Chapter 0297

The moon hung high as I ventured into the woods bordering our sleepy town. When Aurora assured me we were alone, I shed my clothes and surrendered to the first shift. Agony tore through me. Most wolves experience their first transformation at ten, when their bodies are still malleable. Mine came at eighteen—alone, without family or a mate to guide me through the torment.

Hours passed in a blur of snapping bones and reforming muscle. When it finally ended, I collapsed onto the damp earth, gasping. Aurora surged forward, lifting our unfamiliar four-legged form with cautious steps. Every movement felt alien, uncoordinated.

The world exploded with new sensations. Distant rustles became crisp sounds. The river’s scent—where Mom and I had picnicked two birthdays ago—flooded my nose. Tiny creatures scuttling through underbrush, the earthy musk of their dens, even the whisper of leaves above us—all vibrantly clear. My vision pierced the darkness like never before.

Aurora bolted. I relinquished control, exhilarated by her joy as she raced through the trees. Her playful bark echoed in my mind, infectious. We ran until a potent scent halted us—pack territory. "We must avoid their borders," Aurora warned.

We pivoted, only to encounter another pack’s markers miles later. Another detour. By the time we reached the river, Aurora slowed, padding to the water’s edge. Our reflection shimmered: a wolf with midnight-black fur streaked with russet and caramel, a pattern I’d never seen on any other.

"You’re stunning, Aurora."

Dawn approached as we returned. Exhausted, I managed a few hours of sleep before my shift at the diner.

A week had passed since Aurora’s arrival, and our new routine settled in. Days at work, nights running wild. Yet questions gnawed at me. As a Guardian, Aurora insisted we had a purpose—but whether she didn’t know or refused to say, I couldn’t tell.

My heightened senses revealed secrets: the line cook’s lingering glances since his first day, how Theodore spun tales of Mom appointing him my protector to ward off trouble. Humans smelled bland compared to werewolves, whose scent carried the richness of deep forests.

Tonight, we traced pack boundaries, Aurora drinking in the familiar aromas. I sensed her longing for pack life, but neither of us would return to my father’s cruelty. So when the diner’s bell chimed near closing, the sudden rush of pine and damp earth startled me. A werewolf. The first since my change.

Nervousness spiked. Did I smell like a rogue? Banished wolves lost their packs at ten—my exile came differently.

Aurora stirred urgently. "I need to see him."

Steeling myself, I stepped from the kitchen.

The aroma hit like a tidal wave—sandalwood, cedar, and something primal that made my mouth water. My gaze swept the room, locking onto him: the man from over a week ago, watching me with equal intensity.

Aurora’s voice was a whisper in my mind. "Mate."

His lips curved into a dazzling smile as he echoed, "Mate."