Chapter 2
1180 Words
2
SELENE
The kitchen was exactly as I remembered it—warm yellow walls, oak cabinets, and the perpetual scent of coffee. My father stood at the counter, a mug in one hand and newspaper in the other. The sight of him—healthy, alive—made my heart clench.
"There you are," he said, not looking up from his paper. "Your eggs are cold."
I opened my mouth to apologize, a habit ingrained from years of trying to keep peace in our household. Then I stopped myself. New life, new rules.
"I'll microwave them," I said instead, dropping my backpack on a chair.
That's when I saw her.
Celeste sat at the table, picture-perfect as always. Her golden hair was styled into loose waves, her makeup subtle but flawless. She wore the uniform of our private school with designer modifications that skirted just within regulation—a shortened skirt, a tailored blazer. At nineteen, she was in her final year while I was a junior.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said with a smile that, to anyone else, would have seemed genuine. "Big day today, isn't it? Feeling any... changes?"
My hand froze halfway to the plate of eggs. She knew. Of course she knew that today was likely my first shift. In werewolf culture, the first shift was sacred, a coming-of-age that usually happened between sixteen and eighteen. Mine had come relatively late, and I remembered how anxious I'd been about it. How Celeste had pretended to be supportive while subtly feeding my insecurities.
In my previous life, I'd confided in her about the strange sensations I'd been feeling—the heightened senses, the restlessness under my skin. I'd trusted her advice to go deep into the woods alone for my shift, away from prying eyes, which had left me vulnerable when the shift finally came and I was too weak to find my way back.
"I feel fine," I said coolly, taking my plate to the microwave. "Better than ever, actually."
I felt her eyes on my back, assessing. Already noticing the difference in my demeanor.
"You look... different," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "New clothes?"
"Just thought I'd try something new." I turned to face her as the microwave hummed. "Why? Does it bother you?"
A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she masked it with another smile. "Of course not. You look nice."
My father finally glanced up from his paper, seeming to notice me for the first time. His brow furrowed.
"You do look different," he said, tilting his head. "Are you feeling alright, pumpkin?"
The old nickname brought a lump to my throat. In my previous life, I'd taken his constant distraction as disinterest. Now I wondered if he'd simply been trying to manage his grief over my mother's death while handling a new marriage and teenage daughters.
"I'm fine, Dad," I said, softening my tone. "Just... growing up, I guess."
The microwave beeped. I retrieved my eggs and sat across from Celeste, watching her over the rim of my orange juice glass. She was studying me with the slightest narrowing of her eyes—the only tell in her perfect façade.
"Well," my father said, draining his coffee, "I should get to work. Celeste, you'll drive Selene to school?"
"Of course," she agreed readily. "We always ride together."
We did, but not by my choice. In my previous life, I'd been dependent on others for transportation. This time, I had different plans.
"Actually," I said, "I think I'll take the bus today. I need to get to school early to talk to Mrs. Wilson about that English project."
This was a lie. There was no English project with Mrs. Wilson. But I needed space from Celeste to think, to plan.
My father nodded absently, already gathering his briefcase. "Alright then. Have a good day, girls."
He kissed the top of my head—a gesture so rare in my memories that it frozen me in place—and then did the same to Celeste before heading out the door.
The moment it closed behind him, the temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop.
"You're acting strange," Celeste said, the sweetness in her voice thinning.
I shrugged, taking my time with my eggs. "Am I?"
"You know," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "if you're worried about your shift, I can help. I remember how scary my first time was."
The same offer she'd made before. The beginning of her manipulation.
"Thanks," I said, standing and taking my plate to the sink, "but I've got it handled."
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. "Really? Because last week you were practically in tears about it."
I turned on the tap, letting water run over my plate. Last week—in this timeline—I had indeed been terrified, confiding my fears to the stepsister I thought cared about me. The memory made anger flare in my chest.
"Things change," I said lightly. "I did some reading about it this weekend. I know what to expect."
I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door, not giving her a chance to respond. "See you at school."
Outside, the spring air was cool against my skin. I took a deep breath, savoring the scent of blooming flowers and fresh-cut grass. The last time I'd lived this day, I'd spent it in a fog of anxiety. Now, I was hyperaware of everything—every sound, every scent, every sensation.
My wolf was close to the surface, ready to emerge for the first time. But unlike before, I wasn't afraid. I had already experienced the shift. I knew the pain would be temporary, the reward immeasurable.
I walked toward the bus stop, mind racing with plans. My priorities were clear:
1. Survive my first shift, but differently this time.
2. Begin training immediately to strengthen both my human and wolf forms.
3. Discover the truth about Celeste's schemes years before they came to fruition.
4. Find out why the Moon Goddess had sent me back with memories of four mates instead of just Damian.
The last thought made me pause. In my previous life, I'd been certain Damian was my destined mate. The pull I felt toward him had been strong, unmistakable. Yet in my final moments, as life slipped away, I'd had a vision of four wolves—not one—standing proud under the moon.
Had Celeste's "black magic" truly manipulated my mate bond? Is that why Damian had been able to reject me so easily? The thought was both disturbing and oddly liberating.
If Damian wasn't my true mate, I wasn't bound to him. I could chart my own course this time.
The bus arrived, pulling me from my thoughts. As I climbed aboard, I caught sight of Celeste's sleek silver car pulling out of our driveway. She slowed as she passed the bus stop, watching me through tinted windows.
I stared back, unblinking, until she drove away.
Let her wonder. Let her worry. The game had changed, and this time, I knew all the rules.
- Writer
