[Daphne’s POV]
I wake to softness, disoriented.
Then it hits in shards: the cliff, Talia’s shove, the plunge, water closing over me—
and fur. White fur. Power ripping through me as my wolf finally breaks free.
The rest is smeared like a dream. Did I really shift? Did I truly survive that fall?
"You're awake."
Hector's voice pulls me fully into consciousness. He's sitting in the chair beside the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His expression is—concern? Relief?
"What—" My voice comes out hoarse, cracking. "What happened?"
He reaches for the water glass on the nightstand, helping me sit up enough to drink. The cool liquid soothes my raw throat.
"You had your first shift," he says, and there's unmistakable pride in his voice. "Your wolf finally emerged. Magnificent, from what Xander described. Massive. Powerful. Everything I knew you were capable of."
The words should comfort me. Should feel like validation after years of believing I was broken.
Instead, they make something in my chest tighten uncomfortably.
"You always knew?" I ask quietly.
"I told you." His hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "I've seen cases like yours before—late bloomers who prove more powerful than anyone expected. I recognized your potential when others only saw weakness."
He's reminding me. Again. That he saw worth in me when no one else did. That he chose me, protected me, believed in me. That I owe him everything.
"I was right," he continues, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "As I always am about these things. Your wolf is extraordinary, Daphne. You're extraordinary."
There's something in his eyes as he says it—something calculating beneath the warmth. Like he's assessing, measuring, confirming that everything is proceeding according to some plan I'm not privy to.
I don't trust it. Don't trust the satisfaction in his expression or the way he positions himself as my savior, my prophet, the one who saw what I couldn't see in myself.
But I'm too exhausted to question it. Too overwhelmed by everything that happened.
"I'll get you more water," Hector says, rising from the chair. "And have the healer prepare something for the pain. You rest."
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
The moment he's gone, the room feels like it can breathe again.
I try to process what happened. I shifted. After twenty-two years of being wolfless, of being mocked and called broken and worthless—I have a wolf. A powerful one, if both Xander and Hector are to be believed.
I should feel triumphant. Vindicated. Proven right after years of doubt.
Instead, I feel... strange. Not wrong, exactly. But different. More assured. Like there's power humming beneath my skin that wasn't there before, waiting to be called upon. It goes beyond just meeting my wolf—it feels like something fundamental about me has changed.
The door opens again—not the main door, but the servant's entrance.
Xander slips inside, closing it quickly behind him. His eyes find mine immediately, and the relief that floods his face is so genuine it makes my chest ache.
"You're awake." He crosses to the bed in three strides, his hands hovering like he wants to touch me but isn't sure if he should. "How do you feel? Are you hurt? Should I call the healer—"
"I'm okay," I interrupt softly, and his frantic energy settles slightly. "I think. Everything's confused and I'm sore, but—I'm okay."
He finally allows himself to touch me—his hand cupping my cheek with such tenderness it makes tears prick my eyes. Through our bond, I feel his emotions flooding through: worry, relief, fear, love so intense it takes my breath away.
Then his thumb brushes over my left cheek, and he freezes.
"Daphne." His voice is strange. "Your birthmark. It's—"
"What?" My hand flies to my face, touching the spot where the mark has sat since I was born. The mark everyone used to identify me as cursed, as marked for tragedy.
But there's nothing there. Just smooth skin.
"It's gone," Xander breathes, his eyes wide. "The birthmark is completely gone."
I scramble for the mirror on the nightstand, holding it up with shaking hands. He's right. The mark that's defined my face for two decades—that made children mock me, that Connor said made me ugly, that I've hidden behind my hair for as long as I can remember—has vanished.
My face looks... different. Unblemished. Almost beautiful without the mark to draw attention away from my features.
"How is that possible?" I whisper.
"I don't know." Xander's expression is troubled. "But your wolf—Daphne, when she emerged, she was unlike anything I've ever seen."
"Tell me." I need to hear it from him, not Hector with his calculated pride. "Tell me what you saw."
He settles on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me. "She was massive. Easily the size of an Alpha male, maybe larger. Pure white fur that seemed to glow even in the shadows. And the power radiating from her—"
He shakes his head, awed. "You could rule this pack with a wolf like that. Command respect from every warrior, every Alpha. They'd bow without question."
The bond between us thrums with his reverence, his genuine wonder at what I've become. Not calculating like Hector's pride. Not assessing my worth as an asset. Just pure amazement at me.
“Talia,” I blurt, memory snapping into place. “She pushed me. It wasn’t an accident.”
“I know.” His jaw tightens. “I smelled the lie. Fear and guilt all over her.”
“She wanted me dead.” Saying it makes it real.
“But she failed,” Xander says, threading our fingers. “Your wolf’s out. You’re stronger than any of them guessed.”
“What will Hector do?”
“Confined to her rooms under guard. He’ll ‘investigate,’ but he won’t execute without proof—and she’ll stick to her story.”
“Even though it’s a lie.”
“Even though. Connor will shield her—he won’t let his mate hang for trying to kill his father’s Luna.”
“So what happens?”
“He keeps her locked up awhile, makes a show, then lets it fade. He needs Connor compliant; harsh punishment would push him to rebel.”
“Even though she tried to kill his Luna?”
“Especially. My father values pack unity over justice for you.”
The words land like stones in my chest. I want to argue. Want to believe Hector values me as more than a political asset. But the calculating look in his eyes earlier contradicts that hope.
"Do you think—" I stop, unsure how to voice the fear clawing at my thoughts.
"What?"
"Do you think he knew?" The question comes out in a whisper. "About my wolf? About what I could become? Is that why he claimed me?"
Xander's silence is answer enough.
"He said he recognized my potential," I continue, my voice gaining strength. "That he'd seen late bloomers before. But the way he said it—like he was congratulating himself for being right. For knowing something no one else knew."
"My father never does anything without purpose." Xander's voice is hard. "If he claimed you knowing you might develop power like this—and I think he did—then he had reasons beyond kindness or protection."
"What reasons?"
"I don't know yet." His frustration bleeds through our bond. "But I'm going to find out. There's something he's hiding."
Before I can answer—before I can even try to explain sensations I don't understand myself—we both hear it.
Connor's voice in the hallway outside.
"Father, I want to speak with you."
The words are muffled through the door, but unmistakable. Connor. Wanting to speak to Hector. About what?
The library. What Connor saw. What he knows.