Chapter 23 The painting
Rain’s POV
Two days passed after the night everything went wrong.
I woke each morning the same way: heart racing, hand pressed to my chest, waiting to feel something shift beneath my skin. Waiting for heat, for pressure, for the low animal presence everyone said you just knew was there.
There was only silence.
The first night, I told myself I was tired. Shocked and still healing.
The second night, I locked my bedroom door.
when the house was quiet and the twins were asleep, I locked my door, stood barefoot on the rug, the moonlight spilling through the window, silver and cold. My hands shook as I clenched them into fists.
“Okay,” I whispered to the room. “Let’s try again.”
I closed my eyes and reached inward, the way instinct told me to. I searched for that wild, roaring presence that had torn me apart so easily before.
“Please,” I murmured, voice cracking. “Just… answer me.”
Nothing happened.
Panic crawled up my throat.
“Hey,” I said softly, like I was speaking to a frightened animal. “It’s me. I’m not scared anymore. You can come out.”
Still nothing.
I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. My breath came too fast, too shallow.
By the third morning, I stopped expecting answers to greet me when I woke.
I cooked breakfast. I walked the twins to lessons. I cleaned up the messes and read stories.
Rosee avoided the subject completely.
The first time I tried to ask him, we were standing in the kitchen while I sliced fruit for the twins.
“Sir,” I said carefully, “about what happened the other night” I paused, my hands were shaking.
“What about it? It's already in the past." he said, not even looking up.
“I don’t feel fine,” I said. “I shifted. I don’t even know how that...”
He set his cup down slowly. “You’re alive and that’s what matters.”
“But I can’t hear my wolf,” I pressed. “Is that normal?”
He finally looked at me.
The look wasn’t angry. It was closed.
“It’s over,” he interrupted, setting his coffee down harder than necessary. “Drop it.”
I hesitated. “But I need to understand”
“Rain,” he said sharply, finally looking at me, “do not dwell on things you don’t understand.”
Something in his eyes warned me not to push further so I didn't.
“Yes, sir." I nodded.
I called Annabelle later and she answered immediately.
"Rain!! It's been ages! Where did you disappear to?"
"Hey, how are you doing?" My voice cracked.
“Rain? What’s wrong? Why do you sound like that? Is he hurting you? You better tell me and let me beat hell out of his ass."
“I think something is broken in me,” I said quietly.
There was a pause. “Not this babe. Nothing is broken in you."
“You don't understand. I shifted" I said.
"Huh! You what !! Omg!" She screamed and I could hear her jumping on the bed.
“It was just once. And now nothing is happening. I can’t shift again. I can’t hear my wolf. It’s like she vanished.”
Annabelle exhaled slowly. “Okay. Listen to me carefully. That doesn’t automatically mean something’s wrong.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I muttered. “Your wolf won’t shut up.”
“She’s very opinionated,” Annabelle agreed dryly, then grew serious. “There are cases where the bond goes silent temporarily.”
“Why?”
“Trauma, magical suppression or delayed awakening. Sometimes the first shift isn’t the start, it’s a trigger.”
“A trigger for what?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if your wolf were gone, you would feel it. Trust me.”
I swallowed. “I don’t trust anything right now.”
Annabelle softened. “Don’t force it. Rest. Eat properly. And Rain stay alert.”
“Alert for what?”
“For the world noticing what you are.”
That didn’t help.
Wolfnet and Quora became my obsession.
Every free moment I had, I searched. Forums, archives, sealed posts about a hybrid first shift. Most of it was nonsense. Conspiracy theories. Power fantasies. Delusional ramblings.
Then I found one archived thread buried deep in a restricted section.
No username. No comments.
Just one paragraph.
It described a phenomenon where a wolf awakened briefly to unlock a sealed bloodline and then went dormant, waiting for a secondary trigger.
The post ended abruptly and was marked deleted.
That night, I barely slept.
Maybe I should just listen to Annabelle and Rosee, maybe nothing is wrong.
It's 12pm and something felt wrong.
The twins were too quiet.
Normally, silence from them meant mischief brewing.
I caught Lia staring at me once, eyes sharp and assessing, before she smiled sweetly and asked for juice.
That smile stayed with me. I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the juice but she wasn't there anymore.
I stepped into the west wing to find the twins missing from their lesson room.
“Hello?” I called, already uneasy.
The gallery doors were open.
I froze the moment I stepped inside.
Paint covered the floor in chaotic streaks of red, blue, and gold. One of Rosee’s largest abstract paintings—something I’d been warned never to touch was smeared with tiny handprints.
The boy twin stood stiff near the wall, paint dripping from his fingers.
Lia tilted her head and smiled at me.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Oh no.”
“It was an accident,” Noah said immediately.
Lia shrugged. “Art evolves.”
“You were not supposed to be here,” I said, rushing forward. “This room is restricted.”
"Your dad will f--king kill me!" I choked out in frustration.
I grabbed the painting and tried cleaning the mess on it.
Footsteps came behind me.
Rosee stood in the doorway.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
His eyes scanned the room, then settled on the ruined painting.
“You had one job,” he said calmly.
“Sir,” I said quickly, “I didn’t authorize this. I was with them all morning but..."
“You were told not to let them into this wing.”
“She told us to play here,” Lis said smoothly.
I spun toward her. “I never said that.”
“She said Daddy wouldn’t mind,” she continued. “She said it was okay.”
Rosee raised a hand. “Enough.”
He walked closer to the painting, jaw tightening. “Do you know what this cost?”
“I’ll clean it,” I said desperately. “I’ll pay for it. I’ll fix it.”
“You will do nothing,” he snapped. “You don’t touch it again.”
The boy whispered, “It wasn’t her fault.”
Rosee didn’t look at him.
He looked at me.
“This is your responsibility,” he said coldly. “Every mess here is your fault, you had just one job. Just one! If you are too self-centered that you don't have time to look after my kids tell me so I can fire you!"
The word hit harder than the accusation.
He gave me one last look before leaving.
That night, I scrubbed dried paint from my fingers in my bathroom sink until my skin stung.
I didn’t cry.
I refused to.
Across the hall, the twins’ door was slightly open. I heard voices so I tiptoed to their door.
“She ruined everything,” Lia said sharply. “Daddy shouted because of her.”
“He shouted because of the painting,” Noah replied.
“She’s bad,” the girl insisted. “She’s dangerous.”
“She tells stories,” the boy said quietly. “And she doesn’t yell. I think we went t
oo far.”
There was a pause.
“You like her? Why are you defending her?” Lia crossed her arms.
“No,” Noah said too fast.
She leaned closer. “Then prove it.”
I stepped away from the door, heart pounding.