Alpha KEAL

4

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.

Pain was her first companion.

Not hunger, not fear, not even fury.

Just pain.

It curled inside Raven like fire eating its way through bone. Her dreams had been molten flashes of blood and claws, and when she woke, the pain followed her like a ghost. It settled in her joints, coiled around her ribs, burned behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted of iron, her skin of salt and smoke.

She lay curled on the cold stone floor of her room, sheets discarded in a shredded heap near the wall. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale raw like she was drowning in smoke. Sweat drenched her skin, slicking her dark hair to her back.

The window was shut. The bars didn't allow much light, but it was enough to know morning had come-and with it, something inside her was unraveling. Something feral and something ancient.

The door opened.

Alaric Vale stepped in, flanked by two guards. He took one look at her shaking form and signaled the guards to wait outside. She bared her teeth without rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she rasped. "I'm not dying. Not yet."

Alaric approached slowly, expression unreadable. "You're burning up."

"No shit."

He crouched beside her, but didn't reach out. His eyes scanned her face, her trembling fingers, the sweat on her skin.

"It's starting," he muttered.

She frowned. "What is?"

He stood. "Your body's rejecting the suppressant. The venom they used to subdue you-it's wearing off. Your wolf is trying to surface."

Raven pushed herself up on one elbow, dizzy and snarling. "You think I care?"

"No. But Damien will."

That name burned worse than the fire in her bones. Raven's transformation began slowly-hours of nausea and aching followed by sharper bursts of instinct. Her fingernails cracked as her claws tried to grow but failed. Her back arched in pain as her spine jerked, her wolf trying to force its way out.