The first time I tried to shift, I vomited in the leaves.

It was four in the morning. Landon had stumbled home at midnight reeking of jasmine and passed out across our bed still wearing his shoes. I'd waited two hours to be sure, then slipped out through the kitchen door with my boots in my hand.

The forest beyond Stormridge's patrol borders was dark and cold. I walked until I couldn't smell the pack house anymore, until the only scents were pine and damp earth and my own fear.

Seraphina had been awake for three days now. I could feel her moving under my skin like smoke, restless and furious. But feeling her and shifting were two different things. Seven years was a long time to keep a wolf caged.

I stripped off my jacket and closed my eyes.

*Okay,* I thought. *I'm ready.*

*No,* Seraphina said gently. *You're not. But we'll do it anyway.*

The pain hit me like a freight train.

My bones tried to break and reshape themselves all at once. My spine arched. My hands clawed at the dirt. I felt my jaw begin to extend and then snap back, half-formed, wrong. A sound tore out of my throat that was neither human nor wolf.

Then I was on my hands and knees, gasping, and everything was the wrong shape again.

I threw up into the leaves. My whole body shook.

*I can't,* I thought desperately. *It's been too long. I broke something.*

*You didn't break anything.* Seraphina's voice was steady, patient. *You kept me safe when you needed to. Now I will keep you safe. But we have to do this slowly. Seven years, Taylor. We undo it one night at a time.*

I sat back on my heels, breathing hard. My hands were scraped raw from clawing at the ground. Mud caked my knees. I looked like I'd been in a fight.

Good. That would sell the trail running story.

I tried again the next morning. And the morning after that. Each time, I got a little further. A partial shift—my hands elongating into something between human and wolf, claws extending, fur rippling across my forearms before my body seized up and forced me back. It hurt every time. But Seraphina was always there, humming patience into my bones.

On the fifth morning, I made it to my feet.

Not fully shifted. Not even close. But standing on legs that were longer than they should be, with a spine that curved differently and hands that ended in claws. I looked down at myself in the pre-dawn light and felt something crack open in my chest.

*We're getting there,* Seraphina said. *You're stronger than you remember.*

I shifted back—easier this time, the bones sliding into place with only a dull ache—and sat down hard on a fallen log. My hands were shaking. Not from pain. From something else.

Hope, maybe.

I pressed my thumb against the mate mark on my neck. It barely registered anymore. The bond was dying. But I was waking up.

---

On the seventh morning, I fell.

It was stupid. I'd been practicing a partial shift—just my hands and forearms—when I lost my balance on the uneven ground and went down hard. My forearm hit a sharp rock on the way down, and I felt the skin split.

I swore and sat up, pressing my other hand over the wound. Blood welled between my fingers, hot and sticky. It wasn't deep, but it stung.

I pulled my hand away to assess the damage—and froze.

Golden light was blooming beneath my palm.

It was faint at first, barely visible in the gray dawn light. But it grew brighter as I stared, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Warm. Alive. The pain in my forearm faded, replaced by a tingling sensation that spread from my palm into the wound itself.

I lifted my hand slowly.

The cut was gone.

I touched the skin where it had been, smooth and unbroken. No scar. No blood. Just the faint golden glow fading from my palm like the afterimage of a light.

I stared at my hands in the pre-dawn darkness, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs.

*What—*

*Healer,* Seraphina said, and her voice was full of something I hadn't heard from her before. Pride. *You always were. You just never had the space to be.*

I turned my hands over, watching the last traces of light fade from my skin. Healer abilities were rare. Sought-after. Pack healers were respected across territories, their skills valued above almost anything else.

This wasn't something Landon had given me. It wasn't tied to the mate bond or the Luna title. It was mine. Completely, utterly mine.

And it was the foundation of everything I needed to build.

I stood up slowly, my mind already racing. Healer coalitions existed across the Pacific Northwest—loose networks of wolves with the gift who offered their services to allied packs. If I could join one, if I could prove my ability, I could build alliances entirely outside Stormridge's control. Outside Landon's reach.

I could become someone who mattered in her own right.

I pressed my palm against the tree beside me and felt the life humming beneath the bark. The golden light flickered again, faint but steady.

Seraphina hummed inside me, warm and certain.

*Now,* she said, *we show them what we are.*

I walked back to the pack house as the sun rose, mud on my boots and scraped hands I would tell the staff came from a bad fall during my morning run. No one would question it. No one ever looked at me closely enough to question anything.

But that was about to change.