Heather's POV
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The wind had picked up by the time I reached the training fields.
It tugged at my sweater and lifted my hair from my face as I walked, trying to calm the fire that still smoldered in my chest. I didn't know where I was going, only that I needed air, space—distance from the venom Mikaela had spit and the way her words still echoed in my bones.
But the Goddess had other plans.
"Running again?"
Her voice sliced through the silence behind me like a blade.
I turned slowly.
Mikaela stood at the edge of the path, breath sharp, cheeks flushed from anger—or embarrassment. Maybe both. Her posture was rigid, fists clenched. A small crowd was already gathering, warriors in mid-training, pack members drawn by the tension that rolled off her in waves.
I exhaled slowly. "I wasn't running."
"No?" She stalked toward me, eyes glinting. "Then you've got more nerve than I thought, standing there like you didn't just try to embarrass me in front of the entire house."
"I didn't try to embarrass you, Mikaela," I said evenly. "I just told the truth."
"The truth?" she hissed. "You think anyone here cares about your truth? They see what I see. A weak little girl playing Luna because she got lucky with a bond."
A few gasps rippled through the small group forming around us. Darrian's name wasn't mentioned, but it lingered between us like a live wire.
I squared my shoulders. "I'm not playing anything."
"No," she said, pacing now like a wolf circling prey. "You're not. Because you're not even trying to fight for him. You hide. You whimper. You run."
I clenched my jaw. "I'm done hiding."
Mikaela stopped moving. Her smile was cruel. "Then prove it."
The words sent a hush over the field.
I felt eyes on me—dozens of them. Curious. Judging. Doubtful.
And somewhere near the edge of the gathering, I felt him. Darrian.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like the rest of them.
Mikaela's eyes burned with triumph. "Fight me."
I blinked. "What?"
"You want to prove you're not weak? Prove you deserve to stand beside him? Then fight me," she said. "Right here. Right now."
My breath caught. I wasn't a fighter. Not like her. I had scars, not training.
But something inside me stirred—deep and powerful.
I looked at her and remembered Marcus. Remembered the beatings. The silence. The cage.
I remembered the way I used to scream inside my head and beg for strength. For freedom.
And then I looked at the pack. At the faces lined with expectation, judgment, and something else—hope.
If I backed down now, Mikaela would win. Not just this fight—but the war for my place here. For the right to be seen.
For the first time, I didn't care about winning.
I just wanted to stand.
I took a breath. "Fine."
A ripple went through the crowd.
Mikaela grinned savagely. "You'll regret this."
She stripped off her outer layer, revealing toned arms and legs built for battle. A born warrior. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, hunger and confidence radiating from every move.
Mine was silent.
I closed my eyes and called to her. Please…
The last time she surfaced, we were near death.
Now? I wasn't sure she would come.
Mikaela launched first—fast, ruthless. Her fist cracked across my jaw before I could even brace, sending me staggering back. The crowd murmured.
Pain bloomed, sharp and metallic, but I didn't fall.
I straightened.
She came again, kicking, slashing, taunting.
I dodged clumsily, parried once, twice—but she was faster.
I caught her arm on the third strike and shoved her back.
She stumbled a step, surprised.
That surprise turned to rage.
"Enough of this," she spat, eyes flashing.
And then she shifted.
Bones cracked. Flesh twisted. Fur exploded across her limbs as she dropped to all fours—sleek, golden, and deadly. Her wolf was beautiful and terrifying, taller than most, with a vicious snarl that sent nearby pack members retreating several paces.
Still, Darrian did nothing.
I looked at him.
He stood frozen, torn.
And said nothing.
Mikaela charged.
There was no time to think.
She aimed to kill. Not teach. Not wound.
End her, her wolf seemed to say.
Mine screamed.
A sound of fury. Of pain. Of release.
The shift came like lightning. No slow build. No warning.
One second I was Heather.
The next, I was Her.
Bones cracked. Pain burst through my spine. My skin stretched, split, reformed.
Fur black as midnight poured over my vision. The world shifted.
When I landed, it was with power.
The earth trembled beneath my paws.
Gasps rang through the air.
Even Mikaela froze.
Because I wasn't just a wolf.
I was an Alpha Female.
My body towered over hers, larger, fiercer—dominant. My fur shimmered like dark fire under the sun, and my eyes—goddess, my eyes—pierced the soul.
Electric blue.
The mark of ancient bloodlines.
Mikaela's growl faltered.
I took a single step forward.
She cowered.
Then lunged, wild with rage and fear.
I didn't flinch.
I caught her mid-air, slammed her down with the full force of my body. Dust exploded around us. The crowd shrieked, scattered.
I didn't tear her throat out.
I didn't need to.
I pinned her with a paw the size of her skull, bared my teeth—and roared.
Power radiated from me in waves.
My aura filled the field, choking the air.
No one moved.
Not even Darrian.
Especially not Darrian.
His wolf surfaced behind his eyes, stunned, breathless.
And in that moment, everyone knew—
I wasn't weak.
I was what they feared.
What they needed.
And what Darrian had been too blind to see.
I stepped back, let Mikaela scramble away with her tail tucked low.
I shifted back to my human form in one smooth, controlled motion.
Standing naked in front of them all, I lifted my chin.
Let them look.
Let them see.
I wasn't broken.
I wasn't prey.
I was the storm.
I turned my gaze on Darrian.
He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.
And just when he took a step forward—something howled in the distance.
A horn sounded from the ridge.
The war had arrived.