Kaida didn't remember what steps she took, what directions she moved in when leaving the clearing, she moved without purpose.
She remembered the sound of her own scream tearing through her.
It tore from her chest, raw and feral, echoing through the forest as she fled. Her wolf surged wildly, no longer restrained by obedience or expectation. Power lashed through her veins, unstable and violent, clawing its way to the surface.
She ran until her lungs burned and her legs gave out.
When she collapsed, she shifted—bones snapping, muscles stretching, her wolf bursting free with a roar that split the night. It was massive, silver-eyed, and wrong in a way that made the earth tremble beneath its paws.
Her howl shattered the silence.
Wolves miles away froze, instinct screaming danger. Even the pack she'd fled from felt it—a deep, unsettling vibration that made seasoned warriors uneasy.
Kaida shifted back hours later, naked and shaking, throat raw, nails caked with blood. The release hadn't eased the pain. It had sharpened it.
From that night on, the whispers spread.
Unstable.
Violent.
Lunatic.
Kaida didn't deny it.
The part of her that had once cared about their approval was gone. What remained was something sharper, angrier, and far less willing to bend.