The Birth of the Wolf
1367 Words
LUNA
I settle back against the pillows, trying to act casual even though my body still feels suspiciously breakable. Eventually, I feel confident enough to start poking the werewolf topic again. Bad idea, apparently, because Mal instantly shuts down every question with the patience of someone babysitting a sugar-crazed toddler.
We’re backwards today—him being unserious, intentionally obnoxious, constantly distracting me with stupid comments, and me desperately trying to scribble answers on homework I don’t remember learning. Too many questions later, Mal shoves his papers into a bag like the dramatic academic he is.
“I’m done,” he declares, standing. “And you’ve had enough wolfology for one day.”
“Come on. Mal. Just a few more questions? I’ve literally missed an entire lifetime of this.”
His smile is wicked, sharp, taunting. “And I’ve lived that lifetime. You want rest more than you want answers. Trust me.”
Before I can protest, he reaches down and pats me on the head—like I’m a puppy. His fingers drag through my hair with playful precision, and even though I want to smack him for it, my body stupidly reacts to the contact, heat rising where his hand lingers.
He knows it. His smirk tells me he absolutely knows it.
“Rest,” he commands, and then he’s gone.
His absence leaves a vacuum. My arms drop, weightless, useless.
You need to rest, a voice hums in my mind—smooth, amused, disturbingly confident.
“Hello, voice,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Nice to hear you again.”
That’s not how you treat your wolf.
The word slams into me: wolf.
“My wolf?” I echo.
And I can hear your thoughts. We’re the same person, i***t.
“Oh, great. You’re rude.”
Silence. Then: Well, you’re not the one who’s going to protect us. So I’ll take control when you’re healed.
Take control. The phrase rattles through me like a bad omen.
“What does that mean?”
Exactly what it sounds like.
Panic stirs, grabbing onto my stomach like claws. “Voice, what does that mean?!”
Nothing.
Dead air.
A door slamming inside my mind.
“HELLO?!”
Mal bursts through the hospital door like the world is ending. His glasses are crooked, his eyes are wild, and his shirt is half-buttoned as if he sprinted through a wind tunnel.
“What happened?!” He’s at my side in an instant, hands hovering, scanning, touching—fast, frantic. Each contact is like a voltage spike under my skin.
“Mal, I’m fine. Just… my wolf was talking to me.”
The way his shoulders drop—like someone released a set of invisible cables—kills me. I scared him. Not a little bit. A lot.
“My God, Lu,” he breathes out, hand running through his dark hair. “You scared the s**t out of me.”
Something deep inside me purrs, pleased with his reaction. I freeze—because I can feel her. My wolf. Moving. Stretching. Waking.
His presence makes you stronger, she murmurs.
I jerk because I swear I didn’t think that. She did.
Mal hears it too—somehow—and laughs. He sits on the bed, takes my hand, and the sparks are immediate and vicious. Fireworks traveling up nerve endings, settling low in my stomach.
That’s very kind of you, Jade, he murmurs in my head, and I nearly choke.
“You know her name? I didn’t even know her name.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “We talked while you were fading the night you moved in. She’s… intense.”
“Great. My wolf is a bully, and you’re bonding with her before me.”
He smirks, that infuriating crooked smirk that makes my chest tighten.
I need distraction, and because I’m me, I pick the most chaotic route possible.
“Mal, I have a question.”
His expression goes instantly alert, like a predator scenting prey. Heat flares in his eyes so bright I almost flinch.
“Come on,” I whine, fluttering my lashes just to annoy him. “Please?”
The eyes soften. Damn it.
“Ask your question, doe-eyes," he sighs. “But only because you’re cute and still healing.”
Cute. I forget every intelligent question I’ve ever had.
Right. Focus.
“You said you knew I was your mate when I came to the school. Why did you feel it, and I didn’t?”
His eyes darken, and it’s not just sadness—it’s hunger, restraint, conflict.
“Your wolf was suppressed. Silver injures. Wolfsbane kills. They fed you both for years. Jade was caged, starved, and drugged. The fact that she survived is unheard of. The fact you shifted as a kid is terrifying.”
Jade preens at the praise, obnoxious.
“And why don’t you want to be alpha?” I ask, gentler.
He withdraws his hand from mine, and instantly, the warmth disappears. Cold sweeps in, punishing and cruel.
I hate it.
My body hates it.
Jade snarls at the loss.
He stares at the wall. “I don’t dislike it. It’s an honor. But it comes with expectations… sacrifices.”
He pauses, then turns toward me, expression raw.
“You’re my mate. Whether you accept it or not, that bond is forever. My wolf wants you constantly. He doesn’t care about timing or safety, or logic. He wants to claim you."
The word claim does something to my insides that I cannot begin to unpack.
“So you want to mate me?” I ask, not teasing—just stupidly curious.
He takes a slow breath, like he’s wrestling someone invisible.
“Luna, I’m trying to handle this responsibly. But the longer I’m near you, the harder it gets.”
Harder.
God help me.
“What clock is ticking?” I press.
He looks tortured. “My wolf. He’s strong and impatient and possessive. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants…”
His gaze trails down my body, slow, reverent, dangerous.
“He wants you.”
The room heats to a dangerous temperature.
He stands abruptly. “I need to go. Before I lose control.”
He makes it three steps before he pivots back, bends down, and kisses my forehead. His lips linger—too long, too soft. He smells like pine and musk and home.
Something primal inside me reacts before I think. My hand clamps around his wrist and yanks him back toward the bed.
Our skin meets, and everything detonates.
Heat.
Need.
His fear.
My desperation.
His lust.
My hunger.
He groans—low, animalistic—and his entire body tenses like he's holding back an earthquake.
“Luna,” he growls, voice deep enough to rattle the bed frame, “if you don’t let go, my wolf is going to take over. And Jade isn’t ready for that.”
Jade doesn’t care. She curls inside me like smoke, urging more, more, more—
But suddenly I don’t feel sexy or powerful.
I feel terrified.
Weak.
Cold.
“Mal,” I whisper, clutching his shirt, “something’s wrong. I’m freezing. I just—five minutes—please—”
His control snaps.
“LET GO.”
The command hits me like physical force. My hand drops. My body obeys before my brain registers the order.
Jade snarls inside my skull, rebellious, irrational. Pain spikes through me—sharp, violent—followed by a roar in my head so loud I can’t hear myself think.
My vision fractures.
Monitors scream.
Footsteps thunder in.
I scream because hands are touching me, but everything feels wrong—too hot, too bright, too much.
I fall. Hard. The floor is cold beneath me, and still I’m burning.
A voice shouts my name—Selena? Mal? Someone?—but sound warps, slow and underwater.
Pressure builds behind my eyes until I swear my skull will split.
Then—
Pop.
A snapping sensation inside my mind, like chains breaking.
And I laugh.
I laugh in the middle of screaming.
Not because I think this is funny.
Because something inside me thinks it’s delicious.
Crack.
It’s begun.
- Writer
