell his intoxicating, clean scent. He winked at me. "You look pretty, ok," he whispered.

My heart skipped another violent beat, a confusing flutter of sheer panic and something else I adamantly refused to name.

"Thanks for dressing up for us," Corbin continued softly, a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I hope you wear an even shorter skirt tomorrow."

I aggressively rolled my eyes, the brief, bizarre spell of vulnerability instantly shattering. Kellan and Zander immediately burst into loud, booming laughter, the sound echoing off the kitchen walls.

Shaken and desperate to flee, I tried to aggressively brush past Zander's massive shoulder to escape the trap. But Zander's hand shot out with blinding werewolf speed. His large fingers clamped around my upper arms with vice-like precision and iron strength. He violently spun me around, aggressively pinning my back completely flat against the edge of the island. He stepped fully into my space, his hard chest pressing against me. He leaned down so far that the very tip of his straight nose lightly brushed against mine. I could feel his breath, hot and minty, fanning across my cheeks. I squirmed wildly in his unyielding grip, my boots scraping against the floor.

"Did I say you could leave?" Zander murmured, his voice a dark, vibrating command that sent a terrifying shiver directly down my spine.

Before I could even formulate a response to his overwhelming proximity, Kellan chimed in from the side, his voice dripping with condescending authority. "You need to have respect for your Alphas, Pity."

Hearing that awful, degrading nickname instantly shattered whatever bizarre, tension-filled spell the three of them had just cast over me. The fear evaporated, entirely replaced by a blinding, boiling fury that rushed fiercely through my veins.

"Damn it! Let me go!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, thrashing wildly, kicking my newly booted feet against Zander's shins, fighting desperately against his iron grip. "Three Alpha males against one omega female is insane! You have no honour!"

Zander blinked rapidly, clearly deeply startled by the sheer volume and ferocity of my sudden outburst. He abruptly released my arms, stepping back quickly and holding his large hands up in the air in mock surrender.

"We were just playing with you, Pity!" Zander claimed defensively, his eyes wide. "Good grief! Go! Run upstairs!"

I didn't wait for him to change his mind or for another word to leave their toxic mouths. I spun on my heel, my pleated skirt flaring, and fled up the back servant stairs as fast as my heels could carry me. I sprinted frantically down the long, narrow hallway, throwing myself into my tiny, converted storage room and immediately locking the flimsy door securely behind me. I collapsed onto my small, hard cot, pulling my knees tightly to my chest, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as I waited for the inevitable.

Hours passed in suffocating silence. I sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall as the afternoon bled into evening, and eventually, absolute, pitch-black darkness fell over the sprawling pack house.

A sharp, authoritative knock echoed on my thin bedroom door.

I slowly stood up, smoothing down my old, worn-out clothes—having carefully taken off my beautiful new outfit to preserve it—and opened the door. It was Alpha Ragnar and Luna Vera.

I looked up at their faces, desperately hoping for a sliver of warmth. I hoped they might finally act like the leaders they claimed to be. I hoped they would sit me down, offer me crucial counsel about the terrifying physical process I was about to endure, or perhaps even hand me a token gift for my own eighteenth birthday.

Instead, their faces were carved masks of cold, calculating indifference.

"We almost forgot, you have your first shift at midnight tonight, same exact birthday as the Triplets," Alpha Ragnar said gruffly, awkwardly rubbing the back of his thick neck, refusing to actually meet my eyes.

I forced a small, pathetic smile. Were they going to counsel me now?

Luna Vera stepped forward, her expensive jewelry glittering in the dim hallway light. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Yeah, so make absolutely sure and be completely out of the house at least by 11:45 p.m. We don't want you breaking any of our expensive furniture or making a bloody mess inside the house when you shift," she barked, explicitly laying down the cold, hard rules.

I slowly nodded, swallowing the massive lump of rejection lodged in my throat. I supposed that was technically one piece of advice. Don't bleed on the rugs.

Following their heartless, deeply humiliating orders, I trudged out the back door of the pack house at exactly half past eleven. I walked completely alone into the pitch-black, freezing, snowy night. The winter wind was brutal, violently biting at my exposed skin and whipping my long curls around my face. Every step I took crunched loudly through the thick, unbroken snow. The woods surrounding the territory were profoundly silent, amplifying my absolute terror.

I sighed, a puff of white condensation escaping my lips. I was absolutely terrified of the impending, legendary pain of a werewolf's first shift. The elders always said it felt like being torn apart from the inside out.

As I walked deeper into the dark, frozen trees, my chest ached with a profound, shivering loneliness. I thought of my parents. For the first nine years of my life, they had been wildly inconsistent, constantly in and out of various rehabs for their addictions. But despite their massive flaws, they had actually seemed to deeply, genuinely love me. They were deeply in love with each other as fated mates, and they would always go out of their way to make my birthdays and holidays incredibly special, no matter how high they were or how little money we had. Back then, seeing their bond, I almost looked forward to having a mate of my own. Now, I just desperately wished they were here to guide me, to hold my hand through the dark.

The digital watch on my wrist beeped softly. It was almost midnight.

Knowing that the violent expansion of the physical shift would completely destroy any fabric touching my skin, and utterly terrified of permanently tearing the very few, cheap pieces of clothing I owned, I stopped in a small clearing. With trembling, freezing fingers, I painstakingly stripped out of my garments. I carefully folded my pants and my thin sweater, placing them safely on a dry rock.

I stood completely naked in the freezing, unforgiving snow. My bare feet quickly went numb against the ice. I tightly wrapped my arms around myself, violently shivering, using only my long, bouncy curls to shield my exposed, trembling body from the harsh, biting elements. If I hadn't possessed the naturally high body temperature of an unshifted werewolf, I would have easily frozen to death right there in the dark.

The distant town clock struck midnight.

Immediately, without a single second of warning, a blinding, white-hot agony violently ripped through my entirely body. I threw my head back as I felt my bones begin to violently snap and break.