The Chosen One •

10

🐺 Kun 🐺

The rage was simmering just beneath the surface as I stormed away from Isabel, her tearful face etched into my mind. My chest felt tight, but I couldn't let it soften me. She lied. She wasn't just a human. She was a witch—a species I'd been taught to hate, to avoid, and never trust. The venom in my voice still rang in my ears: Stay away from me and my family, or I'll report you.

I clenched my fists, the tension rolling through me. Gray, my wolf, growled low in my head.

Don't you dare reject her, he snapped, his voice dangerous and full of authority. You'll lose me if you do.

You know what she is, I snarled back.

She's ours, Gray retorted, his tone brooking no argument.

I didn't respond. Instead, I let the change take over, giving Gray control as my skin stretched, bones cracked, and fur sprouted. My clothes shredded and fell to the ground as I shifted into my wolf form.

The moment my paws hit the earth, I bolted, running full speed away from the border and toward my house deeper within pack territory. The wind rushed through my black fur, cool and sharp against my skin. My senses heightened as they always did in this form—every scent, every sound, every shift in the environment was magnified.

The forest was alive around me. I could hear the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of birds settling for the evening, and the subtle scurrying of small animals beneath the underbrush. The scents of pine and damp earth filled my nose, grounding me.

Running in this form should have been freeing, a way to shake off the turmoil clawing at my chest. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't escape the memory of Isabel kneeling on the ground, her hands glowing faintly with magic. I'd smelled the faint tang of her magic in the air, something wild and unnatural that shouldn't have belonged to her.

The betrayal burned like acid. She wasn't human. She was everything I should hate, everything my father and the council warned us about. And yet, my wolf was enraged at the idea of letting her go.

By the time I reached my home, my muscles ached, but my mind was no clearer. I slowed to a trot as I approached the small cabin nestled between the trees. It was modest but enough—a place where I could retreat when I needed space from the pack house and my responsibilities.

As I reached the porch, I shifted back, the fur receding, bones reshaping until I was human again. The cool evening air prickled my bare skin, and I stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind me.

The first thing I did was head to the bathroom, turning the shower knob until steam began to fill the space. I stepped under the scalding spray, letting the heat pound against my skin. My hands braced against the tiled wall as the water coursed down my body, trying to wash away the anger, the confusion, and the guilt.

Guilt. That was what lingered beneath the anger.

I hated that she was a witch, hated that she hadn't told me, but even more than that, I hated the way I'd treated her. Seeing her cry, hearing the crack in her voice when she tried to explain—Gray had been clawing at me, begging me to comfort her, to listen. Instead, I lashed out, accused her of using a spell to make us mates.

I let out a low growl, punching the wall. The tile cracked slightly under the force, but the pain barely registered.

The shower did little to clear my head, but I turned it off and stepped out, grabbing a towel to wrap around my waist. As I walked into the living room, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.