Accidentally Yours, Alpha.

When Reality Shifts

You know that feeling when you're watching a magic trick and you know it's not real, but you can't figure out how they did it, so part of you starts wondering if maybe, just maybe, magic actually exists?

That's exactly how I felt sitting in that dusty corner of the library, staring at Fred Henderson like he'd just told me the sky was actually purple.

"Werewolves," I repeated slowly, like saying it out loud might make it sound less insane.

"You're asking me if I believe in werewolves."

Fred nodded, his dark eyes completely serious with no hint of a joke, or a "gotcha" smile waiting to break through. His intense stare made my stomach flip.

"This is Silverridge, Susie," he said quietly. "Haven't you ever wondered why our town has so many... unusual stories?"

I had, actually.

Growing up here, you heard things. Whispers about families that disappeared during full moons. Stories about hikers finding massive paw prints in the forest. And old Mrs. Lola swearing she saw glowing eyes watching her from a tree.

But those were just stories, local folklore to make tourists buy overpriced dreamcatchers at the gift shops.

Weren't they?

"The mark on your neck," Fred continued, pointing to the illustration in the ancient book, "it's not just decorative. It means you have dormant werewolf blood, probably from way back in your family line. And when Roy made you speak those words..."

He shook his head. "He activated it."

"Activated it?" my voice came out as a squeak.

"Yes. It means you're not fully human anymore, Susie. The bond with Roy is awakening abilities you never knew you had. Enhanced senses, emotional connections with other supernatural beings, maybe even healing powers."

I laughed, but it sounded hysterical even to me.

"This is insane. You're telling me that the school's famous bad boy somehow turned me into a werewolf by making me rehearse some stupid lines?"

"Not turned you into one. You already were one, but sleeping. He woke it up."

The weight of his words settled over me like a heavy blanket.

I thought about the past few hours, how I'd been seeing and smelling things more intensely, how loud noises made me jump, and how I could somehow tell what people were feeling just by being near them.

Even how Darcy had complained about a headache during rehearsal before I came down to the library.

"Oh god," I whispered. "Darcy."

"What about her?"

I was already grabbing my backpack, and I shoved the book towards Fred.

"I have to go. Darcy developed this splitting headache some moments ago and weirdly enough, I sensed it before she spoke up. If what you're saying is true, if I'm actually affecting people somehow…" I responded and walked away quickly.

The next morning in first period English, my worst fears came true.

Mrs. Carol was droning on about symbolism in ‘The Great Gatsby’ when Darcy suddenly grabbed her head with both hands, letting out a soft whimper that made my heart clench.

"Darcy?" I whispered, turning in my seat. "Are you okay?"

She looked at me with dull eyes, her face pale as paper.

"My head feels like it's splitting open again. It's like there's this buzzing, this pressure–"

And then she collapsed, just crumpled right out of her desk onto the linoleum floor. Her body convulsed slightly before going completely still.

The classroom erupted in chaos. Almost everyone was screaming, the chairs scraping against the floor as everyone scrambled backward.

Mrs. Carol shouted for someone to call 911 while she knelt beside Darcy's motionless form.

All I could think about was what Fred had said – ‘enhanced senses, emotional connections with other supernatural beings.’

What if I was doing this to her? What if my newly awakened werewolf side was somehow hurting my best friend?

The ambulance ride felt like the longest twenty minutes of my life.

I held Darcy's limp hand while the paramedic asked me questions I couldn't answer. When did the headaches start? Had she been under stress? Any family history of seizures?

I wanted to scream that it was me. That somehow, whatever Roy had awakened in me was poisoning the person I cared about most. But how do you explain something like that without sounding completely unhinged?

At Silverridge General Hospital, they wheeled Darcy away for tests while I sat in the waiting room, feeling more helpless than I'd ever felt in my life.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and I could smell everything; disinfectant, fear, sickness, coffee from the machine down the hall.

It was overwhelming, like someone had turned up the volume on the entire world.

Three hours later, Dr. Martinez finally let me see her.

Darcy looked so small in that hospital bed, surrounded by machines and wires. Her eyes were open, but she looked exhausted.

"Hey," I said softly, settling into the chair beside her bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a truck ran over my brain," she mumbled. "The doctors can't figure out what caused it. They're calling it an unexplained neurological episode.”

She turned her head to look at me, and I saw fear in her eyes. "Susie, I'm scared. What if it happens again?"

I squeezed her hand, fighting back tears. "It won't. I promise."

But even as I said it, I felt that strange buzzing energy under my skin, the same sensation I'd been noticing more and more lately. And Darcy winced slightly, like she could feel it too.

"There's something else," she whispered, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear.

"Right before I passed out, I saw something. It was like,.. like I could see inside your thoughts for a second. There was this image of a forest, and this massive wolf with silver eyes, and.."

She stopped, staring at me with wide eyes. "Susie, why do I feel like that wolf was you?"

I froze. The heart monitor beside her bed started beeping faster as my pulse spiked, and I realized with growing horror that our connection was deeper than I had imagined.

If Darcy was seeing my thoughts, if she was somehow tapping into whatever supernatural awakening was happening to me, then she was in more danger than either of us understood.

And that was when I heard it – a low, rumbling growl echoing from somewhere deep in the hospital corridors.

Darcy heard it too. Her grip on my hand tightened as her eyes went wide with terror.

"Susie," she breathed. "Please tell me that sound didn't come from you."

But I couldn't tell her that. Because as the growl grew louder, getting closer, I realized with absolute certainty that whatever was hunting through the halls of Silverridge General Hospital was coming for us.

And I had no idea how to stop it.