Chapter 149 The Wolf at the Door
Wynter‘s POV
I let the change take me. It was fluid now, familiar. I landed on all fours, shaking out my coat, feeling the heightened senses wash over me. The world became sharper, louder, smellier.
I was... compact. Even for a Beta, I was small. My fur was a mix of silver and brown, blending into the earth tones of the arena. I was fast, agile, and healthy, but compared to the hulking forms of the Alpha students, and even the bulkier Betas, I looked like a coyote who had stumbled into a gathering of timber wolves.
A chuffing sound drew my attention.
A group of Betas near the edge of the arena—mostly girls who orbited the popular cliques—were nudging each other, looking my way. One of them, a bulky grey wolf with a thick neck, let out a sharp, yipping sound—a mockery of a puppy's bark.
The sound rippled through the group. Ears flicked. Tails wagged in amusement. I felt the heat of humiliation rise beneath my fur, but I refused to lower my head or tuck my tail. I stood my ground, ears pricked forward, projecting an air of indifference I didn't entirely feel.
They circled closer. The grey wolf bumped my shoulder with her own, hard enough to make me stumble sideways. Another wolf, a tawny male, snapped his jaws at the air above my head, looming over me to emphasize the height difference.
"Runt," they screamed. "Pretender. You don't belong here.”
I bared my teeth—not in a snarl, but in a silent grimace. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of a fight. I was faster than them. I could run circles around their heavy paws.
Suddenly, a flash of russet fur cut through the circle.
A medium-sized wolf trotted out from the sidelines, placing herself directly between me and the mockers. She snapped her jaws at the grey wolf—a clear, sharp warning—and let out a low, menacing growl that vibrated in her chest. She bristled her fur, making herself look larger, and stared down the group with a ferocity that made them pause.
It was Scarlette. Anne's former shadow. The girl who used to laugh the loudest when Anne tormented me, the one who had held my bag while Anne poured juice on my homework.
She shifted back to human form first, the transition smooth. She wrapped a robe around herself before turning on the snickering group, who were also beginning to shift back, looking confused by the interruption.
"Shut up," Scarlette snapped, her voice carrying across the arena. "Do you realize who you're laughing at? Are you all suicidal?"
"It's just Wynter," the grey wolf girl muttered as she pulled on her robe, rolling her eyes. "Look at her wolf. It's tiny. It’s barely a wolf at all."
"She's Lord Sterling's Mate," Scarlette hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits. She stepped closer to the girl, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, venomous whisper. "She's the future Luna of Silvermoon. Do you really think it's smart to mock the size of the wolf that's going to be ruling over you one day? While you were here playing fetch, she survived Bloodrock. She survived Draven Kaine. What have you done?"
The group fell silent, exchanging nervous, realized glances. They scattered quickly, muttering apologies to the air, eager to distance themselves.
Scarlette turned to me. A bright, ingratiating smile plastered itself onto her face.
"Don't listen to them, Wynter," she said, stepping closer, her tone dripping with newfound camaraderie. She reached out as if to pat my arm, but stopped when I didn't move. "They're just jealous. You were amazing out there. Really agile. I’ve always said size is overrated."
I shifted back, the process quick and clean. I took the robe the instructor handed me and tied the sash with deliberate, slow movements.
I looked at Scarlette. I didn't see a friend. I didn't see an ally. I saw a girl who had realized the wind was changing direction and was scrambling to adjust her sails.
"Thanks," I said, my voice cool and flat.
Scarlette blinked, her smile faltering slightly at the lack of warmth. "I just... I wanted you to know I've got your back. Us girls need to stick together, right? Especially with everything changing. If you ever need someone to walk with, or study with..."
She let the offer hang, her eyes eager, hungry for validation.
"I appreciate the intervention, Scarlette," I said, keeping my face impassive. "But I can fight my own battles."
I didn't smile. I didn't offer gratitude or friendship. I didn't give her an inch of the social capital she was fishing for. I tightened my sash, turned my back on her, and walked toward the exit without a backward glance.
"Wynter, wait—" she started, but her voice died in the heavy silence.
I kept walking. My legs were shaking from the exertion of the shift, and my muscles screamed in protest, but my spirit felt forged in steel. I didn't need fair-weather friends who only liked me because of who I was sleeping with. I needed allies I could trust with my life, like Rosalie and Jax. Scarlette was just noise.
By Thursday, I was running on fumes.
My schedule was relentless. Morning run. Classes. Lunch (usually spent studying or reviewing Pack protocols). Audit Professor Ashwood's class, where I was slowly learning to keep my voice steady under her withering critiques. Combat training with Thorne, where I spent more time on the floor than on my feet. Evening run. Homework. Sleep. Repeat.
Every muscle in my body felt like it had been pulled apart and stitched back together wrong. My brain felt heavy, sluggish, stuffed full of diplomatic protocols and resource allocation charts.
I dragged myself up the stairs to the dormitory, my backpack weighing a ton. All I wanted was a hot shower and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. I fantasized about my pillow. I was going to marry my pillow. Chase would understand; he was busy anyway, drowning in his own duties as the reinstated Student Council President.
I reached for the doorknob of our room, ready to collapse, when the door swung open before I could touch it.
Rosalie stood there. Her face was pale, drained of all color, her eyes wide and frightened. She looked like she had seen a ghost—or a monster.
"Rosie?" I dropped my bag, adrenaline spiking through my exhaustion, banishing the fatigue instantly. "What is it? Is it Connor?"
She shook her head frantically, reaching out to grab my wrist. Her fingers were ice cold and trembling violently.
"No," she whispered, pulling me inside and shutting the door quickly, as if she expected to be followed. "It's for me."
She pressed a folded piece of heavy, cream-colored paper into my hand. It smelled faintly of expensive perfume—jasmine and amber, cloying and sweet.
"That transfer student," Rosalie said, her voice trembling. "Evangeline. She stopped me in the hallway. She... she cornered me, Wynter. "
My stomach dropped. Evangeline Thorne. The girl who had looked at Connor like he was property. "What did she say?"
"She didn’t say a word." Her voice was barely a whisper now, her fingers nervously clutching at my sleeve. "But the note—it said to meet her by the lake tonight. That I’d regret it if I didn’t show. Wynter... please come with me?"