Chapter 18 Morning After Clarity (Vivienne POV)
Pain wakes me.
Not the dull ache of sleeping wrong or muscle strain…sharp, stinging lines across my forearms that make me gasp when I move. I blink against the morning light filtering through our curtains, disoriented and foggy.
"Finally awake." Sophie's voice comes from her desk, where she's already dressed and working on something. "You were making the weirdest noises all night. Kept me up for hours."
"Noises?" I push myself up, and that's when I see them.
Scratches. Four parallel lines down my left forearm, angry red against pale skin. I check my right arm, more scratches, shallower but definitely there. Like I raked my own nails across my flesh.
"What happened?" I stare at the marks, my mind struggling to provide explanation.
"You were thrashing around. Growling, actually growling, in your sleep." Sophie turns in her chair, her expression concerned. "And your sheets are... well, look."
I pull back my duvet and freeze.
The fitted sheet beneath me is shredded. Not torn or ripped…shredded, like something with claws dragged across it repeatedly. Long, parallel tears that expose the mattress underneath.
"I didn't…" I touch one of the tears, my stomach dropping. "I don't remember doing this."
"You were dreaming, I think. But Vivienne, it wasn't normal dreaming. You were moving like..." She hesitates, choosing words carefully. "Like you were running. Your legs were moving, your arms too. And the sounds you made…not quite human."
Not quite human.
The words echo in my head as I examine the destroyed bedding. What did I dream about? I strain to remember, catching fragments…forests, moonlight, the sensation of running faster than I ever have before. The smell of prey, the rush of a hunt, freedom and power and…
"Your nails," Sophie says, pointing at my hands.
I look down. My fingernails are longer than they were yesterday. Not dramatically so, but noticeably. And when I flex my fingers, testing, they feel stronger somehow. Sharper.
"I need to trim them," I say, but my voice sounds distant even to my own ears.
"Vivienne, are you okay? Should we see the school nurse?"
"No. I'm fine. Just... weird dreams."
"Weird doesn't cover it. You literally shredded your sheets and scratched yourself bloody while growling like an animal." She stands, moving closer. "What's happening to you?"
Everything. Nothing. The truth I can't tell her yet.
"I don't know," I lie. "Maybe stress? The project, my father visiting, everything with…" I stop before saying Declan's name, remembering last night. Two wolves fighting in this very room. Declan climbing through my window because he couldn't stay away.
"Everything with Declan," Sophie finishes, seeing my hesitation. "Speaking of which, that was quite the drama last night. After you left the social, everyone was talking about your dance. About the way he looked at you."
"How did he look at me?"
"Like you were the only person in the world. Like if anyone tried to come between you, he'd…" She stops. "I'm being melodramatic. But seriously, there's something intense between you two. Something that makes other people nervous."
Because they can sense it, I realize. Even humans can feel the supernatural energy when a mate bond forms. They don't understand what they're sensing, but they feel it nonetheless.
"It's complicated," I say, which is becoming my default response.
"Everything about you is complicated lately." She moves to her wardrobe, pulling out clothes. "I'm going to breakfast. Want me to wait?"
"No, go ahead. I need to shower and... figure out what to do about these sheets."
After Sophie leaves, I strip the ruined bedding and bundle it into my laundry bag. The mattress underneath is scratched too, deep gouges in the fabric covering. How did I do this? I don't have claws. I'm still human.
Mostly human.
I head to the bathroom with my toiletry bag, needing to wash away the night's residue. The corridor is quiet, most students already at breakfast or still sleeping in on Sunday morning.
In the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall and turn on the shower, letting steam fill the space. But before I undress, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and freeze.
My eyes look different. Still violet-grey, but brighter somehow. More alive. And when the light hits them at certain angles, I swear I see silver flickering beneath the surface.
I lean closer, examining my reflection. My skin looks healthier, almost glowing. My hair seems thicker, more lustrous. And my face…something about the structure seems sharper, more defined.
I open my mouth, checking my teeth like I did before.
My canines are definitely sharper. Not fangs, not yet, but the points are more pronounced than they were even yesterday. I run my tongue over them, feeling the difference.
Seven days until the full moon. Seven days until these changes become complete and irreversible.
Part of me is terrified. But a larger part, the part that dreamed of running through forests, hunting, feeling powerful and free, is eager.
I try to call Father while the shower runs, giving myself privacy. The phone rings four times before going to voicemail.
"You've reached Edmund Ashford. I'm currently unavailable. Leave a message."
"Father, it's me. I need to talk to you. About Mother. About her family. Call me back when you get this. It's important."
I hang up and try again immediately. Same result…voicemail.
Where is he? What "assignment" is so important he's unreachable on a Sunday morning?
The word 'assignment' makes my skin prickle. He's hunting. That's what the assignment is. He's out in the woods near campus with his surveillance equipment and silver bullets, preparing for whatever he has planned.
Preparing to kill werewolves.
Preparing to kill Declan.
The thought makes something fierce surge in my chest…protective and possessive and very, very angry.
I try calling twice more with the same result before giving up and finally getting in the shower. The hot water stings the scratches on my arms, but I don't mind. The pain grounds me, reminds me this is real.
I'm changing. Awakening. Becoming what my mother was.
And in seven days, there will be no hiding it.
When I emerge from the shower, wrapped in a towel, someone is standing by the sinks.
Freya.
"Morning," she says casually, like finding someone in the bathroom isn't unusual. But her eyes are sharp, assessing. "Rough night?"
"How did you…"
"I can sense these things. Witch, remember?" She gestures at my reflection in the mirror. "You're radiating supernatural energy. It's getting stronger every day."
"Is it that obvious?"
"To anyone who knows what to look for, yes." She reaches into her bag, pulling out a small jar of something pale and creamy. "For the scratches. Accelerates healing, reduces scarring. Completely natural ingredients, so you don't have to explain anything weird to Sophie."
I take the jar, studying her. "You knew this would happen. That I'd start... changing in my sleep."
"I suspected. The awakening accelerates as you get closer to the full moon. Your wolf is getting stronger, even when you're unconscious. She wants out." Freya leans against the sink. "What did you dream about?"
"Running. Hunting. Being..." I search for words. "Free."
"That's your wolf showing you what you're missing. What Edmund stole from you." Her expression is sympathetic. "It's going to get more intense. The dreams, the physical changes, everything. By the time the full moon arrives, you'll barely recognize yourself."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Both. You're becoming who you were always meant to be. But the process isn't gentle." She nods at the scratches on my arms. "Did you shred your bedding too?"
"How did you know?"
"Because that's what happens when wolves dream of running. The body tries to follow where the mind goes. Usually, mature werewolves learn to control it. But you're newly awakening, so..." She shrugs. "Sophie must have been terrified."
"She said I was growling. That I didn't sound human."
"You weren't. Not fully." Freya straightens. "Vivienne, I need to be honest with you. The next seven days are going to be the hardest of your life. Your body is going to change in ways that hurt. Your senses will become overwhelming. Your emotions will be all over the place. And the night of the full moon..." She pauses. "The first transformation is agony. Like every bone breaking and reforming. Like dying and being reborn simultaneously."
"Declan told me."
"Did he also tell you that some people don't survive their first shift? That the trauma is so intense, their hearts just... stop?"
The blunt statement makes my stomach drop. "No. He didn't mention that."
"Because he doesn't want to scare you. But you deserve the truth." Freya's expression is serious. "Your survival rate is high, Silvermane bloodline is strong, and you have Declan and the pack to guide you through it. But there's still risk. You need to be prepared for that."
"What can I do to prepare?"
"Physically? Not much. Your body is doing what it needs to do. But mentally?" She taps her temple. "You need to accept what you're becoming. Stop fighting it. The more you resist, the harder the transformation will be."
"I'm not fighting it."
"Aren't you? Part of you is still holding onto being human. Still wanting to be the girl your father raised instead of the wolf your mother gave birth to." Freya's voice is gentle but firm. "That internal conflict will make everything worse. You need to let go of who you were and embrace who you are."
The words hit harder than I expect. Because she's right. I've been trying to balance both identities…human and supernatural, Edmund's daughter and Lyanna's heir. But maybe that's impossible. Maybe I need to choose.
"How do I let go?" I ask quietly.
"By accepting that the life you knew is over. That the girl who showed up at Blackthorn six weeks ago doesn't exist anymore. She's been replaced by someone stronger, wilder, more powerful." Freya touches my shoulder. "And Vivienne? That's not a bad thing. That's freedom."
I look at my reflection again…brighter eyes, sharper features, changes I can't hide much longer.
"My father is going to try to stop this," I say. "When he realizes how far the awakening has progressed, he'll do something. Try to increase the suppression or…"
"Or worse," Freya agrees. "Which is why you need to stay away from him until after the transformation. Once you've shifted, once you're fully awakened, his suppressants won't work anymore. You'll be beyond his control."
"He won't let me avoid him for seven days. He's staying in Yorkshire specifically to monitor me."
"Then you'll have to be clever. Make excuses. Stay on campus where you have protection." She squeezes my shoulder. "You're not alone in this, Vivienne. You have Declan, the pack, me. We're not going to let Edmund hurt you."
"He's my father."
"He's a murderer who killed your mother and has been poisoning you for seventeen years." Freya's voice hardens. "Blood relation doesn't make him family. Family is the people who accept you for what you are, not the ones who try to suppress it."
The distinction makes something in my chest ache. Because she's right. Father never accepted me, only the version of me he could control.
"Thank you," I say. "For the salve. For the honesty. For…"
"For being your friend?" Freya smiles. "That's what friends do. Now go get dressed and eat something. You need to keep your strength up. Transformation burns enormous amounts of energy, and you're already too thin."
She leaves, and I'm alone with my reflection again.
I apply Freya's salve to the scratches, watching as the angry red fades slightly almost immediately. Whatever she put in here is more than "natural ingredients", it's magic, working to heal supernatural wounds.
I get dressed and head back to my room, finding Sophie's bed made and a note on my desk: Went to the library. Text me if you need me! - S
I sit on my stripped bed, the ruined sheets hidden in my laundry bag, and pull out my mobile. No return call from Father. No texts. Nothing.
There is a message from Declan: How are you feeling this morning? Last night was... intense. I'm sorry you had to see that. - D
I type back: Woke up with scratches and shredded sheets. Apparently, I was growling in my sleep and thrashing around. Freya says it's normal for the awakening.
His response is immediate: I'm coming over.
You're supposed to be staying away. Callum said…
I don't care what Callum said. You're hurt and alone. I'm coming.
Part of me wants to argue. To remind him about the heat cycle, about self-control, about all the reasons this is a bad idea.
But a larger part wants him here. Needs the reassurance that I'm not going through this alone.
Okay. But if you lose control again, I'm calling Callum.
Fair enough. See you in ten minutes.
I stand, examining my room. The destroyed sheets are hidden, but the furniture Declan and Callum broke last night is still scattered. I straighten what I can, making it look less like a war zone.
Then I return to the mirror, checking my reflection one more time.
Brighter eyes with silver flickering beneath. Sharper canines. Scratches already healing thanks to Freya's salve. Sheets shredded by claws I don't remember having.
Seven days until the full moon.
Seven days until I stop being Vivienne Ashford entirely and become something else.
Something stronger.
Something free.
Something Father can never suppress again.
I touch the pendant Freya gave me, feeling its grounding warmth. Then I sit on my bed—carefully avoiding the damaged mattress, and wait for Declan to arrive.
Outside my window, the morning sun climbs higher. Seven days until the Silver Moon rises and everything changes.
I'm ready.
Or at least, I'm trying to be.